It doesn't take long for Sergeant Bear to answer the radio call sent out by Private Bradley after Tasha asks nicely. The big black wolf still looms a bit over Tasha, despite the slight height-boost given by her armor. The man is dressed in fatigues and has a pistol and radio on his belt, and looks Tasha's armor over with a hint of disapproval. "Your captain ready to look around then, Cadet?" he asks gruffly.

Tasha looks down at herself, then up again at the big black wolf. She had thought a man named 'Bear' might be big and friendly; such doesn't appear to be the case. "No, Sergeant. Just me. The Captain is preparing to meet with the Council, and I've chosen to try and get to know the people of Tartarus." She then cocks her head to the side, and adds, "The armor's only for a photo-shoot that didn't happen, I'm fine with removing it before we proceed if you don't mind waiting. Or, does the Vartan styling concern you?"

"It gives the impression that you're expecting – or looking for – a fight, miss," the sergeant says. "Have you got a proper uniform?"

"I'm not, I assure you," Tasha promises. "For me, this is as much a uniform as anything else I own. When you deal with robots, hostile aliens, hostile environments … A suit like this seems practical." She smiles a little lopsidedly, hoping the levity might break the ice. "And really, I'm still learning what the people of Abaddon expect of me. I'm from Sinai, and I have to say, there are a lot of cultural differences. But here, let me go change. I don't want to put anyone on edge." And pauses to see if the Sergeant has questions before heading off to change.

"You won't need a sidearm," Bear notes, as if expecting Tasha to come back armed. "Make sure your boots have insulated soles."

"Roger that," Tasha says. She salutes, again because she isn't sure when she's supposed to or not, then turns and heads back to her ship. Twenty minutes later, Tasha comes back wearing her Expedition provided fatigues, with undersuit and Vartan mercenary stocking-boots. The woman almost never removes her undersuit; it's just too useful. The stalking-boots were a necessary concession, given that the Expedition doesn't make Vartan footwear and she has exactly one pair of boots that work for hooves.

As Tasha walks back, she offers a wave. "Sorry for the delay, I had to make sure these old Expedition-era relics were insulated. They're the only boots I own. Not a lot of people make boots for hooves!" She clicks her right hoof against her left, and tries grinning again to see if the Sergeant will relax now.

It seems the man only knows how to scowl and frown, but the frown is probably an improvement. Bradley and Pearce make a show of standing at attention. "It'll do," Sgt. Bear notes with a curt nod. "Keep in mind that this is a deep-service base: our men serve 100-day tours. We don't have women here, normally. Please keep that in mind. Now, what did you want to see first, the kitchens?"

"Oh, I already ate," Tasha remarks, smiling a little more. "But thanks. Actually, I'm interested in your science facilities, and if you maintain a storage area for artifacts – that's professional interest. On a more personal level, I've also heard you may have non-functional Titans."

With a sigh, Bear says, "This base is part of the S-TEC division, but hasn't been active in years. There are probably plenty of mothballed machines that weren't worth bringing back to New Zion. As for science labs… we've kept them clean. We're basically a defense and maintenance crew, keeping Tartarus from being completely abandoned."

"That's a shame," Tasha offers sympathetically, frowning and nodding. "Part of the JEF efforts are to revitalize exploration and research across the planets. Of course, right now we're in a recovery stage, but our mission goals remain the same. There's nothing sadder than seeing a machine, facility, or what-have-you and its connected ideals cast aside. Orpheus and the Fenris broke my heart, and are why I chose to see the JEF rise again."

"The heads of the Office of Accounting and Budget may or may not have hearts or ideals, I'm afraid," the sergeant says a bit bitterly. "Anyway, come along… I'll fill you in on the layout as we go."

Tasha nods again, following after the larger Karnor. "Oh, what you said reminded me of a question I've had since I first came to Expedition City: why aren't there any women in combat roles? And for that matter, here? Isn't Dr. Kitty a woman?"

"She's civilian," Bear says as they head for the north end of the hangar. "We don't mix genders for combat troops, naturally; it would never work out in action. There are always rumors of a secret all-female commando unit – but they're likely just that; rumors."

"Really?" The Vartan woman blinks at that. She can't imagine a society where men and women don't fight together, don't live in the same space for fear something might happen. She spent her whole life living alongside men. "I can't imagine it. I was born on an airship crewed mostly by men, and spent much of my life as one of the crew. Even in the JEF, I am the only living woman, but I never thought it was odd that we worked together. As I said, cultural differences."

"Yeah… you don't really know what it's like living with Karnors, do you?" Bear says, more than asks. Once they're into the main passage, he taps at a metal plaque on the wall, which turns out to be a map. At the north and south ends of the base are the huge circular hangars, with several levels of the base sandwiched between them. The main level, where they are now, holds most of the labs and workshops and machine bays for servicing vehicles and weapons, as well as the ammunition stores of the big wall guns. Below this level is storage and power generation, while the levels above house the living and administration areas.

Unsure just what to say to that, Tasha mumbles a, "Well, no," as she studies the map. Feeling rather awkward now, she tries to press on and not let her feelings get the better of her. "So, two hangars, three levels, and a number of sub-areas per level, all set between the hangars. Lots of easy access and long corridors for the movement of machines from the hangars and workshops, which is nice. I'd like to see the lab?" She almost adds, "And my boyfriend is a Karnor!" but resists it, ears canting a little. She wishes she brought cologne.

"Hmm, quarantine lab is closest," Bear says, and leads the way past a few side corridors that lead to the gun turrets. The door to the lab is very heavy, and takes some time to open; there are almost dozen locking wheels to turn.

"Isolation methods seem to have decayed considerably given the construction and layering of this door. That's not unexpected, given the Sifran Probability Field, reduced resources, and inaccessible infrastructure," Tasha murmurs as she watches. Half way through she steps forward to help – and to show the big wolf she can.

Inside, the lab is reminiscent of the Med Bay – there are hospital beds, a surgery room and lots of emergency supplies. There is also a wall dividing the space in half, with extremely thick glass windows and a very large airlock (big enough to move a bed through). The other side has more ominous looking equipment, including powered saws and what looks like an incinerator.

"There are two of these, one next to each hangar," Bear notes. "Regular hospital is Level 2. We test stuff out in the canyon, and if it fails, the victims end up here, or sometimes they brought back creatures and plants to study."

Tasha steps inside, sweeping her gaze across the room slowly as she walks, and ending up staring in to the isolation chamber. "It's very … ominous. Definitely a different isolation technology from the Expedition Era." She tilts her head as she glances over her shoulder, "Do you use it often, and what exactly do you test that requires such a thing be used on … Victims you said?"

"We don't do ground missions anymore; not in the budget, don't have the manpower, too risky, and so on. They have endless excuses," Bear says, and puts a hand against the glass. "But the native life here is incredibly hostile, and anything small enough not to crush you or swallow you will try to burrow into you and set up shop to turn your body in a giant spore cyst. Parasites and predators, even the plants."

"Intimidating," Tasha murmurs with an air of awe. "I've run in to a species of crystalline life that does similar to electrical and mechanical systems; really, any non-organic matter it comes across."

"Sounds pleasant, compared to the constant organic arms-race out there in the canyon," the sergeant notes. "They used to bring up samples of the toxins, venoms and other nasty stuff to see if they could create antidotes or apply them to parasite infections. But it was hopeless. Things change too fast out there, with species changing in just one or two generations in order to compete. It's like every isolated canyon system is a different world."

"It's interesting to see the design of each planet; almost as if they each had a specific purpose and system created just for them. From my understanding of exterior worlds – that is, worlds outside Sifran space – this sort of arrangement is unheard of save in terraformed worlds. Even then, so many planets in one system?" Tasha takes a breath, head shaking in wonder. "It's … It's remarkable, how unique are homes are. Even when they try to destroy us." Tasha shifts her gaze to the man beside her, "But, perhaps we'll be able to help you, if you need anything within the canyons?"

"We need to just fill them in with cement, if you want my opinion," Bear notes. "You want to see the vehicle bays next?"

"Please." Tasha isn't sure of what to think of the death canals; on one hand, isn't the JEF here to explore, to discover new life and research it? But what about these people, who suffer and die because of that life? It's what she's been told is an 'ethical' question. The young woman decides she doesn't like ethical questions as she follows after the man beside her. And, feeling the need to say something, she adds, "I hope we can help each other."

The other rooms they pass are not so 'dead' as the quarantine lab. Maintenance is a constant activity in the ancient base. Opposite the lab is a full blown fuel refinery – one of two, since redundancy seems to be a religious imperative for a base so completely isolated. The machine shops are like small factories, where humans and Karnors work to create replacement parts and even recycle steel. The vehicle bays take up the center of each side of the base, and are like miniature versions of the Orpheus hangar: huge steel outer doors span the outer wall, with multiple roof-mounted cranes on tracks that could even extend a hundred feet past the doors if needed. The vehicles are very different though. All of them have tracks, some like tanks and others in configurations that suggest they're replacing wheels. The vehicles are all heavily armored and battered. Some have outer plates half-peeled away, others show deep gouges and scars. One is bristling with giant saws on the ends of mechanical arms, and all of them have turrets with either small cannons, machine guns or wide-nozzled flame-throwers.

The young woman seems very impressed by all the workshops and refineries, leaning in here and peering in there as the tour continues. When they reach the great center factory, she cranes her head, gaze up. "Wow," she breathes, smiling a little. "You've really worked hard to keep all these working, and look how many there are!" She points at one of the damaged vehicles, and asks, "Is that the result of an attack by something in the canyon?"

"All the damage is from the local flora and fauna," Bear notes. "I wish we had dug a ramp down through the mountain to reach the canyon floor, but it'd be too much of a security risk. So we have to raise and lower everything with the cranes. Eventually dumped a few tons of molten iron out to form a landing base that wouldn't get overgrown."

The man also points out several heavy fuel lines leading right up to the edge of the doors. "There was a bridge originally, to move some of the stuff that couldn't be airlifted during construction. The lines fed the flamers, so there was a constant wall of flame on either side."

"This ranks with space flight in terms of how incredibly dangerous the exterior is," Tasha observes, shifting her gaze to the large doors. "There's few things on Sinai, that I know of, that are capable of this. The crystalline creatures were, but they weren't all that interested in organic life. I never imagined I'd be so intimidated by plants," she admits. Following the mans gaze, she nods slowly, picturing what it must have looked like in her mind. "Then the base isn't that old? Why did you build it here, anyway?"

"Research, secret weapons development… border guard, advanced striking. Whatever the military needed in this area," Bear notes. "But the canyon critters and plants here seemed to have a lot more iron in them than at other places. The idea of harvesting organically grown steel armor was the main reason for it. But this was built on top of another, older base, and so on, back for a thousand years or so."

"Oh, so not a landing era relic, but still very old. Were the previous bases used for the same thing? And did you say organically grown steel?" Tasha looks back to the man, blinking at him. "Oh, and I'm not distracting anyone by being here, am I?"

"You aren't distracting yet," Bear says. "Too much excitement over your spaceship and everything. When boredom sets in, that's when you'd be really distracting. As for the other bases… no idea. I'm just a sergeant. All I know is that the Confederates had self-healing, living armor on their war machines, and we wanted something like it for ourselves."

"I can see why. Even our machines don't exhibit that ability, by and large." She purses her lips, thinking. "Despite being Vartan, I actually know very little about the Confederates. I do know my people – the Vartans that is – weren't always allied with them as they are now. My theory is that, trapped here and without their original employer, they aligned with the group most similar to themselves. You saw my armor, didn't you? That was Khattan."

"Looked Vartan to me," Bear says. "Who or what are Khattan?"

"You don't know … No, of course you wouldn't." Tasha tilts her head again, turning her gaze to examine the vehicles as she thinks how to explain the Khattan. "Long ago, back before the Expedition was trapped upon this world, there existed a great fleet of ships like mine, the Bellerophon, only greater still. Many species gathered to create that fleet, and some you know: Silent-Ones, Celestials, Terrans – Karnors and Humans that is – , the Confederate species, and … the Khattan. The Khattan Trade Alliance. They are the ones who funded most of that fleet, a species of feline spacefairers who possessed technology beyond the other species. They are the ones who hired my people, the Vartans, who were mercenary clans back then. The Khattan ships are mostly lost now, although at least one reached Sinai, and we have located the ruins of another they built at least."

"Wait… these the cat-people that I've heard about coming through the gateway tower, selling stuff?" Bear asks.

"No," Tasha says, head shaking. "Not all of them, at least. And if any of the original Khattans exist among them, they've long forgot their place in the stars and their technology. You would consider, as I do, my homeworld to be very 'backward' in terms of technology. If the Khattan still exist in a form and society like they once did, we haven't found them yet."

"Well… so much for kitties," Bear says, then turns towards the main corridor. "You'll probably want to see the experimental stuff too, right?"

"Actually," Tasha adds, tapping her muzzle with a hand, "The felines we see may have Terran origins. There's a theory among us that the ship known as the Ark, a mothership-class vessel, may have been responsible for many of the sentient species we see on Sinai today. They would have been created similar to the way Karnors were created. That is, the genetic hybridization of human DNA with native species from Terra. For Karnors, that would be the 'wolf.'" She then blinks, looking up from her lecture. "Oh? Experimental?"

"Yeah, experimental," Bear says, giving the woman an odd look. "A military term for 'does not work.'"

"Oh, sorry – I know what experimental is! I was just, well … Lost in thinking about the past. It … happens a lot, these days." She gives the Karnor a sheepish smile, then nods him to lead on.

"Vartans are easily distracted it seems," Bear comments, as they cross the hall into the other vehicle bay. This one… is full of Titans. The most bizarre Titans Tasha has ever seen or imagined. Some look like giant insects or monsters – until it becomes clear that they are! Or rather, someone hollowed out a monster and built machinery to replace muscles. Others look like standard humanoid forms, but with armor plates that seem grown into them, often to the point of jamming the joints with metal roots.

"Hey, I happen to be fairly scholarly, you know! You won't find that on many Vartans," Tasha insists as they walk. She looks about to level another heated defense when she pauses, mouth slightly ajar, at the Titan-like machines. "Ooh, fascinating! Do any of them … No, you said they didn't work, didn't you? Could I get a better look at one of the closer-to-maybe-working ones?"

"Be my guest," Bear says, waving an arm. "I have no idea which were the closest to working. Before my time. I only know the history of this place's construction because I'm Engineering Corps and had to in order to do my job. This stuff could be a hundred years old."

"Hundreds? Well, my Titan is six thousand plus years old, so … It's all practically new to me!" The red woman laughs, then heads on in to the hangar to begin her search for something that looks closer to operable. "That one has a clear obstruction in its left actuator assembly," she points. "And look, the skeleton of this one has been compromised. It's also lacking anything I can make out as a power core. What do you use for power, anyway? Secondary battery systems fed from the base? APU and on board engines? Fusion? Fission?" The questions keep coming as she wanders among a forest of terrifying constructs, looking perversely excited about the whole thing.

"Hydrocarbons, both combusted and in fuel cells," Bear says. A few of the more broken machines show better detail on the strange armor; in cross-section, it's honeycombed like bone, and probably 'grows' in the same manner, making it lighter but not losing much strength.

"Interesting." Tasha pauses to eye some exposed armor, looking it over, then pointing at it. "Biology isn't really my specialty, but this alignment of honeycomb pops up in our engineering. It's really very strong, and my guess is that being organic, it grows that way. Very convenient." Then, she's off searching again.

The sergeant just follows along behind at a more sedate pace, looking at the machinery with suspicion.

The first intact-looking machine Tasha comes across is a six-legged walker, looking similar to the machine she found in the Fenris: it's clearly a test-bed, since the glass bubble canopy wouldn't survive much. It lacks manipulator arms, but does have hydraulic-piston powered legs and an outer layer of the grown metal armor. There aren't signs of 'roots' or other indications that the armor was still alive when attached.

Tasha pauses beside the vehicle, scratching at an ear until she seems to decide something and begins approaching it. "I'd like to start this up." It sounds like more of a statement than a request. The woman even unlatches the cockpit and begins looking inside.

"I suppose you'll want a mechanic then?" Bear asks, looking over the exposed engine on the thing's back. The control panel is simple – it's just a joystick, with no other apparent controls. Nothing for speed, or to power it up, or even to monitor anything. It really is just a test machine, probably put together from spare parts.

"Aye," Tasha confirms. She pushes herself up in to the seat, again noting the distinct lack of wing-accommodating seats in Terran design. She ends up spreading her wing right out the side of the cockpit, crunching the other up on the other side. "Just a joystick … I was hoping for a BIT system so I could see about the design, but it's really very early stage prototyping, isn't it?"

"The tanks probably work, just need fuel," Bear offers. "This will need lubricating, hydraulic fluid flush and refill, fuel and engine tests. Looks it's meant to be started and stopped by someone climbing up and turning the engine and pumps on and off manually."

"Well, if it's too much of a bother, I can abort. I just love machines! I have ever since I found the Fenris," says the young woman, who looks out the opened hatch. "And besides, maybe my knowledge of Titans can help get this working right? I know a bit about engineering as well."

"You've got a fancy Titan of your own though, I hear," Bear says, and gestures to the spider-bot-thing. "Why bother with this?"

"Well, it's … It's the spirit of the thing. I like machines, and I like working with them. My own Titan is very advanced, yes, but I've discovered you can learn a lot by exploring different devices and vehicles. And well, I was born on a machine that makes this look as advanced as my Melchior. I don't discriminate, although I do have my preferences!" She grins, turning so her feet hang out the door. "And look at it, this is technology I've never seen – organic armor! Knowing how this move and feels might be useful some day. Or not. Either way, it's … Fun, for me. And being different as I am, I've found machines to be … amiable, to be around," Tasha adds.

"Well, if you want to restore this in your downtime, I'll get one of the mechanics to help you," the sergeant says, scratching his head.

"I'd like to work one of the more humanoid ones, actually. I know a lot more about their operation and internals," says the young woman. "Plus, it'd be nice to show I can do it, and help you all out at the same time. If I can get one working, maybe you'll have something a bit better off if you ever go down below again."

"Despite piloting it, I don't really understand my Melchior. It'd be nice to work with something I do understand," she adds, again.

"Ah, you're one of those 'take it all apart so you can put it back together again' types?" Bear asks.

"Well, I only recently learned how to put them together. It used to be, I just wrecked them." Tasha says, grinning more. She then holds up a hand, forestalling any voiced worries. "BUT, I did act as the navigator and computer operator of the Bellerophon and I can pilot the Melchior, so you can trust me!"

"Trust you not to junk… junk?" the sergeant asks.

"Hey, you'll hurt the bug walker's feelings," Tasha insists, looking quite serious about it. It's not certain by that narrow eyed, ear-splayed expression if she's serious or just pretending to be. From her mixed scent, she may not know, herself.

"What?" Bear asks, looking genuinely confused.

Tasha tilts her head, and asks, "Haven't you ever felt a ship, a vehicle, has a … a kind of soul? And maybe it won't glare at you over an insult – in fact, I'm pretty sure it won't – but that doesn't mean a machine can't have pride, have a feel." The woman looks down across the hull, then reaches to touch the armor, running her hand across it. "People endangered themselves for this, and someone spent a lot of time trying to figure this vehicle out. Maybe they had a name for it, even a nickname. To me, that means something. But, maybe I'm just sentimental."

"I fix machines, but to me… they're just tools, sorry," Bear notes. "People, now, I can get behind. And I will sacrifice any number of tools to save one of my men."

"Well, that we agree on," Tasha says, smiling more as she pulls her hand back. "I feel the same way about my crew, whom I consider to be like family. Maybe you've never met a Vartan before, but we have strong family bonds."

"Most families do," Bear says. "So, do you want to play with that monster more, or see where the men actually live?"

"I think I should stop ogling machines and meet more real people," the young woman admits, sliding out of the cockpit and landing with a clip-clop of padded hooves. "I guess with all that's happened, I've gotten more used to machines than people. They don't judge. But I can't stick around them, not if I'm to do what I came here to do."

"Machines may not judge, but they don't forgive either," Bear notes, and heads back out to the main corridor. Not far from the vehicle bay entrance is a platform fixed to tracks in the wall, with yellow-and-black warning stripes outlining it. Two more are next to it, and it has a control panel almost flush to the wall with a simple lever.

Tasha nods slowly to that as she walks beside the Sergeant. She's silent for a stretch, then asks, "You don't really like me, do you? Is it because I'm half-Karnor?" She tuns to eye the machine they arrive at, then she steps on to it and takes up position in front of the controls, figuring this must be a simple conveyance system for crossing the length of the base and moving supplies. It may even descend. More importantly, it lets her look somewhere else after asking that question.

"I'm a sergeant; I'm supposed to be gruff with everyone," Bear claims, and pushes the lever up, causing the platform to rise towards the square opening in the high ceiling. The next level is not so high-ceilinged, and is also a bit brighter. The walls and floor are painted white and light blue, and there are murals on the walls of idyllic outdoors scenes. "You're young, probably an idealist, too, and a female."

The platform stops when it becomes level with the new floor, although it could easily rise for several more levels. There are also call buttons on the wall next to it, which Tasha notices now that she knows just what the platform does.

Tasha looks up as the vehicle rises, eyes widening when she sees the faux sky and painted murals. "Well, you're not wrong about any of those … ," she has to admit, looking back to the black Karnor for the first time in a while. "I guess I am an idealist. Without my ideals, I don't think I could have come this far. But, what does being female have to do about any of this? You don't like women?"

"I like women fine, just not having to look after them," Bear notes. "This is a dangerous base, and women like to poke their nose into everything. I'll have to have someone watch over you to keep you out of trouble."

"You don't need to look after me. I survived traveling in to freezing mountains, the ruins of an ancient spaceship – whose computer tried to kill me and messed with my brain by the way – , travel across Sinai, travel across worlds, a Titanian inter-planetary expedition, the ruins of another spacecraft, flying a Titan, flying a spacecraft, having my brain edited – again! – and cybernetic implants. I may not be perfect, but without me that ship in the hangar would never be here," Tasha levels, placing a hand on her hip and glaring quite intently. "I carried Captain Akkers down the mountain! I lead that mission! Don't treat me like I'm some moron who can't cross a ruin without killing herself." She then leans back, arms folded and tail up. She smells exactly like she sounds: angry and affronted.

Just then, a dozen naked Karnors exit from a pair of swinging doors opposite the lifts, and head towards another set of doors, trailing wisps of steam. Only the one bringing up the tail notices Tasha, and freezes in place, locking eyes with her.

Tasha glares past the Sergeant, in no mood to be stared at. Then, she growls!

The staring man curls his tail up between his legs and hurries after the others.

"Hmph." Tasha turns her head back to watch the black Karnor, brows raising. "Well? Are you going to pat me on the head? I've taken a lot of that 'Tasha doesn't know anything and can't take care of herself' slagged garbage since I started this, and I'm sick of it. I recognize I have shortcomings, that I haven't done as much as some. But I grew up on the docks, and traveled space. I am not some fool who doesn't know how to survive."

"I'm sure you can take care of yourself," Bear says. "But I'm responsible for everyone on this base. I know what to expect from my men, and I know they'll jump when I bark. I've read the reports from past sergeants and officers about how hard it was to keep the scientists and engineers focused on safety or security. You are not one of my men, or really even a soldier. Will you jump when I bark? Because if there's an emergency, you have to follow my orders and not waste time questioning them. Can you do that?"

"I can," Tasha says, defiantly. "Just don't expect me to know what's what around here. Give me clear orders, and I'll follow them. I'm not unused to being ordered to do something I'm not familiar with, after all. Or, maybe you missed the shiny spaceship in the hangar."

"I don't know anything about that, or what it takes to pilot it, and it doesn't matter to me," Bear says. "When you are not on that ship, you are in my base. If you need anything, tell me and I will see that you get it. Don't ask someone else – unless they are assigned to be your assistant, they have other things to do. If you want to just socialize, there is an off-duty lounge on this level. Above this one are the civilian areas, which I expect our visitors from the Museum and S-TEC are busy making presentable for the council mucky-mucks. If you have to go somewhere on your own – like to see that piece of work Dr. Kitty – make sure the guards at your ship know."

Tasha listens, nods, and as the conversations steers away from a pet peeve, so too does her agitation. She lowers her arms, and her tail. Her ears, however, remain canted. "I understand. I'm sorry for yelling at you, at least as far as your base and concerns go. I wouldn't be any more happy with someone wandering around my ship, either." She glances toward the door the men rushed in to, and asks, "So, still want to show me around? I think one of your people spotted me. Do they often run around naked and steaming?"

"No women posted here, remember?" Bear notes, and points to the door they came out of. "Showers." He points to the door the went into. "Bunk room." Several fuzzy, damp heads are poking out of that doorway, watching.

"Ha," Tasha barks, laughing. "That never stopped the men on my ship, OR me." She leans to the side, looking around Bear, to the men watching – then waves! "I once threw a man through a door. My mother can actually do that with two," she whispers aside to the Sergeant.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't damage my soldiers," Bear notes. "Or walk around naked for that matter."

"I gave most of that up when I decided to join the JEF," Tasha insists, not elaborating on what that 'most' is. "So, can we go say hello? Their eyes may fall out at this rate, and I don't want to be blamed for indirect ocular damage."

"They can get dressed and meet us in the lounge if they want to be introduced," Bear says, loudly enough for the men to hear. They do, and vanish into the barracks.

"Fair enough. Lead on, Sergeant." Tasha's ears finally return to 'status: normal' position, and she nods the man to continue the tour.

There are perhaps a dozen Karnors present, half of them at one of the tables playing some sort of card game. Another man sweeps the floor near the movie screen, while the rest are involved preparing something in the kitchen.

"This is where the men spend most of their off duty time, when not in the gym," Sergeant Bear explains, sweeping his arm before Tasha. "Took a few years to get it all put together."

"It's definitely got that cobbled together look, like my mum's tavern," Tasha observes as she sweeps her gaze across the room. Her keen eyes pick out the details, even across the room, even catching the hand one man is currently reviewing. The cards and their faces are foreign to her, however. She smells of anxiety, irritation, and, conversely enough, of good-will mixed with doubt.

The wolves at the table turn to look at Tasha, likely seeing her for the first time. They don't seem to betray any interest though – they must be very good card players, since they don't even wag their tails or change their odor; although the latter could be due to the heavy colognes they wear, which Tasha can pick out from the doorway. It takes a bit longer before the ones in the kitchen area notice, the first one nudging the others with his elbow until they take notice as well. That group smiles and waves, at least.

"This is Tasha Argentine," Sergeant Bear bellows with sergeant loudness. "She's a Space Cadet from… Space! Try to behave yourselves and don't do anything to shame Tartarus!"

Tasha hesitates, then waves back a little. "You're right," she murmurs aside to the Sergeant, "I haven't lived among Karnors." She glances at the man, brow raised; she's pretty sure being called a 'space cadet' as a tease is just an ancient Terran phrase. Pretty sure. Looking back, she nods her head and calls out in her own, characteristically loud, voice, "That's correct; I am acting second-in-command of the Joint Expeditionary Force Cadet Tasha Argentine. I am happy to answer any questions you may have, or simply talk. I appreciate this opportunity to meet you." At least she's starting to smell a little friendlier.

"Do you play Pinochle or Bridge?" one of the seated wolves asks.

The woman turns her head, ears flicking uncertainly. "I've … been on a bridge, both land and spacecraft wise? I've never heard of Pinochle. I do know how to play Airships and dice poker."

"Never heard of those," the speaker notes, and a bought of whispering breaks out among the table. Finally, another one asks, "Are those gambling games?"

"They can be, aye," says Tasha. She shifts her gaze, trying to get a better look at the men's cards. "I'm willing to learn?"

"I think we'd rather learn your games first," the Karnor notes, smiling this time. It's only for a moment, before something blocks Tasha's vision: a plate of small frosted cakes. "You like cupcakes?" asks an earnest wolf wearing a leather apron that was likely borrowed from the metal-works factory below.

The young woman looks about to responsd, but she leans back and blinks when her magnified vision is suddenly taken up entirely by a horizon of frosting. She blinks, then leans forward to sniff at the pastry. "I've never had one," she admits, "But I think I would." Her tail even wags a little.

"You've got stuff in your tail," another Karnor comments, broom across his shoulder as he squats down to examine Tasha's rear. "And… the hair is long, like on your head… "

"I do?" Tasha turns her torso, peering back at her rear. She isn't sure if the long hair is confusion about her heritage or not; maybe they think her tail hair looks longer than theirs? Or did she forget to brush her tail out?

"Are those real?" another Karnor asks, pointing at Tasha's wings… but staring at her chest.

Tasha nabs her tail, looks at it, and seeing all that's in it is a few shinies she tied there, let's it drop. "S'just shinies, they're there because I like them." When she turns around and follows the second questioner's eyes, then his hand, she laughs and nods. "Both my wings and my breasts are real, aye. I'm half-Vartan."

"My tail is real as well," the woman adds.

"Have you got feathers?" the cupcake Karnor asks, also looking at Tasha's body as if just now realizing she might be different, but there's no way to tell through her clothes. "Hooves?"

"I've got feathers on my wings, aye," she answers, lifting her right wing and stretching it as she gestures at it a moment. Then, she clicks her hoof against the deck, producing a distinctly solid-on-solid clop. "Hooves too," she confirms.

There's a bit of silence as the various wolves look Tasha over, all of them with a questioning look… but a glare from the sergeant keeps them from asking anything more personal. Then a cupcake is offered to Tasha. "It's cake," the cupcake Karnor explains. "I'm Cookie."

Tasha snatches up the cupcake and sniffs it again, then gives it a good, rather birdly eyeballing before biting it in half and chewing on it thoughtfully. "Thish is gud," she agrees after the second bite, nodding appreciatively. She then extends her free hand for a shake. "'M'Tasha."

As Cookie shakes her hand, the broom-wielder offers his next. "Dylan… but everyone calls me Jughead."

The cupcake is demolished in short order, and Tasha claps her hands together to clean them before shaking Dylan's hand as well. "Jughead, huh? Why's that? I sometimes go by Tasha Stormbreaker, or Black Rook. Oh, and Aldara Tasha, but that's in Olympia."

"Oh, no particular reason," Jughead claims, until Bear says, "He got it because booze goes straight to his head, but he doesn't get drunk; just passes out after a few."

"Oi, that's awful," says Tasha, in a distinctly heartfelt tone. She pats Jughead's shoulder, then looks to Bear and asks, "Do you drink around here then? Maybe we should sit?"

Tasha is sort of herded towards an overstuffed couch made of at least four different kinds of leather and a lot of stitches. "We make our own, from potatoes," Cookie explains, handing the plate of cakes to the card players. "And some flavorings. But mostly potatoes."

"I've never had potato beer," Tasha explains after plopping down on the center of the couch. Given her winged nature, she has to spread them to rest across the back. "But, if it's fine with you Sergeant, I could bring some of my own here and we can compare. Six-thousand year old age-of-the-Expedition Vartan beer." She lifts her brows, grinning in a 'how about it' sort of way.

"She's got beer!" half of the men call out, and soon several more come in, mostly clad in undershorts or towels a still a bit damp. "Beer?" the one who Tasha growled at in the hallway asks.

"The oldest beer in the star system, as far as I know. I got it on Sheol," Tasha explains, smiling and smelling more and more relaxed by the second. Talking about drinking with men is as old a hobby as any she has, after all.

"Beer from Hell!" Jughead says with a laugh, and Cookie asks, "How much did you bring?"

"A barrel. If you give me something to carry it in, I can bring some. I was saving it to share with the Vartans en route, but then I thought: half of me's Karnor, so half the beer ought to be Karnor too!" The woman laughs again, then stands. "Go get me something big to stick some in; don't worry, I can carry it." She then glances at Bear. "If it's okay, Sergeant?"

"I've got no problem with men drinking off duty," Bear says, then glares at the new arrivals, and finishes, "so long as they are wearing pants."

"They don't usually wear … towels?" Tasha asks, eying the new arrivals interestedly. Too bad I can't record what I see yet, Mariel would enjoy this!

It doesn't take long for Cookie's assistants to bring over an empty keg. It was probably used for something else originally, but when the bung is popped Tasha can smell the ghosts of spirits past.

"She's a woman, with breasts and feathers and everything," Jughead reminds the damp ones, who suddenly realize what the issue is and hurry back out – presumably to dry off and put on pants.

"If Dr. Kitty ever comes down here… well, she's not military, so wouldn't know how to fill out a complaint form anyway," Bear says.

Tasha picks the jug up and balances it on her right shoulder, using combination of wing and right hand to keep it steady. "Aye, breasts and feathers," she agrees, grinning widely. "I'll just see to this now. Sergeant, need to accompany me?" Then, she blinks at his words. "What are we complaining about?"

"Human women are more sensitive is all," Bear just mutters, and gets up. "I'll escort you back."

"Did you know the humans made Karnors?" Tasha mentions conversationally to Bear as they head back. It's a good twenty minutes before the pair return, but sure enough Tasha has what must be a full keg on her shoulder, and it smells as alien as it does strong. "Beer's here!" She announces.

The lounge is a bit fuller now, and while everyone is wearing pants, quite a few are shirtless. They let up a cheer when Tasha returns. Cookie and his crew have already set up a bunch of mugs on a kitchen counter, along with a few kegs of their own home-brew stuff. He waves Tasha over.

Delivering beer is another old habit for Tasha, being her moving home used to do so now and then and she and the others got to carry it. She walks over, then places the keg down, which vibrates the table with the weight of impact. "Aye, there you go. Beer from the Expedition Age, made for Vartans, taken from Hell itself!" She then takes a seat, snatching up a mug. "Sergeant, you're the leader here and I'm a guest. This," she taps the keg and fills the mug, offering it to the man, "Is for you."

Bear takes the mug and actually smiles to Tasha, raising the glass in salute. He takes a sip, licks his lips thoughtfully, and declares, "It didn't make me blind. It's the good stuff!" This the signal for everyone else to crowd around.

"Now you can claim to all be antiques and archaeologists in one; this stuff's older than New Zion!" Tasha commences filling mugs, including her own, which proves to be a very busy endeavor indeed! It's the most positive attention she's ever gotten from so many Karnors, and welcome, considering how she was about to write this PR expedition off as a flop.

At least she knows how to serve drinks, thank to her mother. There's a lot of laughing among the men, and some flexing and posing by the shirtless ones as they try to get the woman's attention. Then comes the food – meat sandwiches with both unfamiliar bread (probably made from potatoes) and meat, which while tender is still a bit… purple. It goes well with beer at least, and Cookie even offers her some clear potato vodka.

Not one to turn down alcohol of any kind, Tasha tries the vodka and decides it's rather tasteless – but she can feel the kick. It's not as strong as Vartan beer either, but in a pinch, she decides she'd be drinking it too! When the men show off for her, she laughs and decides to play along, reaching over and picks Cookie up with one hand and sticks him on her shoulder, like she did the beer keg!

"I'm being abducted!" Cookie wails convincingly! "Please… be gentle, it's my first time… " he says to Tasha with one hand up against his forehead and an expression right off of a swooning maiden on the cover of a cheap romance novel.

"Hokay, you're going back down now," Tasha says with a laugh, putting the man right back where she got him. She then leans back, settling her beer on her tummy and looking between the men with an easy sort of smile. She smells completely relaxed now, and like Vartan beer. "So, I should probably do more than get you all drunk." She pauses, then perks her ears, "Unless you'd rather focus on the drinking?"

"How much can you bench?" one of the bigger wolves asks. "Do you dance?" asks another. A third just howls. Jughead carefully nurses his beer.

To the strength question, Tasha answers, "We can find out!" She knows what bench means, but hasn't the experience to back the memory. It's all Nora's language; pictures and words. To the dance question, she shakes her head. "Oi, no. I've tried, but no one I know knows how to dance either!" That makes her laugh again; Vartans dancing! It also makes her thirsty, so she quaffs more from her mug.

"Do you sing?" Jughead manages to ask. "We're kinda starved for entertainment out here."

"I'm not an entertainer!" The woman chuckles, then reaches over and fluff's Jughead's hair. "I can lift, drink, play a few games, carry things, fight, pilot a Titan and pilot a space ship. I'm Vartan; we're not a singing people. I do howl, though."

"Not even drinking songs?" Jughead asks.

"Oh. Those I know," the woman corrects. "You may not want Dr. Kitty here for them," she adds.

Everyone hushes and looks to the entry at the mention of Dr. Kitty, but when the human doesn't materialize they go back to enjoying themselves.

A smartly groomed Karnor leans across the counter and asks, "So… are you single?" This also gets the attention of the pack.

Tasha peers at the well-dressed Karnor, not having noticed him but assuming he must be of higher rank. "You're no' goin' to like it, but no. Warms me heart you asked, though!" She salutes the man with her mug, then sips again.

A few of the shirtless men deflate a little, but then Cookie brings out some more snacks. The little keg doesn't last long, though, and back to the rotgut or mateh. The ones who came in at the last minute say their farewells and welcome Tasha to the base, but then head out to bunk down so they don't miss their shifts. The ones that aren't pressed for time – the originals she first met – stick around. "So, show us some of your games?" one asks.

"Absolutely." Tasha peers around, then asks, "Got any dice?"

The Karnors do have several six-sided cubes, which they hand over. Jughead dozes on the couch, while the 'alpha' of the card table, Ace, gets out a pad to record down the rules of whatever Tasha is about to teach them.

Tasha examines the dice, but finds them unsuitable for Airships, which has its own unique dice set. She explains as such, then goes over the rules so the men will at least have the record for later, should anyone get the needed dice. Then it's on to dice poker, which, while less popular, is also less complicated and requires simpler dice. "Dice poker, you roll five dice and those are your 'hand.' Each round you can keep or reroll parts of your hand, and you get three rounds. After three rounds, whoever has the best hand winds! Easy!" She then explains the hands themselves, which seem to run from a 'highest card' to five of a kind.

This seems somewhat familiar, at least, since the men know how to play poker with cards. "What do you play in space?" Ace asks. "Wouldn't the dice just float away from the table?"

"Well, I've only been in space twice. You'd have to as Gabri- … The Captain about those games, or I can ask N- … The AI system if it knows anything. I'm actually from Sinai, where I was an airship drover until my party found the Fenris." Tasha smiles, rolling the dice around in her hand and peering at the unusual marking. "And besides, we've got anti-gravity!"

"So what's it like on Sinai?" the Karnor next to Tasha asks, whom she remembers as Mugsy, and has a someone squashed looking nose. "Is it really all blue sky, and water right out on the surface, and everything?"

"It sure is," Tasha answers, smiling. "Blue sky, Procession – that's the, um … planetoid fragments, the asteroid belt – water, trees, mountains. All varied and lovely, it's really very pretty. Oh, and sky islands!" She holds up a hand, like an island, and has it 'hover' across an invisible horizon. "But not much metal, and the SPF is much stronger, so our technology is barely in to steam power."

"But you can walk outside and not worry about the wind, or burning or freezing or monsters?" Cookie asks next, as he brings a round of coffee drinks.

"Mostly. We've got bitter winds in the north and south, and up high. There's areas of land that are so SPF high that reality distorts and anything can seem to happen; we call them 'Forbidden Zones.' They're not that common, though. We airship folk stay away from them if we know what's good for us." After taking another sip, she tilts her head. "Now, monsters … We have monsters. Not so common as your ravines, but I've heard on the surface the dead can come back and attack the living. There's also magic, which is evi- … " She takes a deep, steadying breath, then exhales and corrects, " … Dangerous can make nasty things. I've heard there's big animals around too, but never saw any. Mostly I saw ports, until my life changed when I decided to go to Amazonia."

"What's special about Amazonia that changed your life?" Ace asks.

Tasha rolls her dice, not seeing what she gets as she looks up. It was a lot like that back then, too. "It's where I learned I was a terrible person, and where I lead the expedition on behalf of a temple and found the Fenris – the TSS Fenris, to be exact. Terran Space Ship. It was a ship from the Expedition homeworld, and it still functioned."

"You were a terrible person?" Ace asks. "A space ship… and it was intact?" Mugsy asks. "Was it a land o' Karnors?" Cookie queries.

"I was. I used, well, my strength and … other things to seduce and manipulate people, even bully them, because I was uncomfortable being a half-Vartan and thought what I bullied or manipulated out of people equated to respect and quality. In Amazonia, nothing I had mattered, so all I had to look on was myself past those things. And I didn't like what I saw in myself. So, I tried to change. I'm still trying." She looks a little sad as she says the words, peering in to her drink and the reflection of herself. The clothes are different, but it's the same face she's always had. "And aye, the Fenris was mostly intact. I made contact with an AI system that embedded skills and and requested a mission of me, which I followed, and which became our organization." She looks up, head shaking. "Oh no, it was a land of Lapi – bunny-people, as you are wolf-people."

"Bunny people?" Cookie asks, looking confused. "Seriously? Bunnies? We have those as pets! And… uh, snacks."

"Well, you seem nice now," Ace notes, and checks the dice. "You haven't been flirting or bossy or anything with us."

"Aye, bunny people. Calligenia was a Lapi I followed to Amazonia, and started my whole adventure, in fact. Our theory is that they were 'uplifted' via the Genetic Trade Library resources on the Ark, when its crew and other crashed and human personnel resources were deemed insufficient to populate the planet." Tasha expands her hands, making an encompassing gesture. "So, they were probably made like we Karnors were, just faster."

At that, Tasha smiles wide and bobs her head head to Ace. "Thank you, that means a lot to me. Sergeant Bear might disagree, though."

The sergeant isn't there to refute or confirm though. He left to hit the showers before the game started.

The dice roll wasn't very good, but like any bad hand hand, it's still full of potential. You make the best of the hand you're dealt; maybe that's what she meant when she didn't look at the dice.

"Wow, like in the cartoons," Cookie says. Mugsy asks, "What's AI? You've mentioned it but I don't recognize the term."

"Well on Sinai, there's people of lots of different sorts you don't have here. It seems like they were all taken from species of the Terran's – that's what you used to be called before 'The Expedition', humans and Karnor – homeworld. Horse-people, bird-people, dog-people, on and on. Even a lot of the species here." Tasha rubs her left ear as she considers the concept of AI, then offers, "Artificial Intelligence is the term, but it's a bit complex. See, Karnor are AI, because humans made them ages ago. But when I think of AI, I mean something more recent, and I usually mean computerized AI. That is, a computer with sentience or very close to it. A thinking machine."

"Dr. Kitty has a computer," Jughead burbles from the couch. "It doesn't talk or nuthin' though. How d'ya know if a 'chine is thinkin'?"

"That depends on the machine," Tasha replies, glancing over. "Usually I just take its word on it, because to be honest, I have no idea how they work besides some very simplified basics. I think the test is if they can think for themselves, are interested in preserving themselves, and can create goals. Two examples are a service AI and my Melchior. The service AI can think of how best to help you, rather than just reading a set of responses. It can create its own answers. My Melchior is a combat AI, designed to advise, learn from, and assist me piloting the Melchior. He's very … professional."

"I'd think any decent intelligence would know how to lie, too," Mugsy notes.

"I think they're prevented from lying to their creators. Although, I have my doubts," says the red woman, looking suddenly thoughtful as she peers in to her cup. Has the Melchior lied to her? It said it did nothing to her minds … Maybe the AI doctors …

"How'd you find the Fenris?" Ace asks, as he records everyone's 'hand' at the end of the round. "Was it just lying out? I mean, for thousands of years?"

"It crashed in to a mountain, and was subsequently buried by a lava flow. The Chief Engineer, Fred Kohler, died attempting to free the ship when the lava came. Lt. Commander Nora Argentine was also killed shortly after trying to retrieve him." Tasha's scent becomes noticeably sad, her ears wilting, and she even smells a little scared. But, it's not so much as she used to feel. Maybe she has made some peace with that memory, now that she has made peace with Nora. "It was discovered by native miners, which caused the still active AI  to attack them in an effort to gain biological resources. That's why I was sent there, to stop it. Of course, I didn't know what it was at the time."

"Hey, aren't you named Argentine?" Ace asks, leaning forward. "I'm sure that's who Sarge introduced you as… "

Tasha's scent shifts at the question; it smells proud. "Yes!" Her tail wags, too. "I met Nora Argentine's memories embedded within the computer system; it's her memories that were written to my brain, and allowed me to carry out the mission she asked of me. Nora is, well, my hero and role-model, so in Vartan tradition I changed my name to match her's. It's my way of showing I'm trying to continue what she believed in, as well."

"We also look alike," the red woman adds, smiling.

The men stare in amazement. "Really?" Ace asks. "That's… pretty coincidental, isn't it? Who sent you to… ah… do whatever it was you were supposed to do?"

"It is. Sometimes I wonder at all the coincidences; it's as if when I chose to follow Calligenia my life was … fated. I'm not sure. But, I agree; it's eerie." The woman then tilts her head, ears perking. "Do you mean who sent me to stop the 'monster'? Or who sent me from the Fenris to Sheol? Or even who sent me from Sheol to be here?"

"Uh, the first one," Ace says. Mugsy slurps his coffee, and adds, "Who's Calligenia, and why'd you follow… her?"

"Oh, High Priestess Nitsa. It turned out, I looked a lot like one of their minor deities. You see, Amazonia doesn't get many outside species, and I only got in because I was with Calligenia, and people were willing to lie for me. And Calli, well … " Tasha chuckles, albeit a bit nervously, head shaking, "I … I thought she looked good."

"Oh and um, the High Priestess sent me to act as a herald of that deity and carry out her portfolio. Like I said, it's eerie," Tasha adds, blinking.

"So… you were on a mission from the god of bunnies?" Ace asks, looking a bit confused.

Tasha runs her hand back through her hair, looking a bit perplexed herself. "Well, not exactly. The Amazonian priestesses – at least the top ones – understand their deities are taken from an older civilization, called Olympia. That's a Khattan region, so, Khattan gods. High Priestess Nitsa is the high priestess of, well, God Abaddon, lord of conflict." The woman suddenly pauses, head tilting as all that coincidence settles in. She supplicated herself to an ultimately Khattan god, was lead to the ship, then planet Abaddon, to Sheol, found the Khattan made and cult directed Melchior made for Vartans, and has become its pilot and holder of its ancient mission – with its prophecy written in her brain. And now, she's back on Abaddon. "Gods," she murmurs, "It is all rather coincidental, isn't it?"

"If it was a fable, that Calligenia would be some sort of supernatural thingy," Cookie opines. "Like the white rabbit that Alice followed."

"I don't think there were spaceships in that story," Jughead mutters from the couch.

"She's gold, which is shinier," Tasha mumbles, still trying to come to grips with her peculiar life. After shaking her head a bit, she says, "Um, anyway, and I was the 'Herald of Abaddon,' which was what the Goddess I resembled was also known as. Well, one of the Heralds. Tisiphone, Goddess of Avenging Murder. I avenged the murder of the crew, completing that task. So, now I'm a retired Herald. I think." She glances at Jughead, and nods. "Well, this spaceship was a whole other story. It was the first time I saw Expedition Era technology."

"So none of it survives on Sinai?" Mugsy asks. "But you've got airships… "

"None of it survives. It wouldn't work. Why the Fenris still did, in part, is still a mystery. We think it had something to do with its encasement as well as it's optical computer, but we really don't know," Tasha admits. Then, she nods. "Airships, I don't know when they came about. They might have started with downgraded Ark berthed vessels, but maybe the people just invented them all over again. Either way, they're nothing like what's here. Very simple, moved by animal, wind, or steam power. Oh, and I suppose magic."

"Heard about magic," Ace says. "With wizards and stuff coming from Sinai to study it or something. What can you do with it?"

"Very little if it's up to me," Tasha mutters before she can quite stop herself. She looks s little aghast, grabbing her muzzle. With a huff and a sigh, she runs a hand back over head head and admits, "No, that's … That's not fair of me. It's just I'm, well … I'm not comfortable with magic. I guess I'm afraid other Vartans will learn I had to use mages, and even then … I still didn't like it. I was desperate."

"What other Vartans… you mean here on Abaddon?" Ace asks. "What's wrong with magic that Vartans don't like it?"

"You mean … Vartans on Abaddon don't mind magic??" Tasha looks between the men, focusing on Ace in particular. "It's just … wrong, somehow! I don't know! I've never met any Vartans who like magic."

"We've never had magic until now," Mugsy notes. "How could they be against something that didn't exist? Is it a religious thing?"

"I … " And then Tasha realizes the truth; she really doesn't know why. How did a whole people, as far as she can tell, come to loathe magic? Why just her people? Have their never been any Vartan mages? Why not others species? This makes her ears fall and head lower, the woman biting her lip pensively. She ought to have an answer, but … "I don't know."

"I guess some wizard did something nasty to a Vartan colony in the past, and it just… got passed down," Ace suggests. "My dad had a fear of balls."

"I guess so … " Tasha agrees. "I guess I'll … I'll look in to why, when I get a chance. I plan to return to Sinai soon, if I can." She seems to be thinking when she suddenly blinks and looks up. "Balls?? Oi, like, regular balls and not … ?"

"Of course regular… you know, like… balls," Ace says, holding his hands a few inches apart. "Cricket balls!"

"Balls … from bugs?" Tasha ventures, looking even more confused.

"It's a sport," Mugsy explains. "You have a bowler, and pitch… the pitch is the field, the pitcher is the bowler… uh… there's a wicket, and… bats… " He winds down, and concludes, "It's a boring sport that's overly complicated. I like rugby. You get to run and fight!"

"It sounds complicated. I like the sound of running and fighting though. Can you fly, too?" Tasha inquires, leaning forward.

"We don't have wings," Mugsy points out, "so nothing in the rules about flying, but… it'd be cheating, I'm sure."

Tasha laughs at the mention of cheating. It seems Terran games, too, don't have wings in mind. "That sounds like Slitherball, something the Imperials play on Sinai. I'd play that, even if I couldn't fly. Do you play that here?"

"On the top deck, sometimes," Mugsy says.

"Is the top deck safe? Exposed to sky? Its been a while since I had a chance to spread my wings and fly around. I worry they might fall off!" The woman winks.

"It's… usually safe," Ace says. "The bugs don't fly that high mostly, unless they're swarming."

"Should I have the Melchior stand by? Bring my Gauss rifle? Tell me about the bugs," Tasha inquires, ears forward as she leans forward curiously.

"They're bugs," Mugsy notes. After a moment he adds, "You had some squashed on your ship when you arrived."

"I saw they're purple. Is that what we're eating? Are they the ones that put the holes in those tanks?" Tasha asks.

"No, they're just bugs!" Cookie laughs. "The stuff on the canyon floor is hard on the tanks. But okay eatin' if you boil the poison out long enough."

"Oh." Tasha chuckles a moment at her own naivete, then grins. "I've heard some Eeee eat bugs in Babel. You have Eeee here, right? Bat-like people?" She curves her hands, putting them to her ears to make them seem longer.

"Oh yeah, we call them Eeee too," Ace notes. "Confederates. All the flying types are together. They've got bugs for machines."

"Really? I heard about that, that the Confederates kept apart from the rest of the Expedition Fleet because their technology is incompatible. I'd really like to see it some time. Plus, it'd be nice to meet more people who can fly." The woman glances at her mug, then drains it in one big gulp, looking back.

"Refill?" Cookie asks, holding up a pot of coffee.

"Of course! I've barely started," Tasha says with a grin. Then she gets a better look at the pot, and her ears wilt. "Oh, no more alcohol?"

"Oh, you want some in the coffee?" Cookie asks, producing a shiny metal flask from a pocket. "Strawberry brandy?"

"Uh, sure!" She isn't sure what the man's offering, but Tasha's policy is never to turn down a stiff drink. "You know, I was nervous coming here. I thought things were going badly with the Sergeant and was expecting this to be a disaster, but … But it worked out, didn't it?"

"Well, you seem relaxed, and you brought beer," Mugsy says with a grin, while Cookie sweetens up Tasha's coffee. "Of course, we'll all be fantasizing about you in our bunks," Ace notes. "You're the first real woman we've seen in months."

"I can live with that." Tasha clinks her mug to Cookie's flask before he lowers it, smiling contentedly as she leans back. "You're the first large group of Karnors I've ever sat and talked with."

"I thought there were lots of Karnors on Sinai though?" Mugsy asks. Ace just blinks and points out, "You're half Karnor… what about your family?"

"There … are." Before getting in to this matter, Tasha takes a big sip of her coffee. She doesn't even realize she missed the taste in her scrambling to check her emotions and scent. The alcohol is enough, at least. "You see, I never knew my father. My mum says she's some noble, but I've given up believing that. Needing to believe that. He could have been anyone. I grew up on an airship of Vartans, and well … I never had a lot of good experiences with Karnors until recently. I think I was also worried they'd reject me. Mum was, too. I thought you'd all be the same, given what things were like in New Zion."

The wolves at the table (and Cookie) go silent… and smell upset, even through the cologne. "Your dad… abandoned you… " Ace growls. "That's… unforgivable! You don't turn away from family!"

Tasha's ears wilt, but she tries to smile a little anyway. "I don't know if my father ever knew I existed. People like me – half-Vartans I mean – we're not very common. I've met others, but no Karnor-Vartans. Mum and dad did their thing one day in the ship's hold, and that was the first and last she ever saw him. Even mum was surprised when I came about. The crew was my family. Is, at least the older ones like Captain Eyeshine. And now, what few of us of the JEF are also my family. I think I've … I've gotten over my father."

The mood seems to change among the Karnors; from friendly to… protective. "Well, you're with us now too… even your group gets sent to a better base," Ace declares. The other men all nod in agreement.

"I … I kind of hope we stay here, now," Tasha admits, tilting her head down and … blushing? It's hard to tell, but there is that shaved patch on her neck. She smells like a blush, at least.

"Who knows what the bigwigs will say," Mugsy notes, but sits up a little straighter at the suggestion of the JEF staying at Tartarus.

Tasha grins a little, if self consciously, and lifts her head. "Well, I have some say, unless the Council flat overrules us. I might be second-in-command, but I'm also the … refounder … second founder? Second originator? … Of the JEF. To start again on that mission, that was my idea. I just … well I lost leadership to the Captain, but I'd have handed it over anyway."

"You're too nice to be a leader," Mugsy claims. "Too much shoutin' involved, not enough drinking beer with the guys."

"I was thinking that myself," Tasha agrees, then takes another sip to prove it. "I think I'm really more of a 'Beta.' I tried being an Alpha by being loud, and pushy, but really I was just scared and insecure. Real Alphas, like Captain Gabriel and Lt. Commander Nora, they don't seem to be like that."

"I wouldn't want to be one," Ace notes. The other growl general agreement.

"I'm not sure I do either, anymore. Maybe some day. Maybe if I must be. I did do it to lead us to Sheol, because I genuinely wanted to complete Nora's task and help the Captain and his men, but once that was over so was Alpha Tasha. And you're right, I like this better. If I had missed this, I'd have missed something really special." The woman smiles at all the men, and adds, "I really am glad I met you all."