After the evening entertainment is over, Blammo shows Tasha and Neesa to their room, a surprisingly large cabin as far as airships go, though the furnishings aren't exactly luxurious. The beds consist of two bunks bedded with thick furs of all imaginable colors (some of them dyed, some not), and the walls considerably dented here and there. There are no portholes, but there is actually a wash area, and much of the plumbing mechanisms are similar to those on Abaddon, so it doesn't take much work to figure it all out. Lockers are built into the walls, some missing doors, and some with doors that refuse to open, but there's still ample space regardless to stow away luggage.

"I've definitely travelled in worse," Neesa notes with a grin, as she sets her simple travel bag down.

"Me, too. Compared to where I grew up, this is a luxury ship," Tasha says as she plops herself down on the lower bunk. "Don't get any idea though, the upper bunk is mine." She grins, tail wagging, then asks, "Decided to stay the night after all, or just dropping your stuff off?"

"I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay," Neesa admits. "I still have to deal with some things back at the camp, so I won't be staying here tonight."

"Neesa-Neesa ... " Tasha says disappointedly, head shaking. "I'm tougher than that! I'll be fine! You know I'm a warrior, right? I was fighting Tesla a few days ago."

"Yeah, but you were in a Titan then!" Neesa points out. "And the boys would want me to check anyway, you know how they are," she adds with a wink.

"Oh, I know," Tasha confirms, winking back. She then drops on to her side, rolling on to her back with her hands behind her head. "But really, I'm fine. This will be good for me -- and for you too! Remy may have left us, but he's in the wings and he probably always will be. I doubt this will be the weirdest thing to cross your flight path!"

"I'll check back in the morning," Neesa notes, and gives Tasha a pat before asking Blammo to show her out.

"Watch our for magic, I've been told it will eat your soooooouuulll~" Tasha calls after the departing woman, and she can hear the young woman's laughter shortly after.

Now that she's alone, Tasha could either try to get some sleep, or maybe go find Old Ma again.

Feeling energized by being in a new place, with a new mission and new things to see, the young restlessly shifts on the bed until she decides it'd be more productive to look around. She stands, stretching her back and her wings a moment, then heads for the door.

I wonder if Old Ma will have any more stores? She did tell me to return, but she didn't say when, Tasha wonders, following her nose through the corridors. Well, might as well see her. But ... Rustpuppy?// Her ears flatten and she shakes her head.

It takes a while to find her way through the mishmash of junctions, but at least there's still some lingering trail of her own scent to follow..

Bowels of the Dainty Mauler
This chamber if filled with dimly glowing spheres of strange fluids, lots of hoses and pipes and a generally muggy atmosphere. It smells of oil and ozone, and things gurgle and hiss in the dark. There's also a very old Titanian woman connected to a rather large life support system, which also covers most of her face and lower body. She's certain immobile.

"It's me," Tasha confirms as she steps inside, closing the hatch behind her. "I spoke to the Captain and asked about his Hammer, and I have some quarters now, too."

Tasha walks in to the center of the room, folding her hands behind her back. "Tools are to be used, but also they carry with them the memories of their making, their use, and their history, as well as the intention of their design. In every tool is the legend of all that came before it, to build it, and what was built by it and for it. A tool is living history and culture, pointing towards the future. It isn't a trophy; A tool unused is a tool wasted, as is all the effort made to see it exists, and all the possibilites it could have been used for," she answers solemnly.

Old Ma grins. "To be a tool is not such a lowly existence then, is it?" she asks.

"Not when you look at it like that," Tasha confirms, smiling a little. "Though I can see why others might think so. I get the impression a lot of people view tools as simply means to get what they want, be the tool a hammer, or a person. They forget the meaning behind the tool, and in doing so, also the meaning behind their work. Furthermore, by distancing themselves from the tool, whatever it may be, they devalue it and themselves. This is why the Khattans try so hard to impress: They have forgotten how impressive they might have been, because the devalue all that they have and could be. In doing so, they feel empty and they try to fill that gap with shallow efforts. They do much the same with people."

"I don't know the story so I can't be ready for it, but that's never stopped me before. Well," Tasha tilts her head, then lowers herself to sit cross legged on the ground. "It has once or twice. But mostly, I am ready!"

"In the First Age, the Old Ones strode among the stars like gods," the ancient Titanian begins. "They were the civilizations that survived the turmoil of youth, to become aged and wise. They touched many worlds, and filled space with many wonders."

Tasha listens, ears perked and forward, her head dropped on her hands as her arms rest on her knees.

"And then.. they all vanished," Old Ma says. "As if something had sought out all intelligent thought, and snuffed it out like a candle, be it generated by flesh and blood or crystal or plasma."

"I've heard that part before. Some feared that these worlds, the Primus System, is the source of that destruction. That there is something here that can awaken it again, which was why some were opposed to the Expedition. I've also heard that this event may be connected to the First Ones, and approaching them," the much younger woman notes.

"Left behind where many things, things that would be very dangerous to the unwary," the woman continues. "And things that were, in essence.. junk. Dangerous junk. The worlds that the Old Ones had touched were contaminated with it now, preventing them from giving birth to new life." Old Ma doesn't really reply to Tasha's observation in her narrative. "This was the end of the First Age."

"It sounds like the castoffs of war," Tasha observes, "and of industry. But war and industry I probably can't comprehend."

It's hard for the old woman to show much expression, or even not, since all that is really visible is the lower part of her face. "It was many things. Things that sometimes had a sort of life to them. The Second Age began with the arrival of new gods, from far away. They were few in number, and there power was different from that of the Old Ones. And they were stranded, weakened further by their battles with the dark gods of the First Age. They sought out life, to try and bring about a new age of civilization.. but the task was too great for them to do alone."

"Three of the new gods worked together," Old Ma explains. "Vulcan, who forged the Titanians who would collect the junk of the First Age. Horus, who created the Vartans that would be the hunters to clear away the dangerous creations left behind. And Marduk, who created the Cill who would explore and catalog the ruins of the Old Ones."

"Extrauniversal entities then? Or extragalactic? I've encountered the first kind, though I've been sworn not to tell when, or where. But I can say that it was not from here, and it did not let me look upon it -- and I knew instinctively that was for the best. The Sifrans appear to be able to open interdimensional gateways, so ... " Tasha pauses, eyes widening as she suddenly blurts out "Exiles! Of course. That could be why Eden is ... and why they ... Hrrm." She scrunches her muzzle up, rocking her head on her hands.

"Hrrm," she goes again, then she blinks and looks up at Old Ma. "Oh! Sorry, um ... That all makes sense to me. It's given me ideas. So, they made tools ... The Captain seemed to suggest that those tools were indeed people. I've had the increasing suspicion we were all created for a purpose, and I know from the Khattans that the Vartans and Titanians have some common link, but I didn't know that. That does explain why the technology is compatible and why they fear us getting together. But, I've never heard of the Cill?"

"The Cill are no more," Old Ma says. "Of all the new people, their gifts allowed them to create a vast civilization quickly. They would be what you might call First Ones. But they rushed ahead, thinking themselves better, even equal to the new gods. They explored in places they should not have, tried to learn the secrets of the dark ones.. and perished for it."

"Many of those created by the new gods failed, or went mad and destroyed themselves," Old Ma explains. "Those you see now are the few that survived into the Third Age."

"So there's the Old Ones, the ... New Ones, and the First Ones." Tasha then holds up a hand, realizing a bit late the older woman probably can't see it, so clears her throat instead. "Not that I need the labels -- they are what they are -- it just helps for keeping track. My notes are so convoluted these days, I'm not sure what to believe, so the least I can do is keep it all orderly." She gives a weak smile, which fades as she considers the Cill. "It's really sad, what happened to the Cill -- and the others too. I suppose we'll never meet them, but at least we can remember them."

The young woman sighs, leaning back and wondering how many civilizations came and went before today came to be. Who were they? What did they hope, and dream? She may never know.

"I guess there's nothing we can do about it, though. Um, the Captain said those the ... New Ones ... thought would, um, function best, they gave the Markers?" Tasha then asks.

"The Markers were left at the end of the Second Age, when the gods left their creations to grow on their own," Old Ma says. "Many were left in the graves of the First Ones civilizations, others.. in more literal graves. We believe it was done this way to remind us of the mortality of civilizations."

"A grim lesson, but a lesson for a people and not an individual I think, though still relevant. According to information I was able to obtain, the Human Marker was obtained in such a grave. But, um, even though, well, some of them might be found, and, um, held by people, I've never heard anyone say definitively what their whole purpose is, or what, if anything, they were meant to symbolize save the species themselves and their link to their creators. Well, that, and, it's said that if three are brought together, a person might walk where the gods went," Tasha reviews.

"We like to think they were keys," Old Ma says. "And a test. You have learned much about the Markers, though, haven't you?"

"Much?" Tasha cocks her head to the side, a frown creasing her face, uncertain. "I don't know if I would call it 'much.' I know what I know. But, yes, I know some things. I know that there are a number of them, that not all species were given Markers, that each -- at least the ones I have seen -- are similiar in design, with a male and female of their respective species and a number of sides that seems to indicate something. Each is made of a material we do not recognize, lighter than it appears, and semi-translucent, like clear, rippling water. In proximity to each other, they lose their water-liek quality and appear to be stone. It is said three are needed for the test, and that they must be taken to the 'Seventh Heaven,' which we believe to be the planet we call Arcadia. There, a walking fortress of the gods awaits for whomever choses to bring the Markers. I have also met a being that claimed to be an angel of the gods, who tested me."

"The New Gods, the Progenitors.. they had many differing views," Old Ma says. "Even Horus pulled away from Vulcan, calling him a fool for hewing to his original task - so the legends go. It has been a very, very long time after all. And not all of those helped into sapience were meant to be tools."

"Oh, um, one more thing," Tasha notes, looking up again, "I've seen one ... do things."

"I see. The angel I spoke to said he seemed to be alone, created, perhaps, individually for a task. It doesn't surprise me there would be others with differing reasons for creation." Tasha then nods. "Yes, it was active. Floating, and glowing. I'll tell you a story now, if you like? It's important to understand the explaination."

"Long ago, though not so very long ago by the standards of your story, the Expedition Fleet was formed to explore the Primus System. Behind this front, the Khattans -- perhaps many different Khattan groups -- arranged their own scheme for investigation, hidden in the mission of the fleet. Ser Heraphel, of the Order of Mafdet and a beliver in the Progenitors, called Apollyon Stormbreaker to him and presented him with one of the three Titans, created in the image of the Progenitors: Horus, Neith, and Ahriman. For Apollyon, Horus, named Melchior. Also for him, the Origin Marker of Vartans. The Khatta had lost their Marker -- so Ser Heraphel said -- but they still wished to reach the makers," explains Tasha, who stares at the floor in focus.

"And Apollyon agreed. There was likely other meetings like this, too, for other pilots, such as Ahriman's cultists found aboard the Lucifer. Now, the Expedition came and went; The angel I spoke to claimed responsibility for its destruction, hinting that it found them wanting. Apollyon left his task, founding a clan and living peacefully, his Marker and task left in the hands of whomever may some day come for it. Caspar was lost on Sinai, along with the cult. But Balthasar, the image of Neith, remained in the hands of the Silent-Ones, as they grew. And grew, becoming a shadow of who they were. Becoming powerful with magic. They changed Balthasar, made him a god of magic, greater than any Titan. And then they feared him, and left him alone. Their empire crumbled with time -- they clearly didn't learn that lesson."

"Many, many years later a naive but well meaning woman came from Abaddon and found the Markers, and the Titans, and gathered them to herself feeling that power should be used, and used responsibly for the greater good. That leaving Balthasar -- the Seraph -- alone only left him for others to deal with, and she feared those who would use him for ill. So she took him, and she piloted him, and she brought him here, to Abaddon."

"And all was going well, at least first. But an old ghost -- a memory thyat haunted her dreams -- had other plans. It came to her in that Titan, and it said, join me. Join me and destroy the invaders -- the cats, the bat-birds, the monkeys and their dogs. All of them, and one more: The Progenitors. But she declined, so it tried to force her. She fought, and she lost -- she thought all was lost until Melchior came to save her. Unpiloted, the Titan came to save her, guided by the Marker. Together they ruined the ghost of fury and Balthasar, but they did not know why they were helped, save that the Progenitors were in danger. They still do not know," Tasha concludes.

"The Magi," Old Ma says thoughtfully. "The Khattans risk nothing without sure rewards. What drove them to this scheme, hmm?"

"The ghost of fury -- Abaddon -- said the Progenitors were invaders. Meddlers, I think he called them. He wanted them gone. I can only assume now, the Progenitors' enemy -- whom Abaddon called the Makers -- are either the ghosts of the Old Ones, or those that came after. Either way, I'd never heard of a Marker doing anything, ever, though many guessed at what they were used for, and pleaded with them to act. I can only assume it acted out of a sense of danger." Tasha pauses to catch her breath, thinking, then she nods and answers, "The Magi are named after Terran beliefs, because the Terrans were not involved. Ser Heraphel said their Marker is lost to a sun, so, between that and what else I know, I would say that the Khattans are using us as an experiment to see what happens. They fear annhilation from a rejected contact, as has been suggested, so they're using us. Or, I suppose, me at this point. By watching me, they learn, and maybe, they are waiting; Waiting to swoop in when the Gates open and

have their fill of Things. Like the Cill. There is a Khattan frigate hovering above tis world, waiting to see if "the Expedition succeeds." We do not know what that means, but in light of the rest, we believe it is to see if contact is made. An early warning system."

"Go further back," Old Ma requests. "What was the impetus? What guided them? Was it this angel you mention, or something else?"

"Ser Heraphel is clever and evasive. He's surely more than a match for me on either of those counts, so I'm uncertain I can deduce his reasoning or real motives. He did not speak of reasons, save that he wanted ask if Neith was proud of them. Prior to that point, the various cults of the Progenitors had been fighting for the Marker, so there may be a great many reasons for seeking the Progenitors, far more than his. In fact, he's uncertain -- or so he says -- as to why the frigate is here," Tasha answers.

"Who is this Ser Heraphel?" Old Ma asks. "I did not know there were Khattans on Abaddon."

"Another ghost, this one of the machine: A PersoCom -- you're familiar with that technology? -- copy of his mind. The original is likely long dead," 'Rusty' replies.

"One more thing: The angel, Lord Yama, appears to be a destructive force. A plant-like entity that manipulated Henry Canaan, and before that, the Celestial Empire," the hybrid notes.

"He said he had never met another of his kind, so he may or may not be a Seed," Tasha explains. "His avatar is quite different from his physical form, too: a dragon, regal and majestic and ... terrifying. But I've spoken my story; If you have more questions I'll answer them, otherwise, please, continue yours Ma?"

"There have been many such creatures, either left from the fall of First Ones or Old Ones," Old Ma says. "When Horus abandoned the task he was given, Vulcan urged us to take it on as well. We still battle when we uncover these things. Angels, devils, lost gods. This world seems to produce them, like the great one recently felled."

"You mean Abaddon? Or Tesla?" Tasha asks, head tilting. "And I've remembered something: aside from wanting to know, there is another reason to seek the Progenitors, as related to me. My Titan, too, believes this is an accurate purpose: We believe Adam -- Atum, Adam Kadamon -- may be suffering. We don't know how, or why, but there are hints that he is. And that helping him, that is a purpose I have been given. The Khattas, though ... I don't know if that's what they desire. It would be easy to assume they simply want their technology and legacy, but I'm uncertain."

"They have always coveted the treasures of past ages," Old Ma says. "And so we must... interrupt... the trade in such things. It requires the occasional random search, of course. Some see this as piracy."

"When I look at it that way, piracy seems a gread deal more acceptable. I know that you also do it for fun, and for things, but it's good to know you're watching out for everyone, too," Tasha says with a smile. "I'd be okay with that sort of pirate."

"Sometime, I shall have to regale you with the epic poem of the defeat of the Corn God," Old Ma says. "I was there for the battle. It was quite memorable. Or the battle of Sularan, when the forces of the Celestial Empire clashed with the Silent-Ones. Quite the upset. And there was much good junk to salvage in the aftermath."

Tasha's tail wags. "It sounds very exciting," she admits, smiling a little wider. "I've thought, now and then, if I had met different people -- used the power I had found differently -- I might have ended up as you all are, a pirate tracking down relics and hunting mysteries."

"You are young yet," Old Ma says. "Try not to worry about the future too much. There will always be many paths that can lead to the same destination, and many stops along the way. Have you ever fished before?"

"Only in air and water. On The Rake, we kept fishing lines and bows for hunting when we were away from the cities and wanted something better than stale bread and over-salted meats," the young woman notes.

"You hunted the great gas creatures of the air that populate Sana.. Sinai?" Old Ma asks.

"I like 'Sana,'" Tasha notes, smiling again. "But yes, the washu. Though not often, as they can be dangerous to the pteras we used for movement and they're not very tasty."

Tasha blinks at this, then barks a laugh. "No," she corrects, her smile turning in to a lopsided grin. "Pteras, they're um, they're flying lizards. Big, thick as a tree trunk and with wings that can cover a cart. I used to drove them, that's what I did before I found the old technology -- I sat at the front of our airship and told them where to go."

"We had a few sails, but those were backups in case something happened to the pteras. The control surfaces were there too, which we used along with my droving to make sure the airship transitioned smoothly across its ranges of movement. Otherwise it was just a big wooden boat with a gas bag and a whole lot of Vartans keeping it from falling out of the sky," Tasha explains, no small amount of pride in her voice. "It used to be Gallisan, but we made it ours. It wasn't the fastest, biggest, or toughest, but it was ours!"

"Do you know how to use sails?" Old Ma asks. "What other functions did you perform on your ship?"

"Oh, of course I do! I'm not as good as some of the others with themm but I can definitely use them. I know enough about an airship to see it gets where it's going, especially now that I have training in mechanical engineering! If I hadn't used all my money to help the old Karnors and go to Abaddon, I'd have my own ship." The young woman spreads her hands, tilting her head. "What did I do? Everything except be the captain, first mate and I wasn't allowed to handle finances nor the books -- no paperwork. I grew up in that ship, I was the cook, I tied the ropes, I cleaned everything, I folded and knit the sails, I took care of the pteras, I helped install gears and cogs, I carried cargo and stacked it, I kept house, I hunted, I fished, I ran errands ... Just about everything really."

"You will be useful then, once we breach the Star Sea," Old Ma says approvingly. "You do not depend on any solid-state technology to live, do you?"

Tasha hands fall, then she reaches back to scratch at her right ear. "Um, about the cooking part -- the crew more or less insisted I be replaced. Because I hated cooking, and, um, well ... Well I made it all very bad. Intentionally, at first, but then I forgot how and stopped wanting to learn about it and ... It was terrible really." She pauses, then shakes her head, though hesitantly. "I don't think so? I have a Khattan BCI though, one of their neural interfaces. I use it to pilot Melchior."

"Then you will not need it here," Old Ma says. "Any other devices you carry will need to be shut down beforehand. They will not function in the Star Sea."

"It sounds a bit like a Forbidden Zone," Tasha notes. "I'll have to turn off my datapad, but I didn't bring anything else except -- not even any weapons."

"I am not familiar with Forbidden Zones," Old Ma says. "The Star Sea may be considered forbidding though, I suppose."

"All seas are. As my old Captain said, "Tash, one thing you remember about sea: Always respect it. It not your friend, it not care if you live or die. So you care. You show it respect and you take care of yourself and it do the same for you," Tasha explains. She thentilts her head and holds her hands out again, making wavey motions. "Forbidden Zones are Expedition-marked areas where reality warps significantly, due to Sifran technology. They're extremely dangerous to any ship, and to any technolgy more complex than a knife. They appear to be dimensional or universal gateways, as things sometimes come through. You can see one here on Abaddon, to the north near where the frigate used to be -- but it won't show up until you fly in to it. I thought, maybe, your FTL drives used similiar dimension-breaching technology, to enter the Star Sea."

"Ah, I see now," Old Ma says. "We use something.. similar. Very old, First Age. We make it work."

"I can't wait to see it work," Tasha says, leaning forward and wagging her tail. "I've never experienced a FTL drive before, let alone a First Age one. I want to see it, but I probably wouldn't understand it. Still, seeing such an old tool would be worth it just to be near it!"

"Well, not faster than light, not really," Old Ma says. "Like Terran drive, it is, but not based on stars."

"It uses what appears to be a seperate dimension to cicumnavigate 'real' space, and by doing so it gets around the light speed limit," Tasha ventures, ears perking in anticipation of an answer.

"Oh and when I say FTL drive, I mean, anything that allows apparent FTL travel, however it works," Tasha then corrects quickly.

"Yes, something like that," Old Ma notes. "We will leave for it tomorrow evening. I imagine you wish to watch from the observation deck instead of the command and propulsion room?"

"I want to watch from all of them, but I'll watch from whereever you think has the most to learn from," Tasha replies.

"Briefly. I was probably difficult and rude," Tasha admits, ears flattening. "I am very sorry about that. I didn't appreciate what was happening or what I saw seeing, or, really, who I was with."

"A strange apology," Old Ma says. "When the time comes for launch, ask the Captain to post you in the observation dome."

"Here's a better one then: I am very very sorry Ma," the young woman offers, dipping her head even though she's certain Old Ma can't see it. "I was still 'old me,' overwhelmed and undereducated." She dips her head lower, then raises it and nods. "I will."

"By the way ... What's it like to be avionics?" Tasha then asks, ears going up again.

"Warm," Old Ma says. "Comforting. It is my memories of the Star Sea that guide us there."

"You must be able to see through the entire ship, even control it? It seems to me, like it'd be similiar to how I control my Titan -- though perhaps more seperated as the ship isn't directed by a single being," the younger woman observes.

"Are memories needed to reach the Star Sea? That is, is mechanical or electrnic memory not good enough? As a seperate universe, I don't know what laws it might use," 'Rusty' inquires.

"No, nothing like that," Old Ma says with a chuckle. "I see very little now, my eyes have faded long ago. I am a small part of this ship, needed to enter and leave the Star Sea. A living mind is required, you see. No machine memory will work there. It is why only the Titanians have access to it."

"Oh, I see. Well, I'm glad you're happy where you are, at least." Tasha considers walking over and hugging the woman, but she isn't sure she'd appreciate it, so holds off. "So, it's a matter of using mechanical technology only, and memory. The laws there must be somewhat different then. I bet that really annoys the Khattas!"

"They do not know our secrets, and that does indeed frustrate and frighten the Khattas," Old Ma agrees. "They fear what they cannot control or influence. Did you hear that one house even tried to take over the Silent-Ones Star Empire recently, by attempting to place a false messiah as the new Archon?"

"Yes, I've spoken with Priest-Queen Jade-Eyes about it at length. She was the one who released Balthasar to our custody and allowed us to take the Marker. She feared Balthasar, seeing him as another sort of false Star, and I am glad to have lifted that burden from shoulders," the younger woman answers.

"That man also wanted Balthasar for the Khattans, as well as the Marker. If he was successful, it would have been a disaster on many levels," the younger woman then notes.

"The Khattas are not unified," Old Ma notes. "The grand houses compete with one another, and even try to undermine their opponents. Do you trust the ghost of Ser Heraphel that you have met?"

"Not a bit!" Tasha says without hesitation. "He acts like a kind grandfather, but my instinct tells me he's much more than that. I could be wrong, of course, but right now I think it's safest to assume he's up to something. After all, why else would he go to such lengths to encode himself in to a Titan that was being used as a test -- a test the Khattans wanted to distance themselves from? I do feel he has a lot to teach -- politics, history, and more -- but I recognize that he's much older and far more cunning than I am, so I try to be careful around him. I do believe he's hoping I'll find some way to resurrect him, though I fear that, maybe, he's waiting to steal my body." Tasha bites her lip at the admission, then tilts her head, looking down at her takoned hand. "I knew there were houses, but I know little about them. I know, though, they'll destroy their own to protect their technologies and asets -- that alone makes me distrust them all of them reflexively."

"I ... " Tasha's ears flick, then flatten. She stares at her hand for several seconds, struggling, and then she sighs and shakes her head. "I used to. I wanted to. For a while, Melchior was the only place on this -- or any other -- world that was mine. My space, my world. A power that I could use, something that made me useful. A safe place. But meeting Ser Herafel made me begin to doubt that -- not much, but a little -- then Gabriel said something and now I've been doubting it even more. He told me, you can't have hope in machines. They're not like us. You can have faith in them, trust them, but you can't rely on their nature to grant you hope. Maybe not even real faith or real trust. I don't really know what to make of him, deep down. He's always been there for me, he's saved my life, we've even been lovers ... But sometimes, the way he talks, how he acts ... He makes me wonder if it's all just programming. If it's all just there to coddle me, make me feel safe, make me integrate. That's it's

hollow, to be changed if and when his programming even decides it needs to be -- and all my love, my faith and my hope, it'll just be so much useless input for him."

"I fear now that I put my hope in to the wrong thing. That it should have gone to Gabriel and the others, and I never should have let myself be taken in by Melchior. And it hurts," the young woman finishes, shifting her hand to wrap both around herself. "It really, really hurts."

"A tool is only as good as the one who wields it," Old Ma says, echoing Rushfighter. "If your Melchior is a tool, then you must be the one in control. If you surrender that control to your tool, is it still a tool? Who is the wielder? You acted from a weakness you felt in yourself, and perhaps your tool responded and tried to make up the strength. It is hard, when the tool can talk. Is it still a tool then?"

Tasha looks up, frowning. "I don't know. Machines on these worlds respond to the SPF differently. The frigate has claimed sentience, so I took her under my wing and gave her a name -- but she still seems beholden to her programming. I'm hoping Mel will find his sentience some day, but beyond that, they need to find their own identity and desires if they want to be truly seperate, sentient beings. I've hoped Mel would chose me over any programming or command from a higher authority, but I can't be certain it will happen. And yes, you're right, he's probably responding to my weakness -- he's acted to support me many times before. But for us to work together, often I must surrender my control to the system -- full depth requires that, in fact. I am the director, but that line blurs in operation. I've thought, too, maybe I'm the tool."

"Melchior is in the image of Horus, you said," Old Ma notes, and grins. "Are you Vartan, Rustpuppy?"

"More Vartan than I used to be. You can't see it, but I lost half my face and my left hand in the fight with Abaddon. I'm a hybrid, of course, but the, um, paint is beginning to chip. Mel tells me that my physiology is normal for a Vartan, so I'm more Vartan than Karnor," Tasha answers, looking back to her hand. "Bird of Hermes. That's what code calls me. Bird ... of."

"Do you believe that objects and machines can possess spirits then?" Old Ma asks. "That is something Vartans were created to believe, you see. They were hunters, and to be effective they had to see danger where others would not. And the Old Ones artifacts could be very dangerous, even though they might seem inanimate. Horus began to love his tools, until he could no longer bear to use them for the purpose they were made."

"Legend repeats itself, it seems, if your Horus-surrogate loves you," the old woman notes.

"I've always had the feeling Horus must be a kind, noble man," Tasha notes, looking up again. "A warrior, proud, but a ... A family man. But yes, I've always thought that The Rake had its own soul. When I stayed aboard the Orpheus, I could almost see its soul, its memories of the past as it slept in its grave." The young woman then considers the matter of Horus, and his love as well as her own Titan. She bites her lip, looking down again, and then nods a little. "I've felt that he loves me. I never would have trusted him this much if I didn't. I'm just, um, just afraid I'm being foolish. Seeing what I want to see, as Gabriel thinks. But he's never let me down, even if I've let him down, now and then."

"Gabriel is your mentor, your father?" Old Ma asks. "And what of this Bird of Hermes?"

"My mate, actually, but he's also the former and, um, probably occassionally burdened by having to act as the latter, too. I didn't have a father growing up, you see? I had Captain Eyeshine, but he resented me for half my life, and he'd always been distant, even later -- protective, but distant. He loves my mother, so, when she had me, and I wasn't his ... Well." Tasha shakes her head. "You can imagine. As for the Bird of Hermes, it's part of the mission-poem that the Magi carry; A coded explaination fo what their purpose is, written like a prophecy -- maybe it is a prophecy."

"I can. I've thought about it so many times it's stuck in my head -- literally, in fact. It's encoded in my brain. Here:" Says Tasha, who pauses for a breath before the recitation begins.

"And then it concludes with this line: "The Bird of Hermes is my name, eating my wings to make me tame."

"We've seen events that seem to correspond to stanzas in the poem," tasha notes, head tilting, "but other than that it's just as obscure and complicated as finding anything factual about the Progenitors, to say nothing of the older ones. Hermes was some sort of old Terran messenger god, so I'm surprised you've heard of him. It's very obscure."

"I am over two hundred Terran years old, Rustpuppy," Old Ma notes. "For most of them I have been as you see me now. But collecting old stories and knowledge is part of my purpose. I have heard things that are very old and obscure indeed.

Tasha grins at the note about age. "Oh don't lecture me about age, Ma. Half of the people I know well are older than you, and you're a Spring chick compared to my Gabriel!" She cackles, then scoots over to pat the woman on the arm, showing no hard feelings. "But ou've been awake a lot longer, and I recognize your wisdom. So, Ma, do you have any insight about any of this? About Hermes, or Horus, or about what the poem means?"

"The sea without lees - without end. That sounds like the Star Sea," Old Ma notes. "The stone to quicken the dead.. I think that refers to the Progenitors themselves. I do not know about the eating of wings."

"I've eaten wings. Don't tell otehr Vartans though," Tasha notes, winking. She sits back, scooching so that she's leaning against the wall beside Old Ma's chair. "We've thought the sea without lees may be a virtual space. The stone, well, we've seen a stone that can create spirits from PersoCom files,a dn we think the part about wings is about my choking down my ambition. I've been tempted, more than once, to use the power I've held to force change, or, do other things. But it'd have ended badly, so maybe it's also there to help me, too." The young woman pauses to think, then asks, "The Progenitors, you mean their Markers? But what about the quicken the dead part? I've never heard of them doing anything like that, except maybe leaving the Markers in graves."

"The talk of stone that is hard and soft and without fable," Old Ma says. "It is said that the bodies of the Progenitors turn to stone when life leaves them, but may become animated again if the life force returns."

"Really?" Goes Tasha, who sits up and perks her ears. "Now that I'd never heard. I thought many of them were dead and gone, but to think that they may still exists out there, somewhere ... That their bodies are still there. That you could stand next to them, ah ... It's a wonderful thought. And they could live, oh ... " The red woman draws in a breath, thinking what it would be like to meet Adam, Horus or Vulcan -- even Ahriman. "Oh, I wasn't sure we'd find anything left of them. Maybe a few survivors? But there could be more. More, um, if they wanted to live again, that is. But, what do you mean by 'life force'? If they're stone, what would drive their life?"

"They were not made of the same stuff as us," Old Ma notes. "Titanians believe they were Titans, which is why we revere the idea so much. The Archons were just suits of armor."

"You mean Mel looking like Horus might be literal? I thought he was a stylized interpretation, like the statues of the First Ones on the Ark, or, well, statues of gods anywhere really -- or even mortal heroes. And the Archons were ... armor? Suits of armor? As in, hollow walking armor?" Tasha inquires as she sits up more, as if the knowledge were, like a magnet, pulling her closer to its source.

"Nothing so simple, but.. in concept," Old Ma says. "They appeared as living gods. But what is a body to such a being? Why would they all look appropriate to the races they interacted with?"

"Well, maybe that is what they looked like? Maybe that's how they saw themselves, and what they had always been -- and we're the ones created to look like something they could relate to? Or, well, maybe they wanted to avoid frightening us, because they clearly cared about us enough to go through the effort of making us. The gods I've met always take a form to convey a message about themselves, or about the viewer. Otherwise they show forms that they just seem to like, or, well, are practical to them in some way. I think a few have bodies that can't be changed by their desires, and so appear as they always have and ... Well, one probably appears in a way I cannot comprehend," Tasha suggests.

"Didn't they make some of us as tools? In their image? Our forms may just be lesser interpretations of their own, and their similiarity to us is intentional," 'Rusty' then adds.

"We don't know what they really look like, or if our gods were really them, and not just.. other tools, following the directives of their creators. But we do like Titans. The other Titans in the trio.. did they also have poems?"

"Oh yes. This might take a while, hold on." Tasha pauses again to catch her breath, lowering back to her knees and closing her eyes as she sifts through her memory.

Once she's completed the recital, Tasha lays a hand on her chest and breathes for a moment, then says, "Mysterious, right?"

"Homogenie is clearly the Silent-Ones Titan," Old Ma notes, with a slight grin. "Magnesia.. the city of divine laws decided by strangers from another city, must surely be Zion after First Contact with the Terrans."

"It does seem a bit prophetic, considering what became of him," the elder concludes. "He was crafted to clear the way forward."

"You think so? We agree about Homogenie, but Magnesia escaped us -- I thought it might be a reference to magnesium, which can help make bright light -- like a star." Tasha then nods. "Is that how you see it? I think ... I think I agree. It does seem like without him, there would be nothing left to win. If Balthasar and I had fallen to Abaddon, there wouldn't be an Abaddonian culture, or a JEF, or a Rustpuppy, and maybe not even Progenitors to find. And besides, it does make me feel better to hear of his fate that way -- I hope that he, too, is happy with how things went."

"And the Serpent of Arabia," Old Ma says. "'Was both wood and wild, and now I am both meek and mild' - being used as a power source, given wings that he cannot control. It seems.. it seems as if he were the source of the Holy Seeds. Used to power the Celestials' ships, their 'wings'. I imagine he has quite the ego now that he is free."

"It's huge," Tasha confirms, holding her hands out as wide as she can. "He's been stomping around a swamp murdering things for thousands of years. Animals, bugs, people, everything. He tried to kill us, too, but he trapped him with a dirt pit. A dirt pit. In hindsight, that was a very anticlimactic way to defeat an ages-old angel of death." The young woman grins, letting her arms fall. "I had to jump on him and climb inside the cockpit, then he touched me with these ... these tentacles vines and there I was, in his virtual space, with a dragon staring down at me. Oh, and of course he threatened to kill me for a while, then he started sifting around in my brain like he owned it. I think he knew everything I did after that, which was unpleasant but I wasn't going to argue with him. He did seem to like the Empress, though. I guess they have a lot in common."

"Ah, he said he judged the emmisary. That was his job, along with breaking things," the young woman then adds.

"Thou must part him in three, And then knit him as the Trinity," Old Ma quotes. "That.. may be you. The three were scattered, and you have brought them back together."

"It does seem like it may be," Tasha agrees, nodding. "Good guess that I have all three, by the way. I never said, but I did sort of imply it, didn't I? Yes, I have all three. And, I know where the Door is, too, if not exactly where. I could, if I chose to, walk off this ship, back to mine, and we could probably be standing before it within a few days, it's just ... " The young woman hesitates, thinking how to explain the situation. She bites her lip a moment, then explains, "I wasn't -- I'm not -- ready. Not inside, I don't want to rush. I had already surrendered my old life, and I had just started to be comfortable here, on Abaddon. I didn't want to run so far and so fast I'd leave my new life behind, as happened before, unable to find my way back. Then Abaddon attacked, and a lot else happened, and my self-esteem and ability to be who Lord Yama knew has, well, cracked. Now I'm worried I may not be who he accepted. I'll go, in time. Even if I don't feel ready. But I hope to find myself again

"Be prepared, be brave, trust in your hammer," Old Ma says, with a bit of affection. "There is no need to grow up before your time. You must make a lot of mistakes first."

"Don't worry, I've been busy collecting them," Tasha admits, sounding wry. "I guess they'll still be there, when I'm ready to go. The others don't have sufficent Markers, thankfully. The Kampfengruppe might have the Human Marker -- which I am not happy about and would not mind at all were some sort of pirates to come along and safeguard it." 'Rusty' then nudges the older woman. "I'm almost tempted to do it myself, and then hand it to the Expedition, but of course I can't." Her head shakes, then she tilts it and asks, "As for a hammer ... Well I don't have a hammer, unless you count Mel. Say, do you think I could make one?" Then she loops up.

"There are several tool-crafting stations on the Mauler," Old Ma notes, and then yawns. "There will usually be a smith at them. Forgive an old woman, but I must rest up for a day before we head to sea."

Tasha rises, reaching over to pat the woman's arm affectionately after she does so. "I'll leave you be then, Ma, and go satisfy my need to build something then. Thank you for taking the time to talk with me. I'd like it if we could do it again, some time."

"Well, I wouldn't want to sit around and talk when people are busy. Being on a ship and sitting around while people work makes me itch. But, if I can't be of use, then I'll be here. Maybe I can show you what I manage to build -- or tell you about a few new mistakes," Tasha says as she heads for the hatch, the sound of it opening ringing through the room. "Have a good rest, Ma!"