There's no communication between the Vartan group and Tasha's until they reach one of the 'pores' in the floor that lead to docking areas. It's there that the Clan Sulimack Vartans turn to address them. The armored one Tasha first talked to introduces himself as Lt. Ehras and the uniformed officer as Captain Brooliat (which in Vartan probably sounds closer to 'Drooliat' due to the issue of beaks and 'B' sounds). The armored female's name isn't given, and the way she stands slightly apart could mean anything. The two Vartan (and also Shojo) look to Tasha expectantly. The Lapis just stand there looking calm, since even Khattans aren't expected to understand Vartan.

"It's as you said," Tasha begins, having had some time to think about the situation but no time to review the plan with the others after they departed the coffee shop. "We're not sure our patron is coming and we want to recoup some of our potential losses. Most our equipment is elsewhere, so it's just us for now." She then lifts a hand, gesturing to the people with her and shifts languages to what they'll all understand. "The two lapine-styled people are my seniors. They go by Aaron and Liza. I'm ... " She thinks a moment, but it comes quickly enough and it isn't a lie. "Aldara. The other Vartan is Shojo. Aaron does unassisted physical performance. Liza specializes in client comfort services. Shojo reminds people who we must represent and who we are. Me, I ... "

What can she do? Tasha has never been any kind of entertainer, save perhaps in the more carnal pasttimes. And while she may be good at that, it isn't something she's going to advertize as act let alone provide it. Those days are done. "I, well, I'm also security. My role is, um ... " She gestures to herself, perhaps hoping the Vartans will fill in the blanks with whatever they think must be the truth, a better story than she could fabricate with so little understanding of Galactic society.

"You were supposed to be the clown?" the Captain guesses. "But you seem to be having genegraft rejection issues."

Tasha winces at 'clown,' not bothering to hide it. She doubts another Varatn would miss her body language and besides that the remark hurt. Her eyes narrow slightly. "Our patron envies the Karnor. They put a lot of work in to me, and it'll be fixed soon. I am being trained for Titan combat, among other things. This is just a temporary setback. And we're not some Confederate backroom genework. Don't insult us." She realizes the man may have been teasing, or even impying cats would be amused by dog antics if Gabriel's old comments about cats and dogs still applies, but she she's sensitive about her looks even in disguise and it's easier to work with her anger than against it. They're high-level experimental performers, mezzodes. Rare, valuable. Her hurt can become haughty indignation.

"You mean your patron wanted you to be a duelist?" the Captain asks, a bit surprised. "They must really want to humiliate a rival."

"Sounds like a Terra Primist to me," Lt. Ehras notes, but not with any outward signs of disapproval."

Tasha gives a little bit of a shrug. "It's what I was made for and I know better than to ask questions of powerful Khattans." Which is a lie, since she's been questioning every powerful Khattan she's ever met. "Especially my patron. I'm still in training and under, um," she waves again at her face, " ... developement. I'm with Aaron and Liza for training purposes. These outter systems can be unique. Also I am- ... " The hand that had waved at her head waves again. " ... relearning some thing. Injury and developement setbacks."

"Real space training," Tasha elaborates, her wit taking the story of her injury and churning out what she hopes ie a believable modification. "I was placed in a scenario that appeared to be real but was ultimately a test. The test involved severe risk to my patron, supporters and associates. When the scenario caused a loss of control of my machine, I chose to attempt self-destruction in order to disable the neural linkage system." She reaches up higher and taps the back of her head. "They didn't anticipate the result. Repairing my face and hand didn't go well."

"Ah, so until all of your injuries heal naturally, they can't be modded," the Captain replies and bobs his head in a Vartan nod. He then waves for the group to follow along, and enters the pore from the 'flat' side, which indicates the direction of gravity within. His Vartan escort doesn't look back.. but does stay between the officer and Tasha's group.

Tasha follows along, nodding as she does. "So I was assigned to accompany the mezzodes Liza and Aaron until that time. I think the belief is that I may learn something." Playing the naive pet project suites the young woman just fine. It's easy to feign ignorance when real ignorance backs it up, and being a pet weapon presents the danger that she could be far more of a threat than her friendly stylish suggests. The latter seems to be working, given the escort buffer between their group and the officer. "I don't see Galactic civilization like this often. It's strange to see everyone together. I don't even see the Clans much, not in person, except the guards. Not like this."

"So you're part of a House then instead of a Clan?" Ehras asks over his shoulder. "Didn't think a Clan would put you through so much."

"Yes, a House. That's where I was born." Just in case someone scans her. The Terragen doctor said she was impossible, at least to Terran technologies. But a House, one of ther Elder Galactics, their reach is much greater. Alien tecnologies, Sifran artifacts, maybe even rarities from other galaxies. Much is aspeculated about the ultimate power of the Elders, which makes for a fine veil. "I didn't know Clans were more delicate. You don't risk your trainees?"

"We don't transform them, or expect them to throw their lives away," Ehras notes. "We're family, after all. But then, we don't have weapons that have to be kept from falling into enemy hands at all cost. We don't fight against Houses after all. We protect their interests."

They all exit the tunnel onto one of the docking ledges, where the giant Vartan Destroyer-class ship is moored. Due to its wings, it isn't side-on like other ships dock. The beaked head is all that reaches the platform.

"I see," goes Tasha, who tries to sound a little like the Melchior's AI; as part of that system, and as a duelist that must both protect and be protected, she thinks sounding a little robotic might be the way to go. And after all, the Khattans do like their automation. Acting more like an automation around Khattan-Vartan forces seems like something a young experiment might do to avoid notice and appear loyal and obidient. "This is a Destroyer-class? I don't know the specific type, but I did notice that your combined forces launched Titan against the Titan dreadnaught. Not seriously, though."

"Wolf-baiting," Ehras says, as they head for the far side of the beak, where an elevator platform rests on the actual dock. "Sometimes they launch Titans. Supposedly. Haven't seen it myself."

"And seeing who can get the closest," the Captain chimes in. "Just for bar bragging rights - and to see if anyone will buy them a drink."

"Titanians are a strange people. They look like Karnor, but aren't. Older, seperate origins. Extremely dangerous." Tasha thinks aloud, as she expects the person she's chosen to be would. "But not always orderly or well-prepared. No civilization. They use piracy, raiding and other marauder strategies. They group as units, often by similiar goals, families, or ship-identities." She scratches her nose a little; the air must be changing between the station's more pleasant type and ship's air. "Weaponry, tactics and goals range widely."

When everyone is on the platform, the Captain touches something on the back of his hand that looks like a fabric-thin touch screen. The platform moves smoothly, following a rail on the back of the beak and altering its angle is goes, until it finally meets with an open hatchway.

Titan Hangar, Vartan Destroyer 'Sparhawk'
For a hangar, this space is rather narrow and crowded. The ship's compliment of Space Superiority Titans is split into two rows of five, with each Titan harnessed above its own launch hatch. The center line of the hangar is just big enough for one Titan to move along (sideways) via crane from the recovery hatch at the far end. The walls are covered in gantries, and the ceiling is taken up by a railed crane system.

Aaron lets out a whistle at the sight. This causes Liza to stare at him for a moment for some reason.

Tasha also turns to stare at Aaron, face as impassive as she can make it, before turning back to regard the hangar itself. "I've never seen this before," she admits, head moving from one Titan to the next. "I think I used to know more about these models, but I lost that. What interface systems do they use? Can I approach one?"

"They don't bite, but stay outside the hazard lines," Ehras says. "They use standard Vartan force-feedback harnesses."

The Titans look more like bipedal armored tanks than flying machines. But for space combat armor, reaction mass and missile payload override aesthetics.

"Not unlike the more primitive Silent-Ones harnesses then? I remember those. They were impressive in their limited way, but not efficent." Which is indeed Tasha's actual opinion of them. For all a Star Empire Titan pilot's raw skill, she is fairly certain she could take their machines and pilots apart in single combat. Yet, she also knows she'd be unlikely to face such a combatabt out here, as a obstentesible member of a Khattan House, because her machine would probably exceed the technology level limit placed upon the combat by the rules for Galactic combat. "I see these are designed for standard warfare. As a duelist, my machine is designed for dueling which includes asthetics, styling, and of course raw combat ability. It is of an older style, like my armor. My armor is an original model. So is my sword." She'd been wondering about the swords.

"Swords haven't changed much since they were invented," Ehras notes. "We don't have any close-combat Titans since we're strictly a space combat platform. The capital ships have compliments of air and ground Titans. We're mainly geared for matching Silent-Ones."

"My Titan is designed for melee combat only, within an atmosphere. That's not ideal, but to upgrade it would destriy the original asthetics." Tasha turns and gives ehr comparitos a long, low look, as if to say, and only the most dreadfully gauche sort would do that. She saw Katherine make that look once. Looking back, seh asks, "Have you had any recent engagements with the Silent-Ones, then? Can I ask that? Do you expect one in the near future, here at Caltrop?"

"If we're going to be stuck here watching for 'smugglers' then we'll try to set up exhibition duels or contests with the Silent-Ones," Brooliat notes. "That's part of the reason for our casual meeting at the coffee shop. The locals here are likely starved for having something to bet on after all."

"I'd like to attend that." Tasha dips her head, turning back to the Captain. "Maybe I'll be allowed to participate." She then glances at Aaron and cocks her head to teh side. "Aaron likes sarcasim and comedy."

"I doubt we could arrange wrestling matches between alien crews," Brooliat notes. "Between Vartan Clans, however.. we do engage in friendly sparring matches."

"I see." Another nose scratch. "That would be interesting. There will be services and parties. I've never been to either, on a Clanship."

"What sorts of 'unassisted physical performances' do you do?" Ehras asks Aaron, since he's spoken. The Lapi's eyes widen for a moment, but he goes with what Tasha described. "Khattans are, I'm sure you'll agree, fond of their comforts. But once they were wilder creatures, and some enjoy hunting. That is, hunting in a feral manner. For that you need prey that will be interesting, but that won't hurt them, and artificial or virtual surrogates are.. for the less jaded."

"That is a fetish I had not known of before now," Ehras notes, looking a bit disturbed by it (nevermind that Vartans are predators themselves).

"He's capable of more banal entertainments as well. Juggling. Acrobatics, I think." The edge of Tasha's muzzle twitches. "And he is modeled after Terran rabbits." The hybrid knows what Terrans think abotu Terran rabbits. Gabriel told her. "But I don't know all he can do. His area of expertise is different from mine."

Liza looks to Tasha.. since she doesn't know what Tasha described her role as, since that part of the conversation was in Vartan.

Tasha looks back, deciding unspoken conversation between performers is probably expected. "Liza performs older service roles. She replaces and expands on the services personal robotic servants might provide. She's trained in classic styles, in cooking, the styling of hair. Organic servants are a luxury, but that isn't enough." And then she turns back to the clansmen. "I think the idea is that to spend so much on a servant that could be done by robotics shows the true extent of my patrons' wealth and prestige, but I don't really know. That's not my place."

"I can do massage and other relaxation techniques as well," the doe adds quietly in Khattan.

"I doubt we could afford your services," Brooliat notes. "The Admiral might be interested. I don't think she knows how to relax on her own."

Tasha muffles a giggle. Not knowing how to relax or get things done without Liza is very familiar territory. She then clears her throat and turns to stare at a nearby Titan. "Will we meet the Admiral?"

"If she deigns to leave the command ship, perhaps," the Captain notes, then looks to the armored female who hasn't been introduced yet. "What do you think, Aries? Can your mother be tempted ashore?"

"Mother?" Tasha also turns her attention to the armored Vartan. "I'm sorry, we didn't know. The information wasn't provided to me." Her head cocks to the side. "I am supposed to be learning."

And then an idea occurs to Tasha. After all, making friends -- or at least contacts -- with an admiral is worth a shot. "Does she enjoy antiques?"

Tasha inclines her head to this, to Brooliat. "I didn't know that either. I think I'm supposed to 'manage on my own,' which seems silly." She thought it was silly the other times people made her do it, too, until she saw what a learning experience it could be. The young woman definitely never imagined she'd take the learning of the learning experience in order to fabricate the persona of a young woman going through one, however. To Aries, she nods her head. "I am going to draw my sword now, as an example," she warns politely, then she removes the blade from the sheath they had made for it and presents it. "I was told it belong to the same old Clan I'm descended from, but not more. Maybe that means something to my patron and his allies and inferiors. My armor is also theirs." A little grin comes to her face. "I am also technically an antique."

Aries takes the offered sword and examines it closely. "Clan Leader or high up," she comments. She also then examines Tasha. "You're older than you look I take it? If you're grown from a legacy germline, that could explain your height."

Tasha nods to this. "You're mostly correct." She doesn't elaborate of the details, letting the other Varatn fill them in since she isn't sure she could provide convincing filler. "The germline wasn't simulated, that would be ... " She just shakes her head. She's too good to state how bad it would be.

"Expiration on eggs is usually a century," Aries notes. "Although I've heard of some lines being collectable among certain Houses," she adds, shaking her head. "I don't recognize your armor at all though. But that's usually customized by Clan."

"It's a pre-departure relic from The Expedition. The Expedition." The apparently antique Vartan insits, giving each of the other Vartans a knowing look that expects understanding. "The germline was taken before the departure, I think. That would make the most sense. A precaution, found later. The sword must have been left behind and remaining models of the armor recovered when they went unused. They would be ... " Her head cocks again. "Historical."

"Certainly antique at least," Aries says, and examines the armor more closely. "Recovered from a storage pod?" she asks. "It's been through a bit, I can see."

"This model has been damaged and repaired, and so it's suitable for me to wear in conditions like this," the hybrid gestures about herself, the hangar standing in for the wider uncertainty of fringe space. "There are others. My formal wear, if you like? My Titan is also from that era."

"What expedition?" Ehras asks. "The one way back. Everyone was in on it, left from Zion to some armpit system that was supposed to be a big deal. They never returned. So it was a big political mess, and the powers have never joined up like that since," Brooliat explains.

"I think my being here is supposed to make some sort of point, or, be especially relevantand highlight my existence. That, or let me see for myself the historical significant by being present on a station so close to Sifran space." Tasha cocks her head, back and forth, back and forth. She bites her lip, then shrugs a little. "Or all of those. Or none of them. My patron doesn't explain these things." She then looks to the Captain. "Is this as far as we're allowed inside the ship?"

"Yes, the Lost Fleet. Elements from every Galactic power. The Ark." Tasha rubs her nose a little. "I have a model of the Ark at home."

"I can't really let you go further without some sort of contract," Brooliat notes. "If you give me your contact details, I can send word up the line that you might be available. And I'll let you know if we get any exhibition events set up."

Tasha glances to her compatriots, then bites her lip a moment. She steps forward. "In reality, Captain, we're a little bored." She glances around, then cants her ears back. "I'm uncertain we should be here. I am taking liberties? Teenagers take liberties. I was told that. But ... " She gives a hapless shrug. "It may be difficult to explain formally."

"We are all bored, Miss Aldara," Brooliat notes. "Otherwise you wouldn't have been taken this far. If you are without accommodations, I suggest the Travelmat Lodge midway down the spire. There is also the Terran establishment nearer the hub, but I don't know how they would react to your group."

Tasha inclines her head, a bit sullen. "We thank you for your hospitality anyway, Captain." She then turns to the rest of her companions and asks, "Do you have anything I should convey, before we depart?"

"To be fair, they do aspire to a certain bor-- uniformity." Tasha ducks her head, rubbing her nose and hiding the beginning of a grin.

Aries opens a pouch on her belt, and offers Tasha a translucent card. "If you want to call me," she says. "I'd be interested in hearing more about your ancient Titan."

Tasha reaches out and accepts the card. "Thank you, ma'am. I would return mine, but I'm not permitted to at this time." She gives a little shrug; you know how it is. "We'll be watching in case the situation changes, as well."

"See them back to the outpost Ehras," Brooliat says, and the Lieutenant nods. "Show's over for now, civvies," the armored Vartan says. "We do maneuvers at 0300 Outpost time. Can't tell you when we go on system patrol, of course." He starts to usher them all back towards the elevator platform.

Tasha turns and proceeds as directed, feeling any resistance would either seem petulant or out of place for someone who is supposed to be a House's pet project and servant. Not entirely out of place, though: She is apparently a teenager and one 'on her own,' no matter how old she may 'actually' be. Whether she's acting or really as she is, that she leaves as a mystery. "Back to the coffee shop? But that would be dull; where to, sir? Ma'am? I think I saw some Confederate elites ... "

Fumitor Shop
Tucked into on of the labyrinthine corners of the Caltrop is an unassuming shop with a Korv proprietor. The chitinous, bony surface and general organic look to the place marks it as likely catering to Confederates, while the signage is more blatant about it.

Tasha has seen a lot of sketchy dives in her time, and this would definitely rank within that company. The lightly armored Eeee slumped against a nearby wall of Sifran crystal with a glazed expression is also pretty familiar, despite differing in the details. It was the sound of Eeee voices that led her party this far (thanks to Lapi hearing) but now that they've arrived the question is whether or not to enter.

"This place reminds me of too many places," Tasha mumurs under her breath in Olympian to her cohorts, eying the dive. "I'm sure you're getting the same feeling. Do we want to risk this? As we are now?" She specifically looks at Aaron, though she assumes Liza has similiar experiences.

"Well.. it looks like a drug den," Aaron notes, just to make sure they're all thinking the same thing. "The Confederates of Abaddon had really good drugs. And by that I mean safe drugs. This is from a professional perspective. Aside from this poor looking fellow out here I imagine it is not actually dangerous inside, and also likely filled with people who are feeling very friendly and open at the moment."

"Katie would call this slumming. I've never slummed before." Tasha gives Aaron a little shrug. "But as a niave and single-minded duelist for an august House, I am fascinated by the inferior powers and their inferior recreation. So, why not?" The young woman straightens, then proceeds forward like she's young and owns the place.

"Hello proprieter," Tasha greets the Korv at the front counter. "I know this must be unusual for you, but we would like to go inside." Tasha smiles; isn't he so lucky she asked at all? "Me and my the other from our House." She smiles a little more. Very lucky.

The Korv's brown eye is mostly pupil, and she turns her head twice to make sure both eyes are seeing the same thing. "400 credits for 2 metro- hours. For 2 hours."

"Two hours! Did you hear that? Two hours." Tasha turns her smile towards Aaron momentarily. Why two hours is quaint, she doesn't say. Indeed, she doesn't know, it just seemed very snooty to the young woman and she's seen wealthy women remark on how things simply are. It always sounded delighted and condescending. "Well, I'll pay. Credit chits. Credit chits." She turns back to the Korv woman and holes the chits out. "They're untraceable, you know," she offers in a conspiratorial sort of whisper, as if it were an amusing secret, or element of a fun new game.

"They all are," the Korv notes, then passes the chits under a scanner to verify they're legitimate - and since they're Library issued, it doesn't hurt the mezzode masquerade. The shop keeper then hands over four time-release capsules: two red ones and two not-red ones that are sort of greenish-purple. "Red for Vartans, grurple for Khattans," she explains. "Feed them to fumors inside."

"Of course. Of course." Wealthy people seem to like to repeat things when happy, Tasha also noticed, at least the ones that struck her as vapid. Yet, now she's the apparently vapid messode elite, and she's just plain lying. It makes her wonder about all the others she met, and learned from. The world us full of spies, she decides. Her association of friends certainly doesn't help the impression. "Red for Vartans, grurple for Khattans." And then she's smiling again, and then she's walking away inside.

Once past the (damp) leather(?) curtains, the only light comes from the crystal walls that the shop backs onto, giving everything an underwater sensation. There armored and uniformed Eeee sitting or lying on organic cushions and sucking on what Tasha first thinks are Khattan hookahs.. but turn out to be immobile frog-like creatures with flexible skin-hoses rising up out of them. They're pear shaped, with four feet (but no legs) holding them upright. They have four eyes which don't seem to look at anything, but only one mouth with very puffy lips. "Give me the grurple ones," Aaron whispers in Olympian. "I'll want to analyze them later." There are several unoccupied fumor creatures scattered around.

"I guess someone has to use the pills," Tasha replies, but does slip him the two extras as requested. Even as she speaks, her gaze is fixed on the peculiar froglike ... contraption? Being? Pet? She has no idea. Luckily, she is very used to strange new sights and creatures, and so mentally files it away 'fumors' as 'pill eating hookah frogs.' "Unless we want to seem cowardly and gawk."

"I wonder about that sometimes, with my life." Tasha looks around, trying to find an unoccupied seating area that's none-the-less close enough to eavesdrop and gawk. Finding one she steps forward, peering at the peculiar 'hookah frog' as she does so. "Hello, Confederates," she greets the assembled, trying to sound friendly yet still like she's being charitable by gracing them with her very presence. It's hard for her to resist the urge to hit herself, but she is some sort of professional spy, divine messenger, or what-have-you.

The uniformed woman closest looks up languidly at Tasha, taking a moment to actually focus her eyes. Then she pats the bladder-cushion next to her.

Tasha knows an invitation when she sees it, dropping down on to the cushion with more than a little bounce. She lets the Lapi distribute themselves as they will, especially since she suspects Aaron will arrange himself strategically while she draws attention to herself. She smiles at the woman, looking young and exotic, or so she hopes. "We thought we'd have a look. I thought I'd have a look." And she leans a little closer, conspiratorial. "And I thought, what is it you do around in here? Of course I know, but it's another thing to see. Help me out?"

The woman grins without dislodging the hose from her mouth, and reaches over with an bare toe to spread the lips of the fumor nearest Tasha. This prompts the creature to stick its tongue out, which has a pill-shaped depression in it.

"You're the best." Tasha doesn't have opposable toes, or for that matter any toes, and so must actually lean over and drop the red pill which she does with a little fick of her fingers and a giggle when it's consumed. "It's so organic. We really don't deal with these," she admits as she leans back, tone all conspiracy and secret adventures.

The Eeee gestures to the hose growing out of the fumor's head, as its eyes begin to change color - turning red. The color for Eeees is green, apparently.

Tasha reaches over, wiggler her fingers in mock-indecision at grasping such a decidedly organic thing, then plucks it and leans back, wiggling to settle in. She turns to grin at the other woman, then pops tthe tube in to her mouth, still grinning.

The Eeee then makes an inhaling gesture by moving her hands from below her ribs up to her nose.

And so Tasha follows along, coping the breathing, trying to match the Eeee's. She hopes Aaron is listening and prepared, because she isn't sure how much use she'll be in a little while. Yet someone has to partcipate, or else she suspects they'll stand out and get nothing but distance and suspicion.

Something tickles her throat, then her lungs. It's not smoke, or perfume or anything else she's used to. But she can feel the 'tickle' as it spreads through her. And when it gets to her brain, everything changes. The structure of the shop goes away, leaving just the crystal walls, and those become multicolored fog with the stars behind them. The other people in the room are also less solid, but illuminated from within by lights that move through their bodies.. just as her body is transformed into a transparent shell full of moving lights. And she can feel the lights.

It all makes Tasha giggle. A lot. She wigglers her ears in a Silent-One laugh, her mouth being rather occupied, then flops back in her chair and holds her arms out to the Eeee woman. Comfort, after all, should be shared. It's only a good many seconds later she thinks to wonder about why she's seeing lights and what, exactly, the magic hookay frog is doing to her brain. It's a mystery, but then, everything is a mystery.

The Eeee takes one of Tasha's hands, the light there gets brighter. First timer? It's not quite a voice, but it's.. something Tasha can understand.

Uh-huh, is Tasha's instinctual reaction. It tehn occurs to her that drug induced conversation isn't something she's ever heard of, nor the why of 'hookah frog'. It isn't a machine as she knows them, not a neural link unless the link is particularly unusual. Little robots? Living things? She has no idea. What's going on? Is she managing her mask? Does she sound right? Not knowing what's going on, she can't exactly tell that either!

We're having a conversation, is the reply. Meanwhile, something new has intruded upon the universe: a swirly mass of something in the middle of the space. It's moving while seeming to stay in place though. There are lights in it, but.. not the same as the ones in Tasha and the Eeee.

Oooohhh. goes Tasha. It makes, after all they are having a conversation. Part of her reminds her she probably ought to be thinking about it harder, but she is having a conversation and isn't that why she came here? She might have contemplated the question further, except now there's a newcomer to the scene, a swirly mass. If it's here, she must be conversing with it too. Hi, swirly thing.

The swirly thing doesn't respond, but also isn't transparent like everything else. The lights that flicker on and off are on the outside only. It moves with a hypnotic flow.

It may not talk, but it is very shiny, and to all Vartans that's an admirable conversation trait. She watches it with fascination until her frog partner remarks on it being unusual. It is? She inquires in that not-voice. What's new about it? But the hybrid thinks she might know. Something about herself, or the others. It could be. There are, after all, a lot of people in what she calls a self and many more that have contacted it.

It's not like anything I've seen before, the other notes. Which, after all, is the definition of new. Did you bring it?

I don't know. Or does she? Tasha may know, but she'd have to know why she's here. But it's a conversation, did she invite something to converse? She's conversing, so the way might be to ask. Are you me, swirly thing? Do I know you?

The swirly thing doesn't answer, but at least now Tasha recognizes the movement - the still somewhat undefined shape seems to be dancing very slowly.

Deciding further questions would be rather rude, she tells not-her, Lets watch, before turning her attention back to the swirling smoky lights. The lights that are real, when so much is not.

There are streamers at the top, but they don't move like streamers. The lights don't seem to fill in details, but suggest outlines instead. Eventually it gets through to Tasha that she's seeing her assistant, Liza, dancing. She just can't tell if the doe is moving slowly, or her own perception of time is making it seem that way.

But we're not touching, Tasha wonders to her partner. Unless she is? Tasha turns her head, searching for Liza, trying to find her in the sea of stars and the lights within.

The real world is a bit hazy.. until Tasha actually opens her eyes. In the darkness she can still make out Liza doing her dance in the middle of the room, having removed her outer jacket to move easier. Aaron and Shojo are across from her, and she herself is holding hands with the Eeee next to her. The lights are still there as well, and don't seem to be part of her vision though, but some other form of perception.

I'm Aldara ... And Tasha. And the Seeker. The Bird-of-Hermes. I have a lot of names. Tasha thinks, leaning back again and closing her eyes. It's nice to be connected, where lies feel so far away. Thoughts of Atum and the Vril come unbidden, beings who are connected. Maybe like this, seeing beyond the world of eyes, ears, nose and touch. Many a name He hath full sure ... and all of one nay-ture. She thinks on that a moment, then realizes a name is missing. What's yours?

Iria, the other replies. Of not so many names. Iradiance. Iriatating. Number One. Mistress of the Bat Out Of Hell. Dragonrider. Silly things, names. But useful, don't you think?

I think so too. They're the truth, and not the truth, they can become the truth or hide it, but they're always some kind of answer and answers are better than silence. Tasha muses on the names fed to her. The play on the name, the number, the riding of dragons. It makes her think of a kind of supremacy; she wonders if Iria is supreme in something she is not. Many people are, after all. This is nice.

Tiny cells that allow for different types of communication, Iria explains. They don't last long, so you have to keep inhaling them. Pilots have better ones. I wonder what sex must be like for them, sometimes.

It sounds like the wires ... The neural link. Tasha smiles a little more. I know what that's like. And then it hits her, plain as day, the connection. You are from the Wyvern. This is your neural link? It's more colorful than mine ... More shiny.

Wires.. are inefficient, Iria claims. Pilots become a biological extension of the ship. No physical or neurochemical fatigue. Fire crews link up as well. Simulated telepathy.

That sounds nice. It sounds better. My mind ... I almost lost my mind from fatigue. This is something to remember; she chooses to try and remember it. Is it how the dark beings see us? The ones from beyond, from D-Space. Harrowers, and the ones above. They can hear us. They are drawn to life and ... The young woman frowns a little. ... other things. Our reality of light. The island. I didn't come here to remember them.

One doesn't usually go somewhere to remember something, Iria notes. I am here because the Bakumaru is here, and the Bakumaru is here because the Vartan and Silent-Ones are here.

I came here to learn, and then to leave. Tasha holds on to the hand a little tighter. For the moment, it feels like Iria might be the only solid thing in reality, in her life. When so much is a lie, or endless warring, secrets and gods upon gods, it's nice to feel something is solid. Lying to Vartans has become easier, and so, she thinks, she has become harder to see. Stronger now. Traveled, far beyond. But distant. Why did they come? Why are we always fighting?

The Khattans went to the Encante system to intimidate the Terrans, Iria communicates. The Silent-Ones came to Caltrop to intimidate the Khattans. So they Khattans send Vartans to show up Silent-Ones. We had to come, to watch the fireworks.

I hope Encante will survive. Tasha thinks of Kaa, and Moka, and the funny researchers deep under water. Of He-Who-Moves, who could have moved the planet if she had asked. If she only knew to ask, and how, by the Rules. She might have saved it, or perhaps would ahve doomed it. Maybe all will be well -- or maybe it won't. These things are sad. Something better is needed; something cheerier. May I visit your ship?

Perhaps, Iria replies. You are interesting, as are the people you entered with. You are not Khattans, clearly, or you would not care about Encante. Are you with the Titanians?

Yes, Tasha replies, not really caring to lie much anymore. Only the fear of doing real harm keeping her from saying more. And no. Allies, but they're Titanians. They can only do so much, help so far. And they are not one people.

Then you have several possible origins, Iria says. "I like these Titanians though. They've helped us, I've been told. Can you tell me why you are here?

No. Is all Tasha can say. I'm sorry Iria, but ... No. Too dangerous and no one will believe it, that is what she's been told.

So you did not enter this den to seek us out? the Eeee asks next. Perhaps she was being more specific in her notion of 'here' after all.

That ... No. I am here because I am here, and so are the others who follow me. The dancing woman, the man who guided me. The wounded Vartan. Tasha tilts her head back; didn't Gabriel tell her once, the Terrans were close to the Confederates? Are you with Terra?

We are nominal allies, Iria notes. But they don't seek us out just to spend time with us. I like their food though.

It is good, Tasha agrees. She likes Gabriel's cooking, six-thousand year old recipes. Fish tacoes. Hamburgers. Pizza. It makes her hungry. Will you let me see your ship, now, Iria?

I will have to ask my shift-captain, of course, the Eeee notes. Do you have business for us, or are you just curious? Communion noo cytes are one of the few methods of communication that cannot be intercepted.

I have no business here except to learn. We will leave soon. We're not enemies, Iria. We only came to see. But then Tasha thinks about it; really thinks. It's hard to think in this space, she wants so badly to let go, let the lies and the barriers go. But she can't. At the very least she might yet be productive. I'm wrong. There is something. Something we need: A vessel. One of yours, capable of interstellar transit. It isn't my task, but I can handle it now.

Interesting, Iria notes. Our ships are not exactly sought after. I will see if I can arrange an audience with a captain. Is there an easy way of contacting you?

I will pass on the information. If you agree to meet with us, contact the Mauler in which ever covert way you can. Tell them you have what I am looking for. If they've left by then, the John Carter will convey the message: Tell the John Carter you're interested in having drinks with the captain. If it has also left, then it's too late and we will find you. Tasha thinks that should be enough. Be discreet, she also thinks to add, but decides it's probably unnecessary. Better to be safe, not that she has been in this place, but she might redeem herself yet. You hours for the Mauler, days for John Carter, but I don't know for sure.

That seems complicated, Iria says. Could you just meet me here again in 72 hours? If you aren't here, I'll assume you've left the system.

I can do that. More dangerous for her, but Tasha isn't overly concerned with a little danger. Thank you for guiding me, Iria.

Thank you for trusting me, Iria replies. My session is ending soon though, I can feel it. Enjoy the rest of yours though. The lights can be very soothing.

I like soothing, but you didn't sit in my lap. The edge of Tasha's muzzle quirks up again. Or me in yours.