After watching a dancing bunny until her bioengineered drug trip ended, Tasha didn't feel relaxed so much as a bit hollow. It was difficult for her to focus on her companions, which didn't go unnoticed. After picking up a virtual catalog for one for the all-species clothiers (which didn't have any actual stock on hand - everything is created to order), Liza said that she could return to the ship with Aaron and Shojo to take their measurements (since she already had Tasha's) and do some research to make a few fashionably choices for everyone, and even run them past Katie and Mr. Invention once they all got together again.
Without having to look after her fellow backwater aliens, Tasha was free to try and distract herself with browsing the labyrinthine galactic bazaar - which practically specialized in distractions and novelties (some of which were likely illegal in more civilized ports).
As she meandered past the endless rows, Tasha could at least find some small comfort in how the galactic bazaar wasa little like home. That is not to say that the bazaar back home had, in itself, been particularly comforting; in actuality it had mainly been interesting, with how comforting, entertaining or depressing it might be on a particular day dependent on the young woman's mood, which in turn usually depended on how many shekels she had in her purse -- or in someone else's.
In that sense it was much like anywhere else on Sinai, except that the bazaar of Rephidim always had enough uniqueness to make it distinct. It's that distinctness she's reminded of now, and in that she finds some small comfort. Yet, like the bazaar on her 'armpit' of a home world, her mood colors her visit. She had hoped returning to Galactic Space would be an exciting and uplifting departure where she would face the tasks before her with friends at her side and hope in the air. Instead she felt her friends lives in her hands, arrived to watching the Galactics wave swords in their endless war of posturing (and actual war), had to deal with Horus's endless pessimisim, realized Atum handed her a god's task without any support other than the aforementioned depressing not-divinity, felt rejected because of Horus's treatment, and has just finished lying to everyone she meets.
In the end it feels like she'd somehow ended back where she started, it's just the view that had changed. Things are bigger now, but still the same. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, complicated by not wanting to show weakness to the others -- who she thinks will tell her she's acting like a teenager or throwing a fit when they simultaneously trust her to guide them in apparently saving the universe -- and the sense people trust her but only so long as she does her job and doesn't scare them. She finds herself craving an answer, the gentle eternity of Harmonia's gears, or Atum's eternal tunnel. Something more. She just doesn't know what.
The lack of knowing haunts her as she wanders, looking at this and that. She hopes that maybe a little shopping might help -- having where one had not seeming a universal pick-me-up.
"Denta-mite!" a Khattan calls out as Tasha passes. "The NanoPaste With The Greatest Taste! Cleans and rebuilds your teeth!" "XenoZip! Get your XenoZip!" "Chromadust! Change your colors to suit your mood!" The products are different.. while still being close enough to familiar by the enthusiasm of the vendors. Not every shop is hawking something though. Some are little more than walls with doors, where the customers are supposed to already know what's for sale. From one these steps an Eeee wearing a black robe with stars on it, followed by a similarly garbed Khattan. On the backs, the robes have a galactic spiral arm arcing across them, with a white symbol in the very center: a white circle with four white petals surrounding it, like a simple flower.
Tasha's eyes follow the people exiting the unmarked shop. Casual interest, nothing overt. Having once been a pickpocket casing people is an old habit though one rarely used in her current life. That she's been able to use it again, here in this alien bazaar so much like and unlike the one from home, is another point of familiarity -- but also alienation. She isn't a pickpocket, she isn't what she seems to be, and she has no idea what most of the stuff around her is. The lack of knowing isn't what's eating her, but the fact that it piques her displeasure brings her to focus her ire on it. What is this place? She wonders, chewing on her lip and swinging her gaze past it. At first she thinks it might be a Library substation, but the iconography is different. Not really havign anywhere to go, and having made sticking her nose in to other people's (gods, aliens, ancients, robots, etc. etc. ... ) business she angles towards the door. What the hell. It won't be the first time she's insinuated herself
where she doesn't belong.
Just inside the door is.. another door. It looks like an alcove, but there is a credit reader on one side and a light over the inner door, currently glowing green. The door itself is covered in different languages, and Tasha reads what she can. They all say the same thing: Privacy Room. 6 Bipeds Maximum Occupation. 500 credits per quarter-hour. Door Camera free of charge.
The instructions make sense enough but the implication of what might go on within is vague to the young woman. In a station like this with so many people and machines she might believe privacy itself is worth selling, but the robed figures make her wonder if something more might be afoot. Perhaps, she considers, it's a front. Or, it could be exactly what she thinks it is and she caught a meeting of likeminded 'bipeds' leaving some sort of clandestine get together. Were she otherwise busy with some other task she'd have turned around and left but not having anything else to do she decides to follow where ehr nose leads her, the sense of 'what the hell.' If she wastes money or looks silly, at least she learned something.
But she doesn't want to spend money just yet. Perhaps there's already someone inside. The young woman leans forward, peering at the camera.
The door turns transparent (except for the instruction text). Or the front is some sort of viewscreen. Either way, the room beyond is empty save for some universal chairs (which Tasha would know as 'stools') and a round cafe table in the center.
Well, this could be useful ... Useful, but not exactly compelling. Tasha might want to be alone, but she doesn't need to rent an entire room. Interesting, though ... I guess this sort of thing is needed. It had ssurprised her just how much more advanced civilizations than her's monitired their citizens. Ships, stations, spies, it seemed everwyhere there was something or someone watching. It makes sense to her to find something like this, and confirms some suspicions, even if she doesn't need it. Something learned, I guess. And so she steps back and turns to head out.
There's a Vartan watching her, which she catches just before he turns away and starts moving off through the alley. He's also wearing one of the space-robes-with-flower-on-it.
That's odd. Odd, but understandable. Tasha knows she may well look like the very sort these rooms were created to conceal occupants from. A spy, perhaps, or a very odd sort of House agent. As the man begins to move away she at first thinks to let him. After all, it's not like his business is her business. It's not ... Not, of course, unless it is. It'd be rude of me to follow him. Maybe dangerous. She starts walking, glancing down the way to try and figure out if the alley exists somewhere where she might intercept him without entering a dark alley. Alleys are pits where bad things happen and people and money disappear, which she knows from experience. Still ... Maybe he wants me to follow. He did wait until I saw him. I am here to learn. And he is so very suspicious.
The alley is open to the 'air' above, which means Tasha can see the other side of the hollow crystal arm. Like most alleys, it connects to a wider avenue with more shops and shoppers. For whatever reason, she just now notices that nobody is flying. There's a huge open space above, and several winged species, but none in the air. The Eeee was with someone who didn't have wings, so it makes sense that they would be grounded, but there's nothing stopping the Vartan from flying off. For that matter, Tasha already knows of several personal-flight technologies available. She even passed a shop selling flight harnesses (although it wasn't clear if they were made for general use or just for spacesuits). The robed Vartan meets up with another similarly robed figure. The new one is tall and thin, so possibly a Belter Human. The robe certainly hides their features better than the Vartan's does. They're both headed hubwards down the avenue.
If you didn't want to look suspicious and not be followed you shouldn't dress like mages. Another word comes to Tasha's mind regarding the uniform and possible associations, one of Nora's. Nora's opinion, too, she thinks. Or like a cult. At the moment cults annoy her, and she thinks she has every reason to think so. After all she ended up at the top -- or is it bottom? -- of a million years old multi-faceted religion only to end up with a job and a grumpy god. All the talk of transcendance, all glory, all the hopes and insinuations and the truth was both more and less than what the religious suggested. It's not that she wasn't awed, or isn't now, but it wasn't that. It wasn't comfort. And while this cult, or secret meeting, or robe enthusiats club isn't responsible, they are infront of her. What's one more religion and one more god. She thinks of the ways she might poke holes in it as she follows along. You picked the wrong Nohbahkim to glance at.
No further robe-club members join the pair being followed, and nobody really gives them a second glance either - but then, nobody really does to Tasha for that matter. Out here, nobody wants anyone else looking too closely at themselves, which requires that they not look to too closely at others. Such a rule isn't likely to apply on actual settled worlds though. Before reaching the hub, the robed pair turn towards one of the tram-tubes that run up and down the spire, but go past it to another facade. This one isn't blank though, it has the same spiral-arm-arch painting as the robes, and the clover-flower symbol is right over the opened entry arch. There is a rack near the entry with what look like brochures with the same motif.
Tasha slows down as she spots the pair beside the building. She doesn't want to alarm them and thinks she remain outside the tall one's vision but if she can see the Vartan he can probably see her. Thus she waits, occassionally glancing off a reflective surface to see if the two have moved on before she makes an attempt at grabbing on of those fliers.
The tall one has gone on ahead inside, while the Vartan leans back against the archway. He pulls back his hood, then reaches inside his robe to extract a plastic cylinder. He bends it into a C-shape, and clips it over his beak nostrils. A few seconds later, he exhales a cloud of smoke.
Well ... I don't have forever. Tasha pushes away from the wall she'd been leaning on, a outcropping between her and the figure as she used reflections to watch without standing out. Now she makes her way over, keeping as back as she can and intending to circle around as close to behind the man as possible. If he's going to react badly to her presence, she'd prefer she were close enough to use the weapons she has. She also reminds herself to buy a weapon that has a range of more than five feet.
The Vartan seems lost in thought. At least until Tasha gets a better angle, and can see blinking lights inside the man's ears.. and what might be some sort of projection in front of his eyes. He's clearly listening and watching something while he smokes.
It's an easy trick to get behind the man then. Tasha casually puts a hand on her sword, leaning one shoulder against the wall bside him. "It's rude to stare," she tells him, grinning. Grinning like Nora would grin. Cocky.
The Vartan turns his head just enough so one golden eye can watch her. "It takes time for the x-ray system to see through your clothes is all," he notes with a deadpan expression.
"I guess it does," Tasha agrees with a little shrug. "Nice robe. Learning magic, with a cult? Maybe some sort of design studio?" The young woman pushes off, then reaches over and snatches up a flier. "Don't get a lot of Karnor-Vartans here? It's such a backwater, isn't it?"
"Backwater?" the man asks. "All the water is distilled or recycled here." The brochure is about as thick as a piece of paper, and activates when Tasha touches it. The symbol and starmap are replaced by a list of 'Start' words in different languages.
Tasha uses her Vartan hand thumb to engage the Vartan option while saying, "Backwater, backwater. Armpit, fringe, outlier?" She pauses in her reading to eye the man a moment. "Distant ..? Nevermind." And then it's back to the flier.
A presentation begins to play, with text in Vartan and also a female Vartan voice. The sound is a bit odd, in that Tasha can't help but feel it's being projected directly into her head somehow. "We are all their children," the text and voice both read, as a flower seems to bloom on the screen. Except it isn't a flower. Even with the small image, there's a sense of massive scale. "We call them Star Seeds, but they are much more than their name implies." More images fly about: the DNA double-helix, single-celled organisms and a general evolutionary timeline overlaid on images of different worlds. "They seeded our worlds. But they return to them as well." More images show up, this time of plants and animals.. and subtle variations of them. A Terran cheetah looks out from tall yellow grass, only to change into the face of a Silent-One. There are many other examples, most of which Tasha can't place.
"On each pass, they collect the most promising of that which they've sewn, and share them across other worlds," the narration claims. "They want us to be together. To see ourselves in each other. And they will return. How will they react to those that do not embrace this?"
Now the images are of ancient ruins, probably First Ones. And of burned worlds, what Tasha has been told are Ash Zones where all life has been destroyed.
"Star seeds." Tasha knows about star seeds, the creation of the Outsiders who were in turn created by the Ogdoad along other first generation sentients like the Xilfrim. All to sow life, and all to devour it some day. It makes her angry. It makes her pity. It makes her snort.
"I bet they won't give a damn because they're probably just life sewing machines. Who knows if they even care, or were ever expected to," she mutters to the flier. "You can't expect old gods and godlike aliens to care or even understand. Or want to."
The Star Seed symbol appears again, but the wing-petals are windows onto different worlds, showing the Galactic races. They each reach through towards the center circle and join hands. "Cooperation is Salvation," the voice and text conclude. A scrolling list of what must be locations on other worlds appears last.
Another snort, but less so. "Cooperation. Well maybe it is, but not because some old gods say so. You know what it is?" She doesn't wait for the Vartan man to answer. "It's pretension. Fix all our problems, gods. Be all we want, gods. Live up to our expectations, gods! But they're gods. Why would they ever be just like us? At our level. Like us. Sure they may be a bit like us, but something that's existed millions or billions of years sees time differently. And what's time, but another backwater?"
"We don't think the Star Seeds are gods," the Vartan notes. "We see the evidence though. You're a Terra Primest Mezzode, aren't you? Your beliefs aren't that different. We shouldn't all be looking out for just ourselves. We're all connected, after all, so why not follow the connection to the logical conclusion?"
"Yeah, well ... " Tasha tries to ball up her anger enough for a retort, but it's not as if she disagrees with much of what the man said. She'd been complaining about the lack of cooperation throughout, even so far back as her early days in the JEF. She made the JEF again to be a cooperative effort. Knowing what she does, seeing what she's seen, the need for cooperation and consolidation is more important than ever before and for all the old reasons but also a number of very dangerous new ones. Except ... No one knows them. No one except her and maybe a few power players. It's not that she thinks these people are wrong, exactly, but they don't know. "What if the conclusion isn't what you hope for?"
"Yeah, we'll have built a better world for no reason then, right?" the man says, and blows a smoke ring (which is very impressive when you have a beak). "I'm not as big into it as the Migration or Second Expedition folk are - I don't have deep pockets for stuff like that. But I want something better for my great-grandkids. They won't be under the Khattans anymore. I can't really imagine what that will be like. But I'm all for them hooking up with the Confederates and Terrans. I like them. Ever listened to blood music or whale song? You Primests think Terran life is special because of.. well, a lot of the stuff in brochure. Because Terrans will bond with anyone, even their vermin do it."
"Don't think I asked to be like this," Tasha awarns, but without any real heat. It's true she never asked to be a hybrid and it needs to be stated to show she may well be an unwilling participant in 'Terran Primecy', that her exposue to Terrans has been mixed. That a person shouldn't assume. That she isn't certain she believes she favors them, most of all. More than anything, it shows her confusion, though not the why of it. She stares at the flier at length, then simply adds, "Can I go in?"
"Anyone can go in, door's always open because there's no door," the man says. "There's a buffet."
"I was expecting chairs and a speaker." Tasha looks up, pocketing the flier. "But thanks, I guess I am hungry." She gives him a nod and then begisn heading for the door.
The interior seems to be one large room with a lot of different sorts of tables and seating. The galactic arm is hovering above, with a blue sphere encompassing Known Space and several glowing lines running up and down the curve of the arm. Beyond Known Space are hundreds of highlighted stars along the paths, which tend to fan out the further they get from the blue area. There's also a buffet, as promised, and a lot of different people. Not all of them wear robes, either. Eeee dominate - and given the nature of Star Seeds and Confederate biotechnology, it probably isn't a huge leap to think the whole thing isn't descended from some ancient Eeee religion. There are a few Silent-Ones (though none of them in robes), a surprising number of Naga, several Belter-Humans, a mix of Aquilans and Korvs, a few Vartan, and quite a few Khattans, at least half of them in robes as well.
It almost reminds Tasha of home.
But not quite. The young woman steps away from the entrance to give room to anyone who might enter after her, head tilting to regard the path of the star seeds. She follows the lines, from Galactic Space on out, then her gaze travels farther and she wonders where the Outsiders dwell. Where the Ogdoad are. Erebus. It's a strange feeling, to be on the inside of knowing, for once. To understand the mysteries, rather than be seeking them.
Looking away from the map Tasha decides she'd best keep moving before she stands out too much, heading towards the buffet. She is hungry, all the walking really builds an appetite and the station is quite large. Moreover it helps not to be staring at the map, to be going somwehere and doing something even if it's just moving from standing still to get some food.
The buffet is self-serve in the sort of way a Mage would appreciate. It's alive, and a bit like an upside-down centipede that has heated (and chilled) depressions in its belly. Even as Tasha approaches, the legs pass a platter along to meet up with her. The platter has built in depressions in place of bowls or plates, and isn't square or rectangular at all: the outer edges form the lips of the various depressions. There's also some sort of leather cushion growing or attached to the bottom.
Tasha fights the urge to grimmace, urging herself to remember Confederate biotechnology is really just a squishier version of the more familiar inorganic items she uses. That she herself is a kind of biotechnology, so how weird can the buffet really be? It's still really weird, she admits, but she pushes herself to keep moving and to order food. "Uhh," she utters, hoping she just sounds indecisive, " ... how about this and ... " she gestures vaguely, mixing verbal commands with gestures and hoping one or the other gets things going. Pretending not to be a bumpkin really is very hard work.
Mostly this causes the food 'bins' to move around. There are a lot of selections, although most of them look somewhat familiar. Confederates do not go for synthesized food - some of it still clearly alive, just like in a Rephidim buffet. The bigger creatures are clearly meant for Nagas though, and the buffet seems aware of this and doesn't present them to Tasha. It does offer up a lot of soups, chowders, broths and sauces, along with a wide selection of meats. A very wide selection, making her think of the sort of stuff you'd get on Abaddon. Almost all of it is presented raw, however (and some with convenient bones for gripping), which means there's probably a way to have cooked to order. There are several 'pits' that may serve that purpose. Some seem to have broth or oil in them that is clearly heated.
"Be sure to try the batter-dip," a very tall human says to Tasha in passing.
Without really knowing what she's doing or picking, Tasha opts for variety. She grabs some of everything that looks good, which means a lot of meat and a few soups. Eventually she reaches the heated bins and sticks with the day's motto of 'following her nose' by using it here, sniffing at each and combining meats with basins that smell like they'd go together. It makes her wish she were a better cook -- or even an okay cook. Which she decidedly is not.
"O-okay?" She goes at the recommendation, distracted by bizarre no meal choices and caught off guard. Tasha realizes this may well be her chance, though, and notes, "I'm used to my meals be pre-made for me. I don't have any real experience with Confederate cooking or their ... devices." It's what she think a mezzode like herself might say.
"Here, what have you selected.." the tall woman (not wearing a robe) says, and looks over Tasha's choices. What follows is a quick lesson in 'cooking' Confederate style. The different pits cook things to specific levels of doneness - the ideal level varying for different meats, but the pits are smart enough to figure it out. Some of the choices, such as a small steak, are sprinkled with spices that actually cook it in place. Another section of the buffet is for 'build your own' concoctions, which the Belter demonstrates by taking a sea-bug tail of some sort and several chunks of different meats, then fusing them together with something like glue - but the result is that the meats literally blend together at the seams, creating something unique. "The sweet potatoes are good too, if you want something close to a dessert," she advises.
Tasha decides to stick with the premade options rather than to venture to in to unknown territory, especially given the results of her attempts at cooking. Vomitting can, in no way she can see, help her current situation. In the end she ends up with her selection of meats cooked to the usual standard, a helping of sweet potates, and a selection of soups. "Thank you," she offers the Terran woman, whom she has to look up and up at. "I've never been to one of these places before." She pauses, then adds, "I'm supposed to be learning about local culture and history, but I know about star seeds."
"Caltrop culture is.. fairly unique," the woman says, and leads Tasha to a beverage station. "Every other Outpost has a host government or Trade House, after all, which impose their own rules, taxes and so on. Caltrop is an exercise in cooperative anarchy. I'm Thispe, by the way."
"Aldara," Tasha offers, thinking it funny she finally did change her name, in a sense. A new name for a new accomplishment; the Vartan way. "That is, I'm Aldara." Dhe approaches the new contraption, which looks like it could trap her between all its moving bits, and follows directions between offering her own side of the conversation. "If I remember right, Caltrop is a Sifran-designed station. The closest to their space, which is where the Expedition went. I've heard there are factions of the Star Seeders that support a second Expedition." She then nods to herself. "I was designed to emulate old Expedition genetics. My armor and sword are historical relics."
"Are you a performer then?" Thispe asks, and nods towards a compatible table and chair setup, which just happens to be next to a group of Khattans, robed and un-robed. "I see Dassen K'tar over there, trying to drum up funding. It's always fun to listen to him try to sell it to other Khattans. And.. we aren't certain the Caltrop was a station or if it served some other purpose. It's very convenient though."
"The Sifra are mysterious and difficult to know," Tasha agrees, wondering if her tone was a little too knowing. She decides to keep an eye on that. After following the woman over she takes her seat, glad to be settling down after having meandered across what feels like half the station in her aimless funk. She considers a moment, then replies, "I'm a duelist, but I'm still in training. So in a sense I am. But I am also a student and I like learning about history and other things." What's he druming up funding for?" A glance over. "What's he looking to fund, anyway?"
"The Migration Map mission," Thispe notes, and sets a disk (which could easily be mistaken for a drink coaster) onto the table. That same odd sound-projection feeling hits Tasha in the forehead, and the Khattan conversation from the next table is converted into Standard for her. ".. you explain the part about the whales again?" one of the unrobed, but well-dressed Khattans asks. "That's Second Expedition," the robed one that seems to be hosting things says. "The Migration mission is to verify the projected Star Seed routes and catalogue the planetary systems that show organic life development and any signs of civilization. The whales are needed for the actual full, multi-generational survey that would follow..."
"Whales..? Multi-generational ..?" It's then Tasha's expression twitches as she thinks of the Waybuilders. Ever since she knew they were from the future, she's wondered when and where they may have started. And what the Waybuilders reminded her of most is Nuktupai, a whale. Traveling, mapping space whales definitely piques her interest in that regard. "Um." She falters, then presses on, asking further, "So, a mission to map the star seed paths with whales, and something about the Second Expedition? Do you know anything about the Second Expedition?"
"And these are going to be fully Confederate missions?" another businesscat asks. "I don't see the profit. What if they decide not to share the survey, and lay claim to any biodiversity finds.. or potential Clients?" "I already explained that this isn't about profit or Clients," Dassen says, gesturing a bit impatiently. "It's about discovery and cooperation. The Second Expedition will be equipped for making First Contact. That's what the whales are for! And the Confederates are the only ones with a viable multi-generational technology. Buy in now, and you'll have the goodwill of the Eeee! In a few generations, I assure you that will be invaluable after the Vartans graduate from Client status.."
"Oh, the notion is that it will be best to approach any unknown civilizations with whale songs," Thispe explains, then shrugs. "They're very popular among the Galactics. And the Confederate bioships don't need to haul along a lot of support systems, since they're self-maintaining. That and the Eeee don't mind living their entire lives on a ship, or raising kids on them. They originally had multi-generational slow-boat colonies after all."
The Belter leans in further then, and whispers, "Really though, I suspect some of the old-guard Eeee think whales can talk to the Star Seeds somehow."
"I see." Tasha mentally files these options away, as they may be useful in finding profit for her ship. Further, they may be useful to her overall mission and she's got a personal interest in seeing them succeed. She restarted the old Expedition and she would like to know, entirely out of curisosity, what the seeds are all about. Leaning in, she nods ssowly. "That would be very interesting if that were the case. I'd like to know what they would say. And, who they would speak of."
"Frankly, I think they'd be better off finding Outsiders and buying the information from them, but that's... Galactic thinking, I suppose," Thispe notes. "For the Eeee involved in this, it's more of a religious thing. Well, not religious but.. what's the word.. spiritual. It's a spiritual quest sort of thing. I have no idea how they decided whales were important, but I suspect they just want to see what happens. Only the dolphins seem to really understand the whales, and even they semi-worship them."
"Of course, I know some of the groups backing this have their own motives," Thispe says, and grins. "Like the Belters."
"They are very impressive. I've heard the song myself." Tasha begins in to her meal, starting with the strips of meat, light to dark. There's no reason for it, just whimsy. "Well, there's always hidden motives, isn't there? What's the Belters version? or," and so the young woman cocks her head to the side, " ... can you tell me?" The emphasis not so much to tease, but hoping to get across the possibility she may be handed misinformation -- not that she could feel indignant given how much she providing misinformation.
"It's not a big secret that most Terrans dislike the Patron-Client custom," Thispe notes, and sips from her drink. "The Confederates pretty much ignore it but pretend to go with it. And the Vartans, as the first Clients set to graduate in.. forever.. certainly have their opinions. So the not-so-hidden part of it is to seek out potential Clients and warn or hide them or do whatever shenanigans the Eeee did to 'prove' the Korvs and Aquilans were already on the verge of interstellar travel when they met them."
"Now some of the Khattans are thinking like that too," the Belter notes. "It makes sense, since losing the Vartans as Clients affects the Khattan's own status - unless the reason for granting that status goes out of favor."
Deciding her House Vartan disguise might demand it, Tasha leans in again and admits, "I don't like it much myself, but it's not my place to say so," in what she hopes sounds suitably differential. She then leans back and adds, "If it were to be dissolved, what do you think would do it? Discovering that the current Galactic sentients were created around the same time? Were aided? Having too many non-clients to make enforcement impossible against a allied galaxy?" She then tilts her head. "If the Houses abandon it, that leaves only the Celestials and the Silent-Ones. I don't predict the Silent-Ones would stand against the galaxy, so it would be the Celestials alone." And Ahriman is out of the picture and so is Mafdet. She had once feared the two of them might be her enemy, a unnerving possibility.
"Like all things at that scale: money will decide it," Thispe suggests. "The Houses that start the transition now will be better able to maintain good relations with the Vartans a few generations from now. The Vartans are the Khattans biggest little-c-clients, after all. They want to keep the maintenance contracts and other ties, especially the little Houses that specialize in serving Vartans. They just need to show they can be just as profitable in a post Patron-Client relationship. I hear some are already thinking ahead, figuring out what new emerging markets there will be once the Vartans are no longer primarily a mercenary force. Finding and raising up a new Client would be hugely expensive, and also be under a lot more scrutiny than the big Houses like. The Celestials.. are the Celestials. They see things differently, and are more willing to 'tinker' with Clients to shape them into a service niche. The Silent-Ones and the Vykarin are an odd pairing, and nobody expects them to pursue new Clients."
"And we Terragens are just crazy," Thispe claims with a big grin. "We're potential-Client rich with just our homeworld. We just don't want them to be under Galactic restrictions."
"That makes sense to me." Tasha taps the table with her Vartan hand, thinking a moment, then admits, "I don't focus often on politics, that's not what I was made for. Since I was injured, I've been told to learn more and see things. A lot of people assume I'm a Terran Primest, that my House is, but I never thought about it much. I wasn't asked to be this way. I'm not sure what I think of Terragens yet." Which is true, though not as ambivalent as she makes it sound. She does like Karnors a great deal, and Phins, while she hasn't met amny of the others except Humans. Except she also remembers Mariel's sad story and all the poor Karnor who didn't add up, and as someone who didn't add up for a long time, that makes her deeply uncomfortable. What's more, she isn't quite comfortable with Human trickery, something she recognizes as somewhat hypocritical given she's using more than a bit herself. "Do you feel Terrans are suited or able to lead Galactic culture?"
"Eh, nobody is suited to lead Galactic culture," Thispe notes. "You don't lead culture. Culture happens. It evolves. Only despots and fools think they can control it. That said... we have an impact, especially on the more closed societies. What we create is seen as subversive there. Unlike the other Galactics, our history isn't of a global culture - we have thousands of them. Plus the dolphins, which had their own to begin with. It bothers me sometimes though. Seeing Vartans drinking coffee, or Silent-Ones dancing to our music. The Celestials are at least snobbish enough to not use too much of it. The Confederates.. are frankly not that different enough from humans in the first place. We bleed culture all over each other and like it."
"I can't wait to see what Vartan culture is like, once it's.. you know.. just them without the Khattans," Thispe notes. "I probably won't live that long though."
"Sometimes I bleed it back," Tasha remarks, surprised by her own apparent wittiness. She sips -- actually sips, refined Karnor style -- her drink and wathces the Human's reaction. As she does she inwardly admits it's an interesting point, and can't help but wonder why a Human would make it to her -- to her literal and figurative face no less. Her, a Vartan-Karnor. She wonders if the Human forgot she was a Vartan, and a Vartan-TerraGen mish-mash no less. That she's ostentesibly a member of a Khattan House that may well deal in these things. The point asks so many questions and suggests so much. She may well be pondering this for says if she doesn't get an explaination.
"As for Vartan culture, I expect it'll be rather boring," Tasha admits, shoulders rolling in a shrug. "Peaceful, inclusive and boring, with just the outliers changing things. Vartans like the ones here. If we were a people of leadership and change, we wouldn't have ended up Clients. But there aren't many great Vartan works and we end up working for others." It's not exactly how Tasha feels, but playing the devil's advocate to her own doubts and fears about her race through the muzzle of a person she invented helps her vent and might be enlightening.
"You were engineered, so.. do you have a Vartan family, or have you been raised just by Khattans, if I might ask?" Thispe asks. "I assumed the ancient Vartans were like us Humans - looking for a strategic advantage over each other. Thousands of cultures.. all of them thinking 'they' were the correct one, of course. I could see the Khattans exploiting warring factions. Pick the one that will sign in blood, give them what they need to defeat their rivals and take over their culture. Just don't give them things that can be used against their new benefactors, of course.."
"If they'd found us early in our civilization.." Thispe says, but leaves it hanging.
"I heard the old cultures were a series of clans, but as you said I am engineered. I have also heard other things." Other things like they, the Titanians, and the Cill all used to be one Galaxy controlling army, long before Clientage. Speaking of clans also gives her a moment to pinder how to answer the Human, what story to create. It would be easier if she had a very limited upbringing -- less to try and guess correctly -- so she goes with that. "I was created from Expedition-era genestock drawn from reserves and raised by a mix of Khattans, AI, and tutors. I had a Karnor tutor so that I would seem Karnor. But I was injured, and I don't remember what I used to. I am on ... " She pauses, thinking what generic word might be used out here. " ... vacation? While I recover and the means to fix me is prepared. So I am learning things. I did know House guards, though, and I have my Titan AI. He's my friend. As for Clientage, you wouldn't have done well. Neither the Houses nor if the Celestials found you." /
Blame Mafdet and Ahriman./ "But I remember stories about early Karnor and about Humans. Would you sell out the Vartans to protect your Karnor? Would you sell out Karnor to protect Humans? I know early Karnor had a difficult time. Lesser card holders."
"We have a long history of selling out each other," Thispe notes. "Sometimes quite literally selling each other. We got past that before creating the Karnors though. They were.. a logical extension of an existing relationship. A lot of us Humans frankly bond more strongly with Karnors than we do with other Humans. We'd never sell them out. If we'd done the chimpanzees or dolphins first though.. I don't know. Karnors give us a moral grounding. They make us better, so that we won't abuse our other uplifts, if you can believe it. As for selling out Vartans.. I hope we won't be in a position for that to be possible. But our uplifts are our family. We'd do things to protect our family that I doubt any of the Galactics would be prepared for. Humans aren't the strongest or the smartest or the most technologically advanced, or even the must honorable of the Galactics. But we are by God the most dangerous in a fight."
Tasha wonders about that. It isn't just a question of curiosity or even concern for the fate of her peoples, but of the future disposition of Galactic Civilization. When the day comes that Galactic Civilization knows about the Sifra and their Clients, where will things fall. Who should she trust to try and hold civilization together. What she knows might tip things one way or another if she can prove it, and perhaps she can. Speaking to the doorman has made her realize she might be able to make a difference doing more than chasing down the Ogdru-hem, she might be able to nudge things. Convince powers. Tip scales. She thinks it's what the Progenitors may have done, if they understood it.
"I hope you are what you say you are. Some day it might be put to the test." Tasha inclines her head, takes another sip. "It can be dificult to know who to trust and how they'll act. Certain outcomes are obvious. I think even the Celestials would admit their response would be to subvert the rest of us, and that would go badly. The Houses vary. Vartans need to understand who they were and could be. I'm less certain of the Confederates, but from what you say I think they would align with your TerraGens. The Silent-Ones would follow, too, I think." She knows saying what she said might reveal a little more about herself than she likes, seem too interested or knowledgeable or ... knowing, but her duty is more important than her disguise.
"Oh, the sides are pretty much drawn up," Thispe says. "The Celestials are the most steeped in tradition, but most of the Khattan Trade Houses will side with the ones they do business with. The Vartan graduation is going to change everything, I think. And if the people in the room get what they want, then that change could be just in time to bring about a whole new era of Galactic civilization. Making it more truly Galactic for one thing. At least more than it is now."
"Like before." Tasha takes a spoonfull of soup, watching her conversation partner with golden eyes. If we can reach that day before the Sifra awaken. It will be sooner, this time. She wonders if she'll live that long, but if it comes to that she knows there are ways she might live longer. She doesn't want to vanish before her task is done, or foist it on someone else. She didn't hand the Seraph to the next generation, she didn't ask anyone else to go to the Hall and she didn't volunteer anyone else to Atum. ut it seems so far, so long. Hundreds of years. "You've shared very openly with me. I appreciate that. I'm never sure what Terragens will think of me; I've been told I don't have something essentially Karnor."
"You have enough for me to feel inclined to help you more than I would someone else," Thispe claims. "That and you're young. When you're my age, having a young person listen to you is practically intoxicating." Thispe doesn't look particularly old though. But Galactic's ages are less likely to be obvious anyway.
Tasha is a little to glad to hear she's young, because she hasn't felt very young lately. Mostly she's felt a bit tired, like the endless ages of the Progenitors had somehow seeped in to her. A smile forms on her lips. "That's good. I'm not a bad person, I don't think. I just have a lot to think about." She decides not to comment on Thispe's age, mainly because she isn't sure how to without saying the wrong thing, unused to the longer lifespans and agelessness of Galactic Space. "I try to listen, too. There a lot I don't know and things that I do know I don't understand as well as I would like."
"Good, you're better off thinking you don't fully understand things as well as you would like," Thispe claims. "That way you won't stop asking questions and seeking answers. Unless it's math. Math usually has definite answers, unless it's really interesting math. And it's a good attitude to have especially when trying to understand other people. I'm actually surprised that you're out on a sabbatical or walkabout. Not that you aren't the right age for it. Just that.. I've never met a deliberately designed person before. Someone went to a lot of expense to make you, and that sort usually isn't the kind to let an investment like that just walk off and do their own thing. Unless that was the point, maybe. Especially with ancient Karnor DNA. And a Karnor tutor. The artifacts I can't quite figure out either. If you're running away.. this is certainly the place to shake off being followed."
Tasha decides not to comment on the why of things. She doubts she could deal with all the details and make it convincing, what's mroe she isn't certain that if she gave the wrong answer it mught come back to haunt her. She had a plan that if confronted by anyone whi might like to steal her, she would remark that it is very off she's alone, with the impression being she's never as alone as she seems and to interfere with her would bring down something dire upon the heads of anyone who threatened her. But to hint at that too soon might scare people off, or make her seem like a spy or political agent, which would be a different kind of bad.
As it is, she just tries to move the conversation on. "Sometimes I feel like I won't be able to live up to what I've been entrusted with." Too evasive, she'll have to comment on some parts of the question or risk seeming like she's trying to avoid digging, which could suggest vulnerability. "Do you think I'm here to interact with Karnors? Influence people? Humans? I see you noticed the ancient DNA; both of it is. I don't have the ability to influence Karnor that way though. No one is following me. The artifacts are ... " How to put it? " ... part of my image and lineage. The sword is mine, by right. The armor also belonged to my ancient clan."
"Ah, so you didn't just come out of a test tube," Thispe says, and seems to relax a bit. "Lineage.. I suppose you could have been created to honor your ancestor somehow then. I like that idea over the alternatives, so I'll go with that if you don't want to correct me. But.. if you do need help out of a bad situation.." The woman produces a card (everyone seems to have them) with her face on it and offers it to Tasha. "These.. Seed Lounges.. act as sanctuaries too, if you need to just duck into someplace for a bit."
Tasha accepts the card, looking down at it. Somehow just holding the card makes her feel worlds better, perhaps because it's a tangible example that the universe isn't quite as badly off as it feels some times, or just that even if it is there are elements to that might be nutured -- nuture. Like seeds, she decides. "Thank you. I mean that; I do." The card is placed next to the flier, which is beside the card the Vartan soldier had handed her. "Sometimes it feels like everything is overwhelming and I won't be able to do what is askd of me. Or won't want to, because it seems like it won't matter." And then she looks around, really looks around for a moment. People, together. Maybe she can do more than accept help. "Maybe I can help in return."
Logfile from Amelia. (OOC) Log start: d:\logs\fenris\2016-11-17_seedclub.htmlAfter watching a dancing bunny until her bioengineered drug trip ended, Tasha didn't feel relaxed so much as a bit hollow. It was difficult for her to focus on her companions, which didn't go unnoticed. After picking up a virtual catalog for one for the all-species clothiers (which didn't have any actual stock on hand - everything is created to order), Liza said that she could return to the ship with Aaron and Shojo to take their measurements (since she already had Tasha's) and do some research to make a few fashionably choices for everyone, and even run them past Katie and Mr. Invention once they all got together again.
Without having to look after her fellow backwater aliens, Tasha was free to try and distract herself with browsing the labyrinthine galactic bazaar - which practically specialized in distractions and novelties (some of which were likely illegal in more civilized ports).
As she meandered past the endless rows, Tasha could at least find some small comfort in how the galactic bazaar wasa little like home. That is not to say that the bazaar back home had, in itself, been particularly comforting; in actuality it had mainly been interesting, with how comforting, entertaining or depressing it might be on a particular day dependent on the young woman's mood, which in turn usually depended on how many shekels she had in her purse -- or in someone else's.
In that sense it was much like anywhere else on Sinai, except that the bazaar of Rephidim always had enough uniqueness to make it distinct. It's that distinctness she's reminded of now, and in that she finds some small comfort. Yet, like the bazaar on her 'armpit' of a home world, her mood colors her visit. She had hoped returning to Galactic Space would be an exciting and uplifting departure where she would face the tasks before her with friends at her side and hope in the air. Instead she felt her friends lives in her hands, arrived to watching the Galactics wave swords in their endless war of posturing (and actual war), had to deal with Horus's endless pessimisim, realized Atum handed her a god's task without any support other than the aforementioned depressing not-divinity, felt rejected because of Horus's treatment, and has just finished lying to everyone she meets.
In the end it feels like she'd somehow ended back where she started, it's just the view that had changed. Things are bigger now, but still the same. It leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, complicated by not wanting to show weakness to the others -- who she thinks will tell her she's acting like a teenager or throwing a fit when they simultaneously trust her to guide them in apparently saving the universe -- and the sense people trust her but only so long as she does her job and doesn't scare them. She finds herself craving an answer, the gentle eternity of Harmonia's gears, or Atum's eternal tunnel. Something more. She just doesn't know what.
The lack of knowing haunts her as she wanders, looking at this and that. She hopes that maybe a little shopping might help -- having where one had not seeming a universal pick-me-up.
"Denta-mite!" a Khattan calls out as Tasha passes. "The NanoPaste With The Greatest Taste! Cleans and rebuilds your teeth!" "XenoZip! Get your XenoZip!" "Chromadust! Change your colors to suit your mood!" The products are different.. while still being close enough to familiar by the enthusiasm of the vendors. Not every shop is hawking something though. Some are little more than walls with doors, where the customers are supposed to already know what's for sale. From one these steps an Eeee wearing a black robe with stars on it, followed by a similarly garbed Khattan. On the backs, the robes have a galactic spiral arm arcing across them, with a white symbol in the very center: a white circle with four white petals surrounding it, like a simple flower.
Tasha's eyes follow the people exiting the unmarked shop. Casual interest, nothing overt. Having once been a pickpocket casing people is an old habit though one rarely used in her current life. That she's been able to use it again, here in this alien bazaar so much like and unlike the one from home, is another point of familiarity -- but also alienation. She isn't a pickpocket, she isn't what she seems to be, and she has no idea what most of the stuff around her is. The lack of knowing isn't what's eating her, but the fact that it piques her displeasure brings her to focus her ire on it. What is this place? She wonders, chewing on her lip and swinging her gaze past it. At first she thinks it might be a Library substation, but the iconography is different. Not really havign anywhere to go, and having made sticking her nose in to other people's (gods, aliens, ancients, robots, etc. etc. ... ) business she angles towards the door. What the hell. It won't be the first time she's insinuated herself
where she doesn't belong.
Just inside the door is.. another door. It looks like an alcove, but there is a credit reader on one side and a light over the inner door, currently glowing green. The door itself is covered in different languages, and Tasha reads what she can. They all say the same thing: Privacy Room. 6 Bipeds Maximum Occupation. 500 credits per quarter-hour. Door Camera free of charge.
The instructions make sense enough but the implication of what might go on within is vague to the young woman. In a station like this with so many people and machines she might believe privacy itself is worth selling, but the robed figures make her wonder if something more might be afoot. Perhaps, she considers, it's a front. Or, it could be exactly what she thinks it is and she caught a meeting of likeminded 'bipeds' leaving some sort of clandestine get together. Were she otherwise busy with some other task she'd have turned around and left but not having anything else to do she decides to follow where ehr nose leads her, the sense of 'what the hell.' If she wastes money or looks silly, at least she learned something.
But she doesn't want to spend money just yet. Perhaps there's already someone inside. The young woman leans forward, peering at the camera.
The door turns transparent (except for the instruction text). Or the front is some sort of viewscreen. Either way, the room beyond is empty save for some universal chairs (which Tasha would know as 'stools') and a round cafe table in the center.
Well, this could be useful ... Useful, but not exactly compelling. Tasha might want to be alone, but she doesn't need to rent an entire room. Interesting, though ... I guess this sort of thing is needed. It had ssurprised her just how much more advanced civilizations than her's monitired their citizens. Ships, stations, spies, it seemed everwyhere there was something or someone watching. It makes sense to her to find something like this, and confirms some suspicions, even if she doesn't need it. Something learned, I guess. And so she steps back and turns to head out.
There's a Vartan watching her, which she catches just before he turns away and starts moving off through the alley. He's also wearing one of the space-robes-with-flower-on-it.
That's odd. Odd, but understandable. Tasha knows she may well look like the very sort these rooms were created to conceal occupants from. A spy, perhaps, or a very odd sort of House agent. As the man begins to move away she at first thinks to let him. After all, it's not like his business is her business. It's not ... Not, of course, unless it is. It'd be rude of me to follow him. Maybe dangerous. She starts walking, glancing down the way to try and figure out if the alley exists somewhere where she might intercept him without entering a dark alley. Alleys are pits where bad things happen and people and money disappear, which she knows from experience. Still ... Maybe he wants me to follow. He did wait until I saw him. I am here to learn. And he is so very suspicious.
The alley is open to the 'air' above, which means Tasha can see the other side of the hollow crystal arm. Like most alleys, it connects to a wider avenue with more shops and shoppers. For whatever reason, she just now notices that nobody is flying. There's a huge open space above, and several winged species, but none in the air. The Eeee was with someone who didn't have wings, so it makes sense that they would be grounded, but there's nothing stopping the Vartan from flying off. For that matter, Tasha already knows of several personal-flight technologies available. She even passed a shop selling flight harnesses (although it wasn't clear if they were made for general use or just for spacesuits). The robed Vartan meets up with another similarly robed figure. The new one is tall and thin, so possibly a Belter Human. The robe certainly hides their features better than the Vartan's does. They're both headed hubwards down the avenue.
If you didn't want to look suspicious and not be followed you shouldn't dress like mages. Another word comes to Tasha's mind regarding the uniform and possible associations, one of Nora's. Nora's opinion, too, she thinks. Or like a cult. At the moment cults annoy her, and she thinks she has every reason to think so. After all she ended up at the top -- or is it bottom? -- of a million years old multi-faceted religion only to end up with a job and a grumpy god. All the talk of transcendance, all glory, all the hopes and insinuations and the truth was both more and less than what the religious suggested. It's not that she wasn't awed, or isn't now, but it wasn't that. It wasn't comfort. And while this cult, or secret meeting, or robe enthusiats club isn't responsible, they are infront of her. What's one more religion and one more god. She thinks of the ways she might poke holes in it as she follows along. You picked the wrong Nohbahkim to glance at.
No further robe-club members join the pair being followed, and nobody really gives them a second glance either - but then, nobody really does to Tasha for that matter. Out here, nobody wants anyone else looking too closely at themselves, which requires that they not look to too closely at others. Such a rule isn't likely to apply on actual settled worlds though. Before reaching the hub, the robed pair turn towards one of the tram-tubes that run up and down the spire, but go past it to another facade. This one isn't blank though, it has the same spiral-arm-arch painting as the robes, and the clover-flower symbol is right over the opened entry arch. There is a rack near the entry with what look like brochures with the same motif.
Tasha slows down as she spots the pair beside the building. She doesn't want to alarm them and thinks she remain outside the tall one's vision but if she can see the Vartan he can probably see her. Thus she waits, occassionally glancing off a reflective surface to see if the two have moved on before she makes an attempt at grabbing on of those fliers.
The tall one has gone on ahead inside, while the Vartan leans back against the archway. He pulls back his hood, then reaches inside his robe to extract a plastic cylinder. He bends it into a C-shape, and clips it over his beak nostrils. A few seconds later, he exhales a cloud of smoke.
Well ... I don't have forever. Tasha pushes away from the wall she'd been leaning on, a outcropping between her and the figure as she used reflections to watch without standing out. Now she makes her way over, keeping as back as she can and intending to circle around as close to behind the man as possible. If he's going to react badly to her presence, she'd prefer she were close enough to use the weapons she has. She also reminds herself to buy a weapon that has a range of more than five feet.
The Vartan seems lost in thought. At least until Tasha gets a better angle, and can see blinking lights inside the man's ears.. and what might be some sort of projection in front of his eyes. He's clearly listening and watching something while he smokes.
It's an easy trick to get behind the man then. Tasha casually puts a hand on her sword, leaning one shoulder against the wall bside him. "It's rude to stare," she tells him, grinning. Grinning like Nora would grin. Cocky.
The Vartan turns his head just enough so one golden eye can watch her. "It takes time for the x-ray system to see through your clothes is all," he notes with a deadpan expression.
"I guess it does," Tasha agrees with a little shrug. "Nice robe. Learning magic, with a cult? Maybe some sort of design studio?" The young woman pushes off, then reaches over and snatches up a flier. "Don't get a lot of Karnor-Vartans here? It's such a backwater, isn't it?"
"Backwater?" the man asks. "All the water is distilled or recycled here." The brochure is about as thick as a piece of paper, and activates when Tasha touches it. The symbol and starmap are replaced by a list of 'Start' words in different languages.
Tasha uses her Vartan hand thumb to engage the Vartan option while saying, "Backwater, backwater. Armpit, fringe, outlier?" She pauses in her reading to eye the man a moment. "Distant ..? Nevermind." And then it's back to the flier.
A presentation begins to play, with text in Vartan and also a female Vartan voice. The sound is a bit odd, in that Tasha can't help but feel it's being projected directly into her head somehow. "We are all their children," the text and voice both read, as a flower seems to bloom on the screen. Except it isn't a flower. Even with the small image, there's a sense of massive scale. "We call them Star Seeds, but they are much more than their name implies." More images fly about: the DNA double-helix, single-celled organisms and a general evolutionary timeline overlaid on images of different worlds. "They seeded our worlds. But they return to them as well." More images show up, this time of plants and animals.. and subtle variations of them. A Terran cheetah looks out from tall yellow grass, only to change into the face of a Silent-One. There are many other examples, most of which Tasha can't place.
"On each pass, they collect the most promising of that which they've sewn, and share them across other worlds," the narration claims. "They want us to be together. To see ourselves in each other. And they will return. How will they react to those that do not embrace this?"
Now the images are of ancient ruins, probably First Ones. And of burned worlds, what Tasha has been told are Ash Zones where all life has been destroyed.
"Star seeds." Tasha knows about star seeds, the creation of the Outsiders who were in turn created by the Ogdoad along other first generation sentients like the Xilfrim. All to sow life, and all to devour it some day. It makes her angry. It makes her pity. It makes her snort.
"I bet they won't give a damn because they're probably just life sewing machines. Who knows if they even care, or were ever expected to," she mutters to the flier. "You can't expect old gods and godlike aliens to care or even understand. Or want to."
The Star Seed symbol appears again, but the wing-petals are windows onto different worlds, showing the Galactic races. They each reach through towards the center circle and join hands. "Cooperation is Salvation," the voice and text conclude. A scrolling list of what must be locations on other worlds appears last.
Another snort, but less so. "Cooperation. Well maybe it is, but not because some old gods say so. You know what it is?" She doesn't wait for the Vartan man to answer. "It's pretension. Fix all our problems, gods. Be all we want, gods. Live up to our expectations, gods! But they're gods. Why would they ever be just like us? At our level. Like us. Sure they may be a bit like us, but something that's existed millions or billions of years sees time differently. And what's time, but another backwater?"
"We don't think the Star Seeds are gods," the Vartan notes. "We see the evidence though. You're a Terra Primest Mezzode, aren't you? Your beliefs aren't that different. We shouldn't all be looking out for just ourselves. We're all connected, after all, so why not follow the connection to the logical conclusion?"
"Yeah, well ... " Tasha tries to ball up her anger enough for a retort, but it's not as if she disagrees with much of what the man said. She'd been complaining about the lack of cooperation throughout, even so far back as her early days in the JEF. She made the JEF again to be a cooperative effort. Knowing what she does, seeing what she's seen, the need for cooperation and consolidation is more important than ever before and for all the old reasons but also a number of very dangerous new ones. Except ... No one knows them. No one except her and maybe a few power players. It's not that she thinks these people are wrong, exactly, but they don't know. "What if the conclusion isn't what you hope for?"
"Yeah, we'll have built a better world for no reason then, right?" the man says, and blows a smoke ring (which is very impressive when you have a beak). "I'm not as big into it as the Migration or Second Expedition folk are - I don't have deep pockets for stuff like that. But I want something better for my great-grandkids. They won't be under the Khattans anymore. I can't really imagine what that will be like. But I'm all for them hooking up with the Confederates and Terrans. I like them. Ever listened to blood music or whale song? You Primests think Terran life is special because of.. well, a lot of the stuff in brochure. Because Terrans will bond with anyone, even their vermin do it."
"Don't think I asked to be like this," Tasha awarns, but without any real heat. It's true she never asked to be a hybrid and it needs to be stated to show she may well be an unwilling participant in 'Terran Primecy', that her exposue to Terrans has been mixed. That a person shouldn't assume. That she isn't certain she believes she favors them, most of all. More than anything, it shows her confusion, though not the why of it. She stares at the flier at length, then simply adds, "Can I go in?"
"Anyone can go in, door's always open because there's no door," the man says. "There's a buffet."
"I was expecting chairs and a speaker." Tasha looks up, pocketing the flier. "But thanks, I guess I am hungry." She gives him a nod and then begisn heading for the door.
The interior seems to be one large room with a lot of different sorts of tables and seating. The galactic arm is hovering above, with a blue sphere encompassing Known Space and several glowing lines running up and down the curve of the arm. Beyond Known Space are hundreds of highlighted stars along the paths, which tend to fan out the further they get from the blue area. There's also a buffet, as promised, and a lot of different people. Not all of them wear robes, either. Eeee dominate - and given the nature of Star Seeds and Confederate biotechnology, it probably isn't a huge leap to think the whole thing isn't descended from some ancient Eeee religion. There are a few Silent-Ones (though none of them in robes), a surprising number of Naga, several Belter-Humans, a mix of Aquilans and Korvs, a few Vartan, and quite a few Khattans, at least half of them in robes as well.
It almost reminds Tasha of home.
But not quite. The young woman steps away from the entrance to give room to anyone who might enter after her, head tilting to regard the path of the star seeds. She follows the lines, from Galactic Space on out, then her gaze travels farther and she wonders where the Outsiders dwell. Where the Ogdoad are. Erebus. It's a strange feeling, to be on the inside of knowing, for once. To understand the mysteries, rather than be seeking them.
Looking away from the map Tasha decides she'd best keep moving before she stands out too much, heading towards the buffet. She is hungry, all the walking really builds an appetite and the station is quite large. Moreover it helps not to be staring at the map, to be going somwehere and doing something even if it's just moving from standing still to get some food.
The buffet is self-serve in the sort of way a Mage would appreciate. It's alive, and a bit like an upside-down centipede that has heated (and chilled) depressions in its belly. Even as Tasha approaches, the legs pass a platter along to meet up with her. The platter has built in depressions in place of bowls or plates, and isn't square or rectangular at all: the outer edges form the lips of the various depressions. There's also some sort of leather cushion growing or attached to the bottom.
Tasha fights the urge to grimmace, urging herself to remember Confederate biotechnology is really just a squishier version of the more familiar inorganic items she uses. That she herself is a kind of biotechnology, so how weird can the buffet really be? It's still really weird, she admits, but she pushes herself to keep moving and to order food. "Uhh," she utters, hoping she just sounds indecisive, " ... how about this and ... " she gestures vaguely, mixing verbal commands with gestures and hoping one or the other gets things going. Pretending not to be a bumpkin really is very hard work.
Mostly this causes the food 'bins' to move around. There are a lot of selections, although most of them look somewhat familiar. Confederates do not go for synthesized food - some of it still clearly alive, just like in a Rephidim buffet. The bigger creatures are clearly meant for Nagas though, and the buffet seems aware of this and doesn't present them to Tasha. It does offer up a lot of soups, chowders, broths and sauces, along with a wide selection of meats. A very wide selection, making her think of the sort of stuff you'd get on Abaddon. Almost all of it is presented raw, however (and some with convenient bones for gripping), which means there's probably a way to have cooked to order. There are several 'pits' that may serve that purpose. Some seem to have broth or oil in them that is clearly heated.
"Be sure to try the batter-dip," a very tall human says to Tasha in passing.
Without really knowing what she's doing or picking, Tasha opts for variety. She grabs some of everything that looks good, which means a lot of meat and a few soups. Eventually she reaches the heated bins and sticks with the day's motto of 'following her nose' by using it here, sniffing at each and combining meats with basins that smell like they'd go together. It makes her wish she were a better cook -- or even an okay cook. Which she decidedly is not.
"O-okay?" She goes at the recommendation, distracted by bizarre no meal choices and caught off guard. Tasha realizes this may well be her chance, though, and notes, "I'm used to my meals be pre-made for me. I don't have any real experience with Confederate cooking or their ... devices." It's what she think a mezzode like herself might say.
"Here, what have you selected.." the tall woman (not wearing a robe) says, and looks over Tasha's choices. What follows is a quick lesson in 'cooking' Confederate style. The different pits cook things to specific levels of doneness - the ideal level varying for different meats, but the pits are smart enough to figure it out. Some of the choices, such as a small steak, are sprinkled with spices that actually cook it in place. Another section of the buffet is for 'build your own' concoctions, which the Belter demonstrates by taking a sea-bug tail of some sort and several chunks of different meats, then fusing them together with something like glue - but the result is that the meats literally blend together at the seams, creating something unique. "The sweet potatoes are good too, if you want something close to a dessert," she advises.
Tasha decides to stick with the premade options rather than to venture to in to unknown territory, especially given the results of her attempts at cooking. Vomitting can, in no way she can see, help her current situation. In the end she ends up with her selection of meats cooked to the usual standard, a helping of sweet potates, and a selection of soups. "Thank you," she offers the Terran woman, whom she has to look up and up at. "I've never been to one of these places before." She pauses, then adds, "I'm supposed to be learning about local culture and history, but I know about star seeds."
"Caltrop culture is.. fairly unique," the woman says, and leads Tasha to a beverage station. "Every other Outpost has a host government or Trade House, after all, which impose their own rules, taxes and so on. Caltrop is an exercise in cooperative anarchy. I'm Thispe, by the way."
"Aldara," Tasha offers, thinking it funny she finally did change her name, in a sense. A new name for a new accomplishment; the Vartan way. "That is, I'm Aldara." Dhe approaches the new contraption, which looks like it could trap her between all its moving bits, and follows directions between offering her own side of the conversation. "If I remember right, Caltrop is a Sifran-designed station. The closest to their space, which is where the Expedition went. I've heard there are factions of the Star Seeders that support a second Expedition." She then nods to herself. "I was designed to emulate old Expedition genetics. My armor and sword are historical relics."
"Are you a performer then?" Thispe asks, and nods towards a compatible table and chair setup, which just happens to be next to a group of Khattans, robed and un-robed. "I see Dassen K'tar over there, trying to drum up funding. It's always fun to listen to him try to sell it to other Khattans. And.. we aren't certain the Caltrop was a station or if it served some other purpose. It's very convenient though."
"The Sifra are mysterious and difficult to know," Tasha agrees, wondering if her tone was a little too knowing. She decides to keep an eye on that. After following the woman over she takes her seat, glad to be settling down after having meandered across what feels like half the station in her aimless funk. She considers a moment, then replies, "I'm a duelist, but I'm still in training. So in a sense I am. But I am also a student and I like learning about history and other things." What's he druming up funding for?" A glance over. "What's he looking to fund, anyway?"
"The Migration Map mission," Thispe notes, and sets a disk (which could easily be mistaken for a drink coaster) onto the table. That same odd sound-projection feeling hits Tasha in the forehead, and the Khattan conversation from the next table is converted into Standard for her. ".. you explain the part about the whales again?" one of the unrobed, but well-dressed Khattans asks. "That's Second Expedition," the robed one that seems to be hosting things says. "The Migration mission is to verify the projected Star Seed routes and catalogue the planetary systems that show organic life development and any signs of civilization. The whales are needed for the actual full, multi-generational survey that would follow..."
"Whales..? Multi-generational ..?" It's then Tasha's expression twitches as she thinks of the Waybuilders. Ever since she knew they were from the future, she's wondered when and where they may have started. And what the Waybuilders reminded her of most is Nuktupai, a whale. Traveling, mapping space whales definitely piques her interest in that regard. "Um." She falters, then presses on, asking further, "So, a mission to map the star seed paths with whales, and something about the Second Expedition? Do you know anything about the Second Expedition?"
"And these are going to be fully Confederate missions?" another businesscat asks. "I don't see the profit. What if they decide not to share the survey, and lay claim to any biodiversity finds.. or potential Clients?" "I already explained that this isn't about profit or Clients," Dassen says, gesturing a bit impatiently. "It's about discovery and cooperation. The Second Expedition will be equipped for making First Contact. That's what the whales are for! And the Confederates are the only ones with a viable multi-generational technology. Buy in now, and you'll have the goodwill of the Eeee! In a few generations, I assure you that will be invaluable after the Vartans graduate from Client status.."
"Oh, the notion is that it will be best to approach any unknown civilizations with whale songs," Thispe explains, then shrugs. "They're very popular among the Galactics. And the Confederate bioships don't need to haul along a lot of support systems, since they're self-maintaining. That and the Eeee don't mind living their entire lives on a ship, or raising kids on them. They originally had multi-generational slow-boat colonies after all."
The Belter leans in further then, and whispers, "Really though, I suspect some of the old-guard Eeee think whales can talk to the Star Seeds somehow."
"I see." Tasha mentally files these options away, as they may be useful in finding profit for her ship. Further, they may be useful to her overall mission and she's got a personal interest in seeing them succeed. She restarted the old Expedition and she would like to know, entirely out of curisosity, what the seeds are all about. Leaning in, she nods ssowly. "That would be very interesting if that were the case. I'd like to know what they would say. And, who they would speak of."
"Frankly, I think they'd be better off finding Outsiders and buying the information from them, but that's... Galactic thinking, I suppose," Thispe notes. "For the Eeee involved in this, it's more of a religious thing. Well, not religious but.. what's the word.. spiritual. It's a spiritual quest sort of thing. I have no idea how they decided whales were important, but I suspect they just want to see what happens. Only the dolphins seem to really understand the whales, and even they semi-worship them."
"Of course, I know some of the groups backing this have their own motives," Thispe says, and grins. "Like the Belters."
"They are very impressive. I've heard the song myself." Tasha begins in to her meal, starting with the strips of meat, light to dark. There's no reason for it, just whimsy. "Well, there's always hidden motives, isn't there? What's the Belters version? or," and so the young woman cocks her head to the side, " ... can you tell me?" The emphasis not so much to tease, but hoping to get across the possibility she may be handed misinformation -- not that she could feel indignant given how much she providing misinformation.
"It's not a big secret that most Terrans dislike the Patron-Client custom," Thispe notes, and sips from her drink. "The Confederates pretty much ignore it but pretend to go with it. And the Vartans, as the first Clients set to graduate in.. forever.. certainly have their opinions. So the not-so-hidden part of it is to seek out potential Clients and warn or hide them or do whatever shenanigans the Eeee did to 'prove' the Korvs and Aquilans were already on the verge of interstellar travel when they met them."
"Now some of the Khattans are thinking like that too," the Belter notes. "It makes sense, since losing the Vartans as Clients affects the Khattan's own status - unless the reason for granting that status goes out of favor."
Deciding her House Vartan disguise might demand it, Tasha leans in again and admits, "I don't like it much myself, but it's not my place to say so," in what she hopes sounds suitably differential. She then leans back and adds, "If it were to be dissolved, what do you think would do it? Discovering that the current Galactic sentients were created around the same time? Were aided? Having too many non-clients to make enforcement impossible against a allied galaxy?" She then tilts her head. "If the Houses abandon it, that leaves only the Celestials and the Silent-Ones. I don't predict the Silent-Ones would stand against the galaxy, so it would be the Celestials alone." And Ahriman is out of the picture and so is Mafdet. She had once feared the two of them might be her enemy, a unnerving possibility.
"Like all things at that scale: money will decide it," Thispe suggests. "The Houses that start the transition now will be better able to maintain good relations with the Vartans a few generations from now. The Vartans are the Khattans biggest little-c-clients, after all. They want to keep the maintenance contracts and other ties, especially the little Houses that specialize in serving Vartans. They just need to show they can be just as profitable in a post Patron-Client relationship. I hear some are already thinking ahead, figuring out what new emerging markets there will be once the Vartans are no longer primarily a mercenary force. Finding and raising up a new Client would be hugely expensive, and also be under a lot more scrutiny than the big Houses like. The Celestials.. are the Celestials. They see things differently, and are more willing to 'tinker' with Clients to shape them into a service niche. The Silent-Ones and the Vykarin are an odd pairing, and nobody expects them to pursue new Clients."
"And we Terragens are just crazy," Thispe claims with a big grin. "We're potential-Client rich with just our homeworld. We just don't want them to be under Galactic restrictions."
"That makes sense to me." Tasha taps the table with her Vartan hand, thinking a moment, then admits, "I don't focus often on politics, that's not what I was made for. Since I was injured, I've been told to learn more and see things. A lot of people assume I'm a Terran Primest, that my House is, but I never thought about it much. I wasn't asked to be this way. I'm not sure what I think of Terragens yet." Which is true, though not as ambivalent as she makes it sound. She does like Karnors a great deal, and Phins, while she hasn't met amny of the others except Humans. Except she also remembers Mariel's sad story and all the poor Karnor who didn't add up, and as someone who didn't add up for a long time, that makes her deeply uncomfortable. What's more, she isn't quite comfortable with Human trickery, something she recognizes as somewhat hypocritical given she's using more than a bit herself. "Do you feel Terrans are suited or able to lead Galactic culture?"
"Eh, nobody is suited to lead Galactic culture," Thispe notes. "You don't lead culture. Culture happens. It evolves. Only despots and fools think they can control it. That said... we have an impact, especially on the more closed societies. What we create is seen as subversive there. Unlike the other Galactics, our history isn't of a global culture - we have thousands of them. Plus the dolphins, which had their own to begin with. It bothers me sometimes though. Seeing Vartans drinking coffee, or Silent-Ones dancing to our music. The Celestials are at least snobbish enough to not use too much of it. The Confederates.. are frankly not that different enough from humans in the first place. We bleed culture all over each other and like it."
"I can't wait to see what Vartan culture is like, once it's.. you know.. just them without the Khattans," Thispe notes. "I probably won't live that long though."
"Sometimes I bleed it back," Tasha remarks, surprised by her own apparent wittiness. She sips -- actually sips, refined Karnor style -- her drink and wathces the Human's reaction. As she does she inwardly admits it's an interesting point, and can't help but wonder why a Human would make it to her -- to her literal and figurative face no less. Her, a Vartan-Karnor. She wonders if the Human forgot she was a Vartan, and a Vartan-TerraGen mish-mash no less. That she's ostentesibly a member of a Khattan House that may well deal in these things. The point asks so many questions and suggests so much. She may well be pondering this for says if she doesn't get an explaination.
"As for Vartan culture, I expect it'll be rather boring," Tasha admits, shoulders rolling in a shrug. "Peaceful, inclusive and boring, with just the outliers changing things. Vartans like the ones here. If we were a people of leadership and change, we wouldn't have ended up Clients. But there aren't many great Vartan works and we end up working for others." It's not exactly how Tasha feels, but playing the devil's advocate to her own doubts and fears about her race through the muzzle of a person she invented helps her vent and might be enlightening.
"You were engineered, so.. do you have a Vartan family, or have you been raised just by Khattans, if I might ask?" Thispe asks. "I assumed the ancient Vartans were like us Humans - looking for a strategic advantage over each other. Thousands of cultures.. all of them thinking 'they' were the correct one, of course. I could see the Khattans exploiting warring factions. Pick the one that will sign in blood, give them what they need to defeat their rivals and take over their culture. Just don't give them things that can be used against their new benefactors, of course.."
"If they'd found us early in our civilization.." Thispe says, but leaves it hanging.
"I heard the old cultures were a series of clans, but as you said I am engineered. I have also heard other things." Other things like they, the Titanians, and the Cill all used to be one Galaxy controlling army, long before Clientage. Speaking of clans also gives her a moment to pinder how to answer the Human, what story to create. It would be easier if she had a very limited upbringing -- less to try and guess correctly -- so she goes with that. "I was created from Expedition-era genestock drawn from reserves and raised by a mix of Khattans, AI, and tutors. I had a Karnor tutor so that I would seem Karnor. But I was injured, and I don't remember what I used to. I am on ... " She pauses, thinking what generic word might be used out here. " ... vacation? While I recover and the means to fix me is prepared. So I am learning things. I did know House guards, though, and I have my Titan AI. He's my friend. As for Clientage, you wouldn't have done well. Neither the Houses nor if the Celestials found you." /
Blame Mafdet and Ahriman./ "But I remember stories about early Karnor and about Humans. Would you sell out the Vartans to protect your Karnor? Would you sell out Karnor to protect Humans? I know early Karnor had a difficult time. Lesser card holders."
"We have a long history of selling out each other," Thispe notes. "Sometimes quite literally selling each other. We got past that before creating the Karnors though. They were.. a logical extension of an existing relationship. A lot of us Humans frankly bond more strongly with Karnors than we do with other Humans. We'd never sell them out. If we'd done the chimpanzees or dolphins first though.. I don't know. Karnors give us a moral grounding. They make us better, so that we won't abuse our other uplifts, if you can believe it. As for selling out Vartans.. I hope we won't be in a position for that to be possible. But our uplifts are our family. We'd do things to protect our family that I doubt any of the Galactics would be prepared for. Humans aren't the strongest or the smartest or the most technologically advanced, or even the must honorable of the Galactics. But we are by God the most dangerous in a fight."
Tasha wonders about that. It isn't just a question of curiosity or even concern for the fate of her peoples, but of the future disposition of Galactic Civilization. When the day comes that Galactic Civilization knows about the Sifra and their Clients, where will things fall. Who should she trust to try and hold civilization together. What she knows might tip things one way or another if she can prove it, and perhaps she can. Speaking to the doorman has made her realize she might be able to make a difference doing more than chasing down the Ogdru-hem, she might be able to nudge things. Convince powers. Tip scales. She thinks it's what the Progenitors may have done, if they understood it.
"I hope you are what you say you are. Some day it might be put to the test." Tasha inclines her head, takes another sip. "It can be dificult to know who to trust and how they'll act. Certain outcomes are obvious. I think even the Celestials would admit their response would be to subvert the rest of us, and that would go badly. The Houses vary. Vartans need to understand who they were and could be. I'm less certain of the Confederates, but from what you say I think they would align with your TerraGens. The Silent-Ones would follow, too, I think." She knows saying what she said might reveal a little more about herself than she likes, seem too interested or knowledgeable or ... knowing, but her duty is more important than her disguise.
"Oh, the sides are pretty much drawn up," Thispe says. "The Celestials are the most steeped in tradition, but most of the Khattan Trade Houses will side with the ones they do business with. The Vartan graduation is going to change everything, I think. And if the people in the room get what they want, then that change could be just in time to bring about a whole new era of Galactic civilization. Making it more truly Galactic for one thing. At least more than it is now."
"Like before." Tasha takes a spoonfull of soup, watching her conversation partner with golden eyes. If we can reach that day before the Sifra awaken. It will be sooner, this time. She wonders if she'll live that long, but if it comes to that she knows there are ways she might live longer. She doesn't want to vanish before her task is done, or foist it on someone else. She didn't hand the Seraph to the next generation, she didn't ask anyone else to go to the Hall and she didn't volunteer anyone else to Atum. ut it seems so far, so long. Hundreds of years. "You've shared very openly with me. I appreciate that. I'm never sure what Terragens will think of me; I've been told I don't have something essentially Karnor."
"You have enough for me to feel inclined to help you more than I would someone else," Thispe claims. "That and you're young. When you're my age, having a young person listen to you is practically intoxicating." Thispe doesn't look particularly old though. But Galactic's ages are less likely to be obvious anyway.
Tasha is a little to glad to hear she's young, because she hasn't felt very young lately. Mostly she's felt a bit tired, like the endless ages of the Progenitors had somehow seeped in to her. A smile forms on her lips. "That's good. I'm not a bad person, I don't think. I just have a lot to think about." She decides not to comment on Thispe's age, mainly because she isn't sure how to without saying the wrong thing, unused to the longer lifespans and agelessness of Galactic Space. "I try to listen, too. There a lot I don't know and things that I do know I don't understand as well as I would like."
"Good, you're better off thinking you don't fully understand things as well as you would like," Thispe claims. "That way you won't stop asking questions and seeking answers. Unless it's math. Math usually has definite answers, unless it's really interesting math. And it's a good attitude to have especially when trying to understand other people. I'm actually surprised that you're out on a sabbatical or walkabout. Not that you aren't the right age for it. Just that.. I've never met a deliberately designed person before. Someone went to a lot of expense to make you, and that sort usually isn't the kind to let an investment like that just walk off and do their own thing. Unless that was the point, maybe. Especially with ancient Karnor DNA. And a Karnor tutor. The artifacts I can't quite figure out either. If you're running away.. this is certainly the place to shake off being followed."
Tasha decides not to comment on the why of things. She doubts she could deal with all the details and make it convincing, what's mroe she isn't certain that if she gave the wrong answer it mught come back to haunt her. She had a plan that if confronted by anyone whi might like to steal her, she would remark that it is very off she's alone, with the impression being she's never as alone as she seems and to interfere with her would bring down something dire upon the heads of anyone who threatened her. But to hint at that too soon might scare people off, or make her seem like a spy or political agent, which would be a different kind of bad.
As it is, she just tries to move the conversation on. "Sometimes I feel like I won't be able to live up to what I've been entrusted with." Too evasive, she'll have to comment on some parts of the question or risk seeming like she's trying to avoid digging, which could suggest vulnerability. "Do you think I'm here to interact with Karnors? Influence people? Humans? I see you noticed the ancient DNA; both of it is. I don't have the ability to influence Karnor that way though. No one is following me. The artifacts are ... " How to put it? " ... part of my image and lineage. The sword is mine, by right. The armor also belonged to my ancient clan."
"Ah, so you didn't just come out of a test tube," Thispe says, and seems to relax a bit. "Lineage.. I suppose you could have been created to honor your ancestor somehow then. I like that idea over the alternatives, so I'll go with that if you don't want to correct me. But.. if you do need help out of a bad situation.." The woman produces a card (everyone seems to have them) with her face on it and offers it to Tasha. "These.. Seed Lounges.. act as sanctuaries too, if you need to just duck into someplace for a bit."
Tasha accepts the card, looking down at it. Somehow just holding the card makes her feel worlds better, perhaps because it's a tangible example that the universe isn't quite as badly off as it feels some times, or just that even if it is there are elements to that might be nutured -- nuture. Like seeds, she decides. "Thank you. I mean that; I do." The card is placed next to the flier, which is beside the card the Vartan soldier had handed her. "Sometimes it feels like everything is overwhelming and I won't be able to do what is askd of me. Or won't want to, because it seems like it won't matter." And then she looks around, really looks around for a moment. People, together. Maybe she can do more than accept help. "Maybe I can help in return."