The Silent-Ones tablet finally lit up with the wargame schedule. It was set for the next morning, local time, and two tenders would come to collect Melchior from the John Carter docking platform - which means that Tasha has to get the Titan out of the hangar and onto the platform for the escort. The manual RCS setup that was fitted to Melchior during the sortie to recover the hyperspace transceiver is still available at least, even though it needs to be strapped to the Titan's forearms again.
It's the sort of task that's best accomplished by Melchior himself, since the rocket-podded gauntlets are too heavy for any of the crew to deal with themselves.
Tasha had been in the midst of a mid-day nap, though days in space are relative -- or arbitraty -- depending on where you are and who has clout enough to set them. Far from any star, Caltrop's days are a mix of station time and the time and schedual set by its constitutent organizations ad residents. As an ex-sailor and now spacer, Tasha has found the transition both new and yet also familiar. Sleeping when she can, awake and on duty as needed, it's not so different from her life aboard The Rake, except now she controls her schedual and day and night are by situation and by their combined command staff.
Thus, she's a bit groggy from being woken up, having expected to sleep at least a little while. The news reminds her she needs to prepare, and to prepare she'll need her Titan. She isn't sure if sh should operate it without the Marker, or for that matter judge without it, so she pushes off and heads for the Artifact Bay where the smaller artifacts and the Niss reside.
From there it's down her private elevator to the hangar.
The hangar feels crowded, between the two different shuttles and Melchior, who has to kneel down to fit. The reaction pods are also secured in a corner, so Tasha has to unsecure them so that her Titan can pick them up.
The Marjer gets put down as Tasha works. She wonders what Horus think of being hauled around, but decides he either doens't notice or doesn't think on it. Horus is a frusterating combination of familiar and very alien -- even Atum was easier for her to deal with! He's just Vartan seeing enough for Tasha to find herself instictively treating him like a very stubborn older Vartan man, yet she's knows he's more, much more, and she must both work with him and somehow act as his jailer despite it. She must stand her ground, but be understanding. She must accomplish their goals and lead, but still recognize her inferiority. The whole situation is complicated, an exercise in antipodal elements that must still somehow function.
And that doesn't even take in to account how much she fears his judgement.
"And done," she murmurs, feeling the need to say something as she works and thinks. The reaction pods are unsecured and she stares at them. And now to climb aboard. When did Mel become such a confusing place? He used to be her refuge.
At least it's easier to get to the hatch when he's kneeling down. Flying in the hangar would be risky, since Tasha isn't sure that the 'door' wouldn't let her pass through and out into vacuum.
Tasha grunts as she secures the straps that held the unit, thinking how absurd it would be to die falling out of her own ship. She could never face the others. Once that's done she grabs the Marker and stuffs it under her arm, turning her thoughts to how she's become some sort of agent for the Vril-ya -- another reality's agents -- and for Atum and Horus in particular. Yet, she doesn't feel especially different. The change is subtle, but strong. Life will never be the same again, even though it often has a sense of normalcy and even banality -- and of course frusteration. If she's some kind of holy, holy must be a hard quality to feel. The Marker is carried with her as she boards.
Once inside, the Marker fits into its special holder and the interface arm connects to Tasha. "Hello, Tasha," the smooth, familiar voice of Melchior greets somewhere between her ears. "Your fatigue levels are a bit high. Have you been getting enough food, exercise and sleep?"
"If I haven't, you can be sure Liza will find out about it and stuff me full of food or stuff me in a bed. She's implaccable." But it is true she hasn't been getting enough of all of the above. The return to Galactic space has been very busy and she's had a considerable amount on her mind, from mundane concerns, to worries over Hakeber and her friends and loved ones, politics, goals, and the ever-present shadow of transcendent matters like Horus, Atum, and the Ogdoad. It's a lot for one ninteen year old woman.
And so Tasha flops back, arms out, Marker in her lap. She practically sags in her control chair. "I've really got so much to do." She pauses, biting her lip, then asks, "Have I failed you in any way, Mel? Is there more I could do? Have done?"
"I do not think I can process the concept itself," Melchior replies. "You cannot fail me. Only I can fail you."
Tasha has to laugh. "See," she begins to admit, hands spreading, " ... I feel the same way about you."
"I cannot see how you could fail me, Tasha," Melchior insists. "I am an extension of you. I protect you and augment your abilities. That is my purpose."
"Probably because you are an extension of me, and that's how I feel. Life is very complicated." The last is said like a kind of quote, a meta-quote and summation of countless pieces of advice and talks with others. Her hands fall in to her lap, to rest on the Marker. "Well, I'm glad you're not feel anything is off. I worry about that, sometimes. Uh, a lot actually. But I shouldn't; you said we're fine, so we are! And look what we've managed to do: We accomplished the mission, now we're going even farther. Tomorrow we'll stand on a small Galactic stage, and we'll be known." The young woman taps the Marker a moment, then adds, "Did I tell you, your creator is proud of you? You completed his dream, I doubt he could ask for more." Another pause. "I wish I could be so certain about mine."
"What is the dream you wish to complete?" Melchior asks for clarification.
"Welll, it's probably less about my dream than his, but since you asked for mine ... Uh, well, they're more like goals at the moment. Goals and dreams and ideas, and none of them are clear and they may change." Tasha angles her head up, thinking. "Like a list. It's easier if I just list them. One, to defeat the Ogdoad by whatever means we can, so long as the price isn't worse than the result. Two, I asked Atum for a people, but I'm still thinking on that one. I want to meet Lilith, Vulcan and Thoth first, too. Three, I want my friends and family to be safe and have what they want, and I guess that includes helping a lot of people I want to be my friends, people like Lucci. Uh, four, I want to help undermine the Patron-Client system, through politics, negotiation or sabotauge. I'd like the Galactics to stop trying to one-up each other and unify too, but maybe that should be five."
"Those do not seem insurmountable, so long as the social infrastructure exists to support them," Melchior notes. "I am monitoring outpost broadcasts, and the announcement has been made of two capital ships arriving in-system. The Terragens Battleship Amaterasu and the Celestial Empire Light Cruiser Basilisk."
"I guess everyone's here then," Tasha remarks, muzzle twisting back and forth as she considers what this means. "The Amaterasu was expect, Yue told me about it and they're going to meet up with her. I guess the Celestials decided they need to show up and look important too. I used to think this was all sort of ... petty, but I see that who has the power and who can protect also has influence over Galactic culture."
"It is also a matter of not being seen as too weak or disinterested to support ones citizens," Melchior suggests. "It is less a show of force than a message that they will not let others have sway over their people, especially in an important frontier outpost."
Tasha inclines her head. She had realized that, but it doesn't hurt to be reminded. Pice eby piece and day by day, she's learning what politics and governance require. "Do you have any visual feeds of their arrival? I've only smaller Terran warships, and the unique Ningyo. That's true for the Celestials too, all I've seen is one Dreadnought and it was busy running aay."
It doesn't long. The view of the Amaterasu is more detailed, and likely pulled from an older recording. The cigar-shaped craft is around 2000 meters long and a hundred wide at its thickest, and festooned with what are presumably weapon pods and magnetic reaction drive ports. Typical for larger Terragens ships, it spins around its long axis for simulated gravity. The image of the Basilisk isn't all that different, but is clearly from a live telescope feed. Unlike the arrow-head shaped Lucifer, Basilisk is like a chain of elipsoid spheres locked together, with the telltale external nacelles for generating the overspace fields.
Tasha studies the ships for a long moment, then nods in satisfaction. "Thank you. They're very interesting, aren't they? Different technologies, but different principles and different beliefs behind them. You really can learn a lot about a Galactic culture by how it approaches shipbuilding, especially if you know what they're capable of." She finds she likes relating her lessons to Mel, that it's staisfying and makes her feel better by showing him how far she's come and thus how much it's helped her.
As Tasha continues to watch the Basilisk move through space, she asks with some anxiety, "Do you think I ought to check on Horus?"
"Do you wish to check on him?" Melchior replies, rather than give an opinion of his own.
"I do and I, ummm, I don't," Tasha admits, shifting in her seat to lay on her side, arms folded. Her machine doesn't need to read her vitals to spot the defensive posture. "I know I have this great big task, and I know I have to work with him and that means standing on his level even if I'm beneath it. I'm also his jailer, but I don't understand how that works, just that I am. And I keep feeling like disapproves of me. Not just because I am his jailer, but that maybe he doesn't think I'm much of a Vartan. Or a Vartan at all." And then she winces, curling in a bit more. "And, um, there might be daddy issues. I know, I know. I didn't see it coming, I didn't think it'd happen, but there he is. Father to us all."
"It is best that he not see you as a true Vartan," Melchior suggests. "Otherwise, would he not withhold any information that could lead you into danger, out of his need to protect his Vartans? You are enough of a Vartan to garner his cooperation, but different enough to hopefully avoid triggering his parental instincts."
"At best, he is an absentee father figure, and so it is on him to earn your respect," the AI concludes.
"I hadn't thought of it that way," Tasha admits, uncurling a little for it. "But it still hurts. He's Horus. If anything proves I'm not a 'real' Vartan, it's this. And that means I'm not a 'real' Karnor, either. No wonder I asked Atum for what I did. I must have always know it deep down. Very deep, because I still can't believe I asked." her head shakes before she rolls over, getting comfortable that way. "Well he does have some of my respect, but he's been very proud and more than a little grumpy. Maybe I should just tell him, if he's going to be like that the whole trip, well, maybe he can just leave? I'll release him, go find Vulcan or Lilith. I bet they'd help. Vulcan because I'm doing the old job, and Lilith because she cares."
"Would that not be a challenge for him to do better?" Melchior asks. "A child claiming to prefer a different parent or family is generally a deep emotional strike against the one who is supposed to be caring for them."
"Well, I don't know, maybe it would work. I don't really like hurting him, but he has been, well, hard to deal with. It's not my fault Atum put me in charge of him, I didn't ask for that part. And it's not easy being told to stand up to a god -- godlike alien -- especially when they're your creator. He ought to know that. I think he's just being obstinate, being proud and stubborn. That's what would make me say that, what will make me say that," Tasha elaborates, sitting up more until she's seated properly again. "I'll just offer to let him go. Tell him I'm sorry for holding him, but he clearly resents me and has been bringing me down, and I can probably do this without him or with the others."
"But he is the only one you actually have available," Melchior points out. "You should wait until you have contacted one of the other Progenitors and see if they are more helpful before discarding Horus."
"I don't like the word discarding, they're not ... Not playing cards. I'm not like that." 'Like that yet.' Tasha wonders if some day she will be like that, playing a great game with all her many pieces, gods and mortals and everything else. Like a Khattan. She's seemed so very Khattan lately. "I just think if he doesn't want to be here, I can find someone who does. But, well, you're right. I can't just let him go without possibly endangering the mission, the ship, and everyone. Like it or not he's part of our crew assets, and people who sign on have to mean it."
"It would seem to me that Horus is unlikely to abandon this mission," Melchior says after a deliberately thoughtful pause. "His behavior may not be a sign of resentment at you, but a reaction to being chided or punished by his creator."
"Atum does seem like a very intimidating being to be chastized by," Tasha admits, though her definition of intimidating here is painted with a broad brush, encompassing both sheer presence but all the unknown power and influence of a being who transcends time as she knows it, a quite possibly the greates agent of the Vril universe. She certainly will never forget Atum, and even now works its desires. A part of her longs to return, to bask in its sheer being. To talk and to listen. "Maybe he's also depressed about how things went. We know how complicated and difficult the situation is, and they did too. Marduk fell apart, the rest got desperate. They might not be well equipped to handle things like that. And, well, I must be the living example of his failure and punishment. Just like I can't look at him and not feel judged and lacking, he must see me and be reminded."
"Reminders are good for initiating action," Melchior claims. "You desire action from him, do you not?"
"Yes, but I don't know what he can do. The Vril-ya are still a tremendous mystery to me, other than knowing that they created us somehow, have been around for ... Well, for time-doesn't-matter-to-them long, and they probably have vast knowledge and maybe technical skills beyond anything the Gaalctics have, even the old ones."
"They do not seem to have technology beyond their physical being, however," Melchior points out. "Assuming it is not actually a different form of biology. The Khattans, Titanians and Celestials do not seem to possess any technologies that were unknown to the First Ones."
"I remember seeing some kind of ship when I looked in to Ahriman's memories. A pyramid-ship. But that's the only piece of technology I've seen that seems to belong to them other than their bodies and maybe whatever the Gate way made out of. Though, maybe the Waybuilders made the Gate? It was locked with Markers." Tasha scrunches up ehr face. There were so many remarkables things that happened that day, even miracles, it was easy to look past the relatively (and that's a big relative) minor ones. The more she thinks on the Gate, the more puzzled she finds herself. "I wonder who decided to put a well opening there? And how? And is the Gate from the future, or did the Vril-ya make it? Is it an old Sifran device? And I wonder what the Vril-energy really can do? Horus said they can touch and interact with not only what we can, but also souls, concepts and other intangible things."
"This would be plausible, if the contention that the Vril universe does not contain matter, only malleable energy, holds true," Melchior agrees. "The Sifra could not detect the Mandala structure, so it is unlikely that they created it. It would have to be constituted of the Vril-based pseudo-matter like the Markers."
"That's right, they do seem to have their own matter. The bodies, the Gate, and the Markers. But I didn't see any kind of manufacturing facility, which makes sense since tehy probably don't construct things that way. They must build them with their Vril, maybe creating the matter from ... nothing? Or from Vril. I don't have any information about that, though. Whether they bring it from Vril or make it here, or how, but they must do it somehow." Tasha taps her nose in thought. Could she make use of that, somehow? "But Horus seems to be very low on Vril-energy, he seems like he's barely there at all some times. I said maybe we could find more, but that that depends on knowing where and how to make it in the first place, and on what it is."
"It appears to be their life-force or soul," Melchior suggests. "The less they have, the more limited they become. It does not appear to be self-renewing, however, from the evidence we have. The Progenitors faded, either through their own means or some other means. I would suggest finding out the exact circumstances be a priority if you intend to locate still-active Progenitors."
"Finding out how to restore them would be good too. The more powerful they are, the more than can help us and help themselves." Tasha takes in a deep breath, exhales, and then settles back again. "Well, I should get this over with in case I need to cry for a while, or something. Have to set time aside for the important hings or Liza will get me. I'm going to talk to him."
"Good luck, Tasha," Melchior bids.
Deep in the part of Melchior that his AI doesn't even know about, Tasha finds herself once more on the blank white plane - The Sea Without Lees. And as usual, she appears to be alone.
Horus never does come to greet her. Not even a 'hello'. Just silence.
Tasha looks around, not actually expecting to find anything new, but needing the motion to help calm her nerves. She realizes if she doesn't act quickly she may lose her momentum, return to the pattern of matter-of-fact reporting and then departure. She needs to speak, and quickly, and so she pushes herself to start rambling. Even a ramble is better than no action at all. "Hi, uh, Horus." Friendliness usually helps, or so she thinks. "I just, uhm, I just wanted to see how you were doing. If maybe you learned anything, or, uh, needed anything. Or wanted to talk." She bites her lip a moment, then adds, "Or wanted to yell at me. Or, um, wanted me to yell at you."
"Argument is an important part of Vartan interaction," Horus claims, appearing out of the non-existent white fog. As usual, he is an armored giant. "I require your spacecraft to be in operation in order for me to glean useful information from it. If it has been in motion since you brought me to it, however, then I cannot sense it."
Tasha mentally chews on the comment about Vartan interaction, needing some time to process the unexpected remark. To give herself this time, she does some explaining, "We're docked at Caltrop outside Sifran space. Our field is being used to create a false-matter shell around the ship in order to appear to be another ship. The same is being used for the interior, but not as a disguise. The core of the vessel uses a dark being drawing from what I think is another plane of existence or dimension, providing power. The ship appears to be Tnuctipin according to the Titanians. Bumper thinks it might be suitable as a drive section for a larger vessel." It's all said a bit too fast and like she were reading it off a technical manual but at least she's talking and so is Horus. Even more so, he appeared. She doesn't think he bothers when he's especially grouchy. "I returned the Marker to the Titan since I need to head out and judge a mock battle in it."
"A mock battle?" Horus asks. "Who is involved in this?"
Tasha blinks. She definitely didn't expect Horus to show interest in the day-to-day of mortals. She quickly reviews all she said for a clue as to what brought the change, but can't tease it out. She'll have to think on it -- later. "Uh, the Vartans battle group of Clan Eryines and Sulimak versus pilots from the Silent-Ones battle group. A Titan mock-combat, something to do while they wait out the show of power between Galactics here. I, uh, I'm supposed to judge this mock-combat. I'll be using Mel to keep track of things, probably while I'm in a higher depth or I won't be able to keep up."
"Vartan battle group," Horus repeats. "Two clans. They.. are all combatants?"
"Only the pilots. The others -- the non-pilot combat troops, the command staff and support -- they'll probably just be watching. It's mainly just between the Titan pilots. They're, uh, show offs." Tasha shrugs her shoulder, as if to say, "You know how pilots are." And how she once was, too. She decides maybe the gesture was too familiar, so quickly decides to elaborate more on the Vartans to make up for it. "The battle group is made of many different roles, only some do the direct fighting. I think most can fight if they have to, but many do things like operate equipment, do tactics and strategy, command, make food and so on. People like Lucci, I thinkm but she had a sword."
"This is what my Vartans have become?" Horus asks. "Cogs in a war machine?"
Tasha opens her mouth but then closes it. She has to think on the wording a moment, but then decides against that as well and goes with her impulse of simply spitting it out. Horus needs to know the truth, and she doesn't think he needs her worrying about him having a thin skin. Not for something like this, anyway, and she doubts he'd forgive her for glazing over Vartan facts for his sake. "Vartans in Galactic space serve the Khattans Trade Coalition, as Clients. They are under a ten-thousand year contract and are lucky they didn't get subject to genetic modification. The Khattans chose to leave them be, for reasons we're still investigating. They act as enforcers and police forces, especially against other Galactics. They also engage in wars, if needed. Not all Vartans are soldiers, or even members of a Clan. Some are farmers, or go it alone, or do other things. A very few live outside the Client state in hidden areas like the Primus System, where I am from."
"And what roles do the Vartans of Primus play?" Horus asks, in almost a monotone. "Do they also serve others?"
"Often they do," Tasha admits, bobbing her head. It's something that has bothered her as well, how her people inevitably seem to end up at the bottom of heirarcies, typically as muscle or heavy labor. "Not always. But often." She tries to think of something positive to say about it, and at least can think of a few things. "Sometimes we manage to work for ourselves and the remote Clanholds are self-sufficent. There are famous Vartan warriors."
"What about famous Vartan poets?" Horus asks. "Artists, leaders, scientists? What are the great Vartan contributions to civilization?"
"Welll, um, I paint a bit. Kem the Artist works on Caltrop. He's a painter." Tasha has to look away now, because the coming admittance mainly reflects on her. She rubs her neck, wishing that maybe that she have decided against this after all. "As for the others ... I don't know. I was just a deckhand before I got involved in all this, a drover. The Vartans of Sinai have lost most of their history and their technology, except in a rare few cases. There's no real education and life on Sinai is very primitive compared to Galactic civilization. So, um, I really didn't pay attention to art or history or what-ever. Or, well, know anything about it." She exhales. It's hard to admit being a dark world savage. "Out here in the Galactic ... I don't know. Maybe there are. It's a big place. There's probably someone."
Horus does not reply for some time. "I would like to know," he finally says. "I would not have the full extent of my failure hidden from me."
Tasha bobs her head, still not quite looking at Horus. Instead she looks mainly at the ground. "I haven't hidden anything from you, if that's what you mean. If I could bring others to speak to you, or share the databases with you, I would. I just don't know what your limits are or even how the Vril-ya really work. I know I work for Atum, and I know that bothers you, but I don't know much about you. I'm still learning." It all sounded a little too much like a whine by the end, to the hybrid's mind. Not a whine in the sense of whining, but in the Karnor sense of kenning stress and discomfort. "Tell me how, and I'll see what I can do."
"Learn what you can, and share it with me," Horus says. "There is no trick to it."
"I, uh, I guess not," Tasha remarks, sounding more than a little bemused at the simplcity of it. It does put a lot of pressure on her to be memorize and be complete though, especially with everything else she needs to do. Still ... "I'll see what I can do, Horus. But," she looks up now, ears canted back, " ... I need you to share with me, too. I need to know things like how all the Progenitors managed to become so diminished, how you build apparently material objects when you seem to come from a universe without matter at all, and how you can regain your Vril-energy. Restoring the Progenitors would help a lot."
"What is lost is.. lost," Horus laments. "I have diminished. To restore the Progenitors would require merging what remains into a single, stronger being. For us, knowledge and power are entwined, such that the ability to do something comes with the knowledge of it, but losing the ability means losing the knowledge as well."
"So learning more would restore you?" Tasha hazards, though she isn't sure she quite understands. It seems straightforward, but it also seems very strange and she isn't sure she follows. "And how did you ever lose it? Does Vril just vanish over time?"
"It undergoes a transition," Horus says. "It is akin to the concept of spacetime. Information and power bound together. Soul. If we use it too much, we can weaken or expend it. If we are careful, we can maintain it indefinitely. If we despair, it will leak away from us. The more we have, the more we can think. All that you are, flesh and bone and mind and soul.. we must accomplish it all with just Vril. It is all as one for us."
"Oh." It's about all Tasha can say, she has truly never hard of any being like the Vril, except perhaps the true beings of the dark like the Ogdoad. It takes her several seconds to rcover, and a few more to think of a question. "Is it so bad, though? You make it sound like we have more, but all that we are doesn't last nearly so long as you can. We're probably weaker, we can't think as well, we don't really have control of ourselves and if just one part of us breaks that's it for us." She thinks harder. If the Vril are like to Ogdoad, then maybe there's a useful connection. Maybe. "The dark beings can see you, but you didn't make them. They also feed on souls. And then there was something I thought was strange but was too disracted to think much about it, I swear I saw Mafder absorb Ser Heraphel. What was that?"
"She preserved him, but she is one with Atum now," Horus claims. "It was the only reason she would do that. Contact with mortal souls diminishes us. We love our children, but if we get too close, the loss of them tears at us. Knowledge and power entwined. Love as well. When a mortal close to us dies, that part of us that was bound with them dies too. It adds up, over time, but is unavoidable."
"Lilith tried to make a species that was both mortal and Vril," Tasha says, no small part in wonder after having heard Horus's explaination. The undertaking seems so much more difficult knowing what she now knows. "She thought we could be one. She failed because they destroyed themselves, but it sounded like war not ... Not this."
"She diminished herself to give her Vril to them," Horus explains. "But.. she was mistaken. The Vril does not grant wisdom. Her hybrids could not handle the power. Flesh, bone, mind and soul - the Vril could only touch the soul. The rest of what they were was the result of millions of years of natural selection. It was at odds with the Vril."
Tasha's brow furrows. "You said wisdom but then you said evolution. So, which is it? If tehy had been wiser, she would have succeeded? Or was it their biology?" She doesn't like it, not at all. The use of Vril and its weakness implies far too many unpleasant things, unpleasant things she has already done and ones she may do in the future. "And if those had been better managed, she would have succeeded?"
"No, the Vril is not compatible with life formed of matter, following the laws of biology," Horus says. "It is too different. Not part of this reality. Eve was overly ambitious. She wanted real children of her own."
The noise Tasha makes can only be described as frusterated. She stuffs her hands in the pockets of the jacket that forms because she wills it too, as here in this space the landscape and nature are theirs to shape. It's the jacket Raehab gave her, one she'd been keeping pact as she put off trying to explain it to Gabriel. The unfairness, the tragedy, and someone familiar. These things are what called it to mind, and from mind to what reality this place has. "Out of all the Progenitors, Lilith seems most like me. And I saw what she wrote, and I saw her failure, and I thought, "That could be me," and I knew, I knew what she must have felt and I wasn't going to let it end that way. I was going to find her, and help her, and help all of you, and fix what was broken, and we'd all just be one big happy family. Lilith and I could have had our children together, and with our power we could have done more. And there is so much to do. Now ... " She trails off, kicking the white floor.
"We are not gods," Horus says apologetically. "We were guides. The power our children wield is their own. Power they can control and understand according to the world they live in. They are greater now than we were then. That is the purpose of children - to improve upon their parents."
"Oh because here I wanted to have children because I like having a family and people around me, and someone to share the future with. Maybe I'm just too young and havn't learned I need improving upon." Tasha snorts, her eyes fixed on the distant horizon as if she might ruin it simply by the force of her glare. After a moment she offers, "Sorry. Sorry. This isn't what I want. I guess I don't belive in this endless circle of sacrifices idea.I don't like giving up or letting go. To me, all it seems like is accepting a failure. Accepting something bad because you can't change it or can't figure out how. No, nuh-uh. Nora didn't and neither do I. I'll build something else."
"That is the point, Tasha," Horus says. "We could not see a solution. Our reach was limited. Our children's reach is farther than ours was. The problems they have overcome on their own are ones we could not conceive of. I have hope in them to do what we could not."
"Then we will. I will. I've already done so much, I can do more." Tasha nods, though to herself. She looks up and over. "You can come with us and learn. You don't have to relegate yourself to vanishing, and you don't have to stick to the parent-children role. We can leave that behind if we have to. And some day, some day, the beings who created the Way will arrive, and they could make miracles. Atum saw it. I think that's why Atum is there. Atum created their Progenitor, Atum encountered them later. They remember Atum. And they went beyond our world. Who knows what is beyond? And who knows what the otehrs hold, or know?" She then taps herself, right on the neck. "I'm not even what I was anymore. Im a bit like them now. Maybe that's the key? I don't know, but we'll find it."
"Please return me to your ship after you have judged the mock battle," Horus requests. "I will try to learn more about it. About the Tnuctipin and their legacy."
Tasha gets that old familiar feeling of adults -- that is, older adults -- having decided to move past her determiend rambling. It also happens with angry rants, outbursts, and so on. It has happened a lot. She lets out a sig, but goes along with it. "Alright," she breathes as part of the sigh. "Please tell me what you learn. I don't know much about the Tnuctipin other than that they were pretty much only sentient makes and they were scary, incredibly smart hunters. The Niss probably knows more."
"The ones who claim to be Ancients?" Horus asks. "I have not tried to contact them."
"Them. We found them exiting from D-Space, and rescued them before their ship collapsed. We've been helping each other ever since." Tasha pauses, but then a little grin comes to her muzzle despite herself. "I think they like me. They probably know everything I do, anyway, at least as far as the last time I made contact with the collective." She then looks up more, up and up, to Horus's head. A pang of regret hits her all over again, that she'll never see Horus in his prime, and may be lucky if he survives this at all. She pushes on. "M-maybe you should try to contact them?They're the most intelligent beings on the ship, and there are many of them. They've been traveling a long time. They may have answers, they might speak to an elder being like you about more complex subjects. They probably know I won't understand all of what they could tell me." She pauses again, remembering something else, wondering if she should add it. Maybe it's important? "They offered me a chance to be like them, once."
"How so?" Horus asks with a tone of actual curiosity.
It's always a bit startling to Tasha when she mentions something and elder beings actually find it intriguing. It's not just that she feels she bores them -- she does some times -- nor that she thinks her information isn't useful or valuable, it's the compiund of havign actually surprised the elder being along side the knowledge she may know or have experienced something that would intrigue an elder being. Considering their vast knowledge, it's a little unsettling. "The Niss said I could be like them. Be, uh, well, take what they took. Some kind of medicine that didn't work how they expected it would. It make their cells sentient, they called it the Blood Song. Their world was dying and so were they, but the scientist whose blood awoke somehow managed to integrate with the survivors. Together they became what they are. They must have built that ship, and left. I'd uh ... " She gestures down at herself. "I'd have become like them. If it worked. I, um, I don't know if that's what I want. I do
n't think so. But maybe it's useful, somehow?"
"Fascinating," Horus comments. "That would seem to be the ultimate in biomolecular computing without resorting to subspatial matrices. It raises the question of individuality and memory however. There must be many copies of each consciousness operating in parallel. Similar to a macromolecular chain-sea, but obviously much smaller."
"Uh. Yeah. That." Tasha rubs her nose, ducking her head as she glances away, ears flattening. She's at least proud she understood some of that. "I don't think I'm ready to lose my individuality and becomes a super-computer. But, it's good you understand all that. It shows you still remember many useful things. I think. You should talk to them, tell them I said you should. Tell them who you are. They're in the same situation you are, almost, but maybe worse in some ways because if the Galactics every find out they're here we're going to have a war. Then I'll have find some way for them to flee, and it'd be a mess."
Horus tilts his head in a particularly Vartan, bird-like way. "War?" he asks. "Ah.. the children still squabble for dominance then. That would explain the 'battle groups' I suppose. An Ancient race that can grant effective immortality, so long as one can handle sharing their body with billions of copies of themselves. Or convert the biomass of a planet into a computer. A 'weapon' that nobody could afford to let anyone else possess. I am beginning to remember how to emulate biological thought again. Which means I should be afraid of Niss. I must consider carefully how to attempt contact."
And so Tasha's ears flatten out to the side, she ducks her head aagin, looking to Horus. It is a very canine sort of look, which just makes her more painfully aware of it. "Am I the only being in the universe that isn't afraid of the Niss?"
"They are an unknown," Horus claims. "And may be unknowable. I am of a single mind and soul. Should I invite scrutiny that could crush me by sheer weight of will? Have you spoken to them of the Great Library, assuming their origins even lie within the Five Galaxies?"
"I planned to. I've just had a lot to do. They're almost sure to already know we have it, though, and if I didn't tell them about you they could probably have either figured it out our taken it from my mind directly. They were able to read me, and somehow I'm the only one who can talk to them directly." Tasha taps her neck again. "The 'contract', the hold on my soul, you said. That connection lets me speak to them."
"They must use the dark energy then," Horus conjectures. "Or their time in dark space has made them sensitive to it."
"Another mysterious power," Tasha more or less agrees. "I wish I knew how it all worked. Actually," and here she puts a hand on her hip, " ... why don't I understand it? Do you know how hard it is keeping up with super-Karnor, Ancients, not-gods, the best-of-the-best, and dark beings from beyond space and time? Very hard. Weren't we supposed to fight? Why can't I understand things like the Titanians do? Should I beg Vulcan?"
"The Titanians understand, you say?" Horus glowers. "Then why haven't they solved the problem? They are garbage collectors, not warriors. How many dimensions can you visualize at once, Tasha? Before you answer, if the number is less than twelve than you cannot understand certain things. It is beyond the biological limits of your brain to process. You would need four brains working in parallel. I suppose you could try to use your Titan's brain, but that understanding is ephemeral - not something you could retain when disconnected. This is why mortals use mathematics to tackle such things. Symbols they can handle, and which can embody truths that their individual minds cannot."
"Do not lament your limitations, know them," the Progenitor advises. "Once you know them, you can find ways to work around them."
"Well good thing I'm good at math," Tasha insists with a disparaging laugh. She runs a hand through ehr hair and then says, "I am going to take a nap and try not to feel overwhelemed."
"I feel energized," Horus claims. "We were meant to be warriors. I could not change the soul of the Vartans. I will deal with that."
Tasha glances back, squinting. "Deal with ... my not feeling overwhelmed? My nap? Math? 'We'?"
"Vartans," Horus claims. "If we have not yet made our mark on this world, then it is still ahead." The giant turns and heads back into fog that isn't there. "Rest well, Tasha."
"Uh, you too Horus. Have fun thinking about things." Tasha gives a little wave, and then he's gone. She takes in a deep breath, exhales, then turns to walk off herself. She doesn't need to, but it feels appropriate. I may not be good at math, but maybe I am good at getting people to like me. And getting people to get along. With how often a failure of the latter tends to lead to the destruction of the participants -- not matter how advanced -- she thinks it may be a something to be proud of, after all. It worked today, after all.