The first week of the voyage saw people settling into their schedules (to make sure the available facilities weren't overwhelmed all at once) and sleeping arrangements. The latter had a few changes, as Hera moved in with Jonas and Yue took up with Dr. Stanislav. Modo actually took over Yue's spot in Hakeber's cabin, both so neither would be alone and because Hakeber wanted to learn more about Pans. This effectively freed up a cabin, which caused some extra shuffling as Shojo bunked with Amuntaton instead of Jonas, and Lacci got her room to herself.
The second week did see everyone gather together for a special occasion: the official point of leaving Known Space. They still hadn't reached the galactic halo, but that wasn't far off. The solar systems that remained along their route were too low in phosphorus to support organic, DNA-based life on a planetary scale, and also older and part of a previous generation of star formation which further limited the likelihood of more complicated elements.
The third week saw the official point where their were not longer any visible stars in their flight-path: they had entered flat space. This was marked by the usual watery imagery of the Maelstrom fading to black, and then giving way to the 'blind spot' effect encountered in hyperspace - and setting the bridge 'window' opaque to avoid the headaches this caused most people. Only during the pilot breaks would it be set transparent again, while Kaa was resting and the Dark Horse cruised through normal space again. There would usually be a certain amount of scientific activity at these points, given the unparalleled view of the near galactic arm for mapping.
It wasn't long after this that people began requesting sleep aids. Even Tasha was feeling restless, especially during the 'skeleton' shifts when most people were trying to sleep. She was feeling an odd anxiety, which seemed to be afflicting everyone except the Lapi, Belters, Modo, Samael and Dr. Amuntaton. Yue seemed particularly afflicted, although that could be from picking up the anxiety in everyone around her.
If Tasha had to put the feeling into words, it felt like being stalked, or hunted.
And so Tasha sits at her desk in the silent hours, head propped on her hand and deep in thought. Her studies -- treatise on the nature of the hyperspaces along side investigations in to flat space -- having been put aside for the moment. Put aside not only because she can only handle /so much/ dry scholalarly review, and because they're really not helping the anxiety at all. It's this anxiety she considers, as she had been warned about it ahead of time and has seen how it's effecting the crew. Absently she punches up Jonas's report again, wondering if the Lapi are somehow immune or -- more likely she thinks -- used to feeling hunted as a species prone to anxiety. She glances at the other display windows as well, their glimmering lights surrounding her in a half-halo of education, status reports, ship displays, and navigational data. It's still as dead quiet as ever, and as it has been this last week. /Is something /actually/ hunting us? And why not Modo, the Belters, and the Doctor? Is it Belter biolog
y, adaptations to long isolation..?/
According to Jonas' reports, Belters have essentially 'bred out' paranoia - those that were effected by it tended to die from various self-inflicted causes on their long solo flights. Modo has notably been keeping himself busy in machine bay of the hangar, either working on the exo-suits, going over the archaic shuttles centimeter by centimeter in search of defects, or exercising. All of these are apparently Belter habits and not just OCD. Amuntaton never seemed to really sleep much in the first place, but does seem to wander the ship, often pausing to stare at some random point for minutes at a time. Others find solace in petting the cats. Gabriel will sometimes obsess over the security cameras, switching rapidly between views as if untrusting of the automated motion-detection. The Phins have been somewhat subdued.. well, Kaa has. Moka hasn't changed much.
And Tasha herself has been working more, yet not working together as much. She's been spending more time pouring over her studies, information about flat space and hyperspace, and catching up on her education. It's been productive, but not as productive as she felt it ought to be; she feels a kind of pressure to keep busy that's distracting, and as the ship hardly needs her physical effort she's opted for some of the few jobs she does have, all mental or social tasks. As for her social tasks, she shows up when she's supposed to and makes the rounds when people are up. It's when they're not up she begins to really feel it.
After a long exhale, Tasha waves a hand through the images, dismissing it all. She stands up. "Maybe I do need to do something physical," she tells herself. The ship might not need my arms, but it needs me. She stands, then walks towards the exit. She might as well check on those that are up, then try and figure out what else she can do with herself.
At the moment, the ship's clock is in the 'twilight' segment of the schedule, where people are either waking up or falling asleep. At least it would be if people were sleeping properly. Hakeber has been avoiding alcohol as much as possible, which means she's been using Jonas' medications, although she still sleeps poorly and has become less social. Gabriel is on the bridge, probably going through the security feeds as always while Kaa is on downtime. Samael is.. who knows where. If not in his quarters then he could be in any shadowy pocket. Amuntaton and Modo are in the hangar, according to Tasha's tracking readout, and Shojo is in the galley, along with Aaron, no doubt getting the coffee ready.
In terms of distance, Tasha is closest to the Hangar. Her private elevator -- which is also the only elevator that exits with an approach to the Core or Bridle as some refer to it, is also an express elevator straight to the Hangar. Originally envisoned as a way for her to board her Titan rapidly in the case of a situation, it's mostly been used to save walking distance and to allow her to be close to the heart of the ship. As she's standing right beside it, her course seems clear: She hops aboard, deciding to see what Modo and Dr. Amuntaton are up to. After that she'll head towards the Bridge, then swing back and check on Hake -- which will give Hakeber time to try and sleep.
Modo is making noise at the tool station.. making tools, apparently. Including a 'proper' Titanian-swooning wrench. It isn't clear why didn't just bring one of his own, but Belters tend to be very conscious of weight limits, despite not being a craft that isn't dependent on Newtonian physics. Amuntaton is further back in the hangar proper, gazing up at Melchior.
Further acting upon her 'it's closer' overall strategy, which appeals to her anxious need to act now, Tasha approaches Modo first. The Melchior is central, making it roughly equal distance from all exits. "Hrrrgh," goes the young woman in her best low, Titanian style growly voice which she's been told is actually pretty good. "Why you mess with tool?"
Modo pauses to look over at Tasha. "Oook oook," he replies. "I like making tools. Then remaking after I break them, or deciding I really did need a combination hammer-prybar-machete-cheese-grater. And, occasionally, I make a tool that I have no clue as to the function or purpose of. Plus it involved hot metal and fire.. sometimes. You can't really use fire in zero-g, and certainly not in vacuum. It's almost certainly a sublimation of the thunder-dance my early-uplift ancestors adopted."
"Tool good, yah." Tasha scratches her nose and looks around, then grins. "You know, I once made a combination spear, hull saw, hammer, clamps and spreader bars for working in narrow spaces and on salvage operations. The thing is? I got the idea from the Titanians." She then holds a finger to her muzzle: shh, don't tell anyone.
"I want to arm-wrestle one someday," Modo claims. "And see one of their ships. Maybe take it apart."
"If you're ever on Caltop again, you can try the Dainty Mauler's crew. I've heard they're slightly less likely to kill you and take your stuff than most of them, but of course as an upstanding Khattan emissary I have nothing to do with them, personally." The young woman's gaze wanders to the ceiling; certainly, she would never associate with such people. "They might let you take things apart, but you should be careful they don't decide to keep you."
"Hmmm, do they offer decent benefits?" Modo asks, then shakes his head. "Bah! I heard they sell fish. I hate fish." And then he's banging on his deformed piece of metal again. Clearly, he should have been a blacksmith.
Tasha can sympathize; she considered the trade herself, in fact, back during her Abaddonian faith years. Well, months. Weeks? My life goes realy fast, she decides, head shaking, as she walks towards her Titan and the curious Doctor.
"Neat, right?" Tasha stops a few feet beside Dr. Amuntaton, nodding up at her machine indicatively.
"Horus," Amuntaton says, without moving more than his beak.
"Uhh," goes Tasha, caught completely off guard and now it's her turn to freeze up. It then occurs to her the Horus-faith isn't exactly a secret, especially to a Vartan-seeming scholar or indeed to Vartan scholarly circles everywhere. There's a huge statue of him on Varta, after all. As she eases up, she reaches up and runs a hand through her hair, nodding slowly. "The original maker thought the Horus-like design was appropriate. I never did learn exactly why they made it, or how, but the religious significance was obvious." Obvious in hindsight, anyway.
"One of the Three Magi Titans, it was unique," Amuntaton notes. "Caspar, Balthasar, and Melchior. Distantly associated with the Four Horsemen, the Apocalypse Titans."
Tasha blinks, but nods with increasingly vigor. "You're very well informe, Doctor. I think you're the first to understand their historical origin." And therefore the first person to make the young woman nervous; it's not exactly modern history or even a remarkable event in Galactic history. Niche, to say the least, but the Doctor is a scholar, and niche interests are their perview, otherwise she'd be much more concerned. "I've never heard of the Horsemen Titans. They sound like something Titanians would make, or, I guess, like we'd make. Ships' theme."
"The Magi designs predate the current Galactic Era, as do the Horsemen," Amuntaton explains. "If the Magi designs were dug up, it is safe to assume the Horsemen were as well."
"You know I thought they might predate the Galactic era. There's no Maker's Mark -- which is very unusual -- and the stator design exceeds all of the modern and historical records around the construction-date. I thought maybe the creators drew from the deep Library, some restricted data or privately curated collection, and used that. It's not like all the systems are unusual, many can be made in the modern era and some are Library-standard. A few are even substandard. But others? The performance is way off." Tasha steps forward, turning to face the Doctor and lifting a hand to gesture back at her Titan. "So he's really just a big mystery antique, even if he's also advanced. It's the kind of thing I associate with older and alien records, a mish-mash of technology states that are unusual for our Era."
Amuntaton looks down at Tasha, and notes, "I thought you said it was a replica? The original Magi were lost in the Primus Expedition. The records I've seen claim that that Melchior was the original."
Tasha spreads her hands and lays her ears back, laughing a little. "Well, maybe it is a replica? Or maybe it's thr original? How would anyone know for sure?"
Amuntaton continues to look at Tasha without moving. The cybernetic eyes don't blink, she realizes. "You are a curious woman," he finally says. It's not exactly breaking the silence, with the hammering that Modo is doing, but it was a long pause. "Are you a religious person, Tasha?"
Tasha stares right back, though she wouldn't claim it as any sort of victory or even defiance. More so, she simply isn't sure what else to do other than stare back, and thus it's at best awkward. The awkwardness comes with her ears going through the dance of discomfort, first perking when the man speaks again, then going askew such that one is back and the other is kind of out to the side, not quite sure where it's goin. "Thanks?" It's not that she's never been called curious, 'weird' may as well be a default descriptor for her in translation software, but the awkwardness makes the observation stranger, somehow. "Uh, well, you could say I kind of, uh, found religion. I've had to be the focus of events and a kind of representative, or, well, a morale point. A leader, but I also did some brief work at a temple, and piloting something like Mel here and working with AIs has always made me think of what gods must be like. I know about the Horus Cult, the Progenitors, and a lot of other cults from tr
aveling and meeting, uh, people. I guess you could say religion has been more of an in-person thing, rather than something distant and vague. Like, well, here's Horus," she slaps the Titan's leg, " ... and over here's this frog-headed statue god of a planetary soul-computer. I talked to a Harrower once. That kind of thing." She thinks she must be rambling, which usually means she is. That stare is very unnerving, and more so with her general anxiety.
"You friend Hakeber was your tutor on ancient cults?" Amuntaton asks. "The Progenitor Cult is the remnant of various ancient religions. A worship of religion itself in a sense, from those who wanted something more tangible than faith. Reverence for those who originally had faith in their gods... before they lost it. Gods often disappoint, in my experience."
"Ancient cults and modern beers," Tasha confirms, grinning a little and scratching the side of her muzzle. The grin then falters somewhat in face of the grim subject. "Well, yeah, I mena that's true of your heroes, too. It's hard to be everything to everyone, fulfill everyone's needs even when they conflict. Sometimes I think gods are just easy answers to complicated problems, which, I mean, I do understand because sometimes you just don't have the answer and no one else seems to, so, lets make this powerful being who does. It's even worse when the god-like being exists, since nobody seems to have ever actually met them and, well, those who do may not even comprehend them or what they--" she counts off, one finger and talon at a time, "--one, actually want. Two, what they actually are. Three, what they can actually do. Four, what it's like to be them. Five, if they need help or are suffering themselves. Six, they make gods in to reflections of themselves rather than what th
ey are. Seven, as reflections they're just mouth-pieces for whatever the culture wants to hear anyway, so really they just end up worshipping themselves but with a impressive mascott. Eight, the worshippers might be able to do more than the god can, especially older civilizations. Nine, living a long time is really hard, apparently. Te--" She looks down. Out of fingers. "Uh, well, there's more. You can't really cram all this stuff in to an executive brief."
"So many reasons," Amuntaton says, and looks back up at Melchior. "I suppose I only have the one: it's natural to outgrow your parents, while seeking the same position yourself. Eventually, worship turns to.. cynicism, perhaps. And then to the goal of doing it better. While still, ultimately, making the same or new mistakes, and being replaced by the next generation in the same manner."
Tasha turns, looking up at the Melchior herself. "Um, there's that, too. We can call that 'Number Ten', and my lack of finger can be ... um, metaphorical." She sucks in a deep breath, then exhales. "Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. I mean, look at me. The only one, right? As far as I know. So, what if I make more of me? Then I think about the gods, and won't that be me, now? The first, the progenitor. Legendary Tasha, who people say can call the rains and make planets disappear, who sailed the stars with every species and could bring everyone together, except she couldn't do half of that and she's bad at math. She can't cook, she needs an assistant to do her hair, and while she seems very important she has a ship full of people more competent than she is. Mostly, they just need her to solve the big questions and when someone needs something done they can't do themselves, like ... " Briefly, Tasha remember's Lacci's words. "Like she's some sort of genie. And I think, should I? Is t
here a better way? A different way? I mean, there must be somewhere out in infinity, right? Or is that just another religion?"
"You're the only one?" Amuntaton asks, looking at Tasha again. What do those eyes let him see, anyway?
If they're anything like Mel's eyes, Tasha thinks they must pick her apart. The thought does not help. She fidgets, rubbing her arm and looking elsewhere. ""As far as I know", I said. You could say I'm just a funny looking Vartan, or a Karnor with a lot of modification, and you would probably be right. But it's like, um, gods. People see what they want, and it's not always what's there. And, you know, maybe the spirit of what's there is more important, what people believe. It's, uh, complicated."
"Complicated," Amuntaton echoes. "I can sympathize with your situation," he says. But then adds, "You should be more careful, however, given that there is apparently a male version of your apparent species among your crew. But he isn't really, is he?"
"Uh, no." Tasha goes with it, inwardly kicking herself for the slip. She blames the anxiety, and the eyes. "He's actually a bit different, whatever he looks like. He handles special engineering operations and, uh, other things, for me. So, um, he doesn't work. Not like that."
"I let him do it because it's nice, even if it's just a lie," Tasha adds, chewing her lip and feeling, if anything, more awkward.
"So, it isn't just gods, but monsters as well?" Amuntaton says. There's never any humor or sarcasm in his voice, everything coming across as a plain statement without any judgment. "And perhaps a few things harder to classify. Like this ship."
Tasha looks back sharply. "What's wrong with my ship?"
"It's too small to make a journey of this duration," the odd man points out. "Even with antimatter for fuel. It seems unlikely to have come from a Khattan shipyard." He then looks back up at Melchior. "Perhaps the original, you jest. Or do you? Mysterious artifacts, including, I wager, some of your own crew. Will our destination offer up mysteries or discoveries as intriguing, I wonder."
Tasha barks a nervous laugh, then waves the man off with her paw. "Or you're letting flat space mess with your head. I mean, like you said, the Magi were produced from old records, so obviously there are old designs which aren't in open circulation. But, uh, what does a genie know about her bottle?" She waggles her fingers, magic-mystery like. "Or am I really a genie? Mel's a god and Sam's a demon. I think Hake worships alcohol. Usually. Not right now." She looks around for a moment, spotting the exit. "You know I bet there are others with wishes to fulfill. I should, erm, go check."
"If you wish to talk later, you can probably find me here in the chapel," Amuntaton says, using on odd term for the hangar. "But you always know where I am anyway. It was pleasant speaking with you."
"You too, very, um, interesting. Doctor." Tasha inclines her head, not too off her footing to forget to be polite to one of her guests, then she waves a hand behind her at the Melchior. "Feel free to look around, but no taking him apart. He's an antique, you know. You do know."
Tasha gaves a little finger wave after, then heads for the hallway leading to the fore. He does know, how does he know? He's kind of obvious for a spy, but maybe someone thinks I'll relate to another mezzode-like being, and they're right, except that's not how I'd approach me. Maybe Sam's on to something about there being a power, is it him? Is he hiding in the open? The thought of potentially getting in to it on the cramped confines of the ship, past all their defences and with over half her loved ones nearby puts a cold shiver down Tasha's spine. I'll have to be careful, we're too far out to afford a conflict. Wait and see, and check with the others. That's what I'll do.
Just before the first corner where the corridor would begin its bend around the 'engine room', Tasha hears sobbing beyond the bulkhead. Specifically, a child's sobbing. Even more specifically, a Karnor child's sobbing.
Tasha's first thought it oh no, Hake, but as she slows to a stop she realizes Hakeber doesn't sound like a child no matter how short she is. Her mind races through other possibilities, yet she can't think of anyone else who might match the sound even while suffering an injury. As her list dwindles reapidly to nil, her hackles raise and fists begin to clench and unclench. Hokay, well this is weird. You're used to weird, Tasha, you've spoken to gods. Giant gods, city sized gods. One crying child shouldn't even scare you. Except it does, and she thinks it must be because it is a child's voice. It connects to her deep down, and that it's inexplicable makes it even worse. I ... I should check. It's probably nothing, or at least a weird I can handle.
"H-hello? Is there someone there? Do you need medical assistance?" Tasha calls out, perking her ears and trying to pinpoint the location of the sound, walking on.
A peek around the corner reveals a small figure crouching down with its head in its hands. It'd definitely a Karnor child, where nice but soiled clothing, and apparently covering up what looks like a swollen eye.
Ooookay, here we go again. Stand straight, be forward, same as usual. Tasha briefly considers calling for assistance, but as she's certain she's dealing with someone abnormal she doesn't want to risk it, for all the same reasons she doesn't want to risk it with Dr. Amuntaton. She sucks in a breath and walks forward, slowly and carefully, not wanting to appear threatening even if she doubts how threatening she can actually be given the possibilities. "H-hi, my name is Tasha. Are you hurt?" She stops a few feet away, then lowers herself down. "Your eye doesn't look so good."
The boy turns in alarm and looks up at Tasha, "You're bigger! Don't hit me again!" he cries and runs on all fours down the corridor to vanish around the next corner.
Tasha stands up slowly, frowning deeply. She rubs her hands together and starts walking after the child, the boy. "Uhm, I'm not going to hurt you? Come on, there's no need to run, I haven't hit anyone."
There's no sign of the cub around at the T-junction. From there it's either a turn towards the airlock, or another towards the elevators and central corridor.
Looking around, Tasha perks her ears to listen. Heading deeper in to the ship might cause the ... entity? Being? Halucination? To encounter the crew, while the airlock would lead it off the ship. Her maternal insticts scream airlock, given it's the most danger to a child, but a lesser voice reminds her the crew is also in potential danger. Between the two, logic suggests it must be something other than a real person, which makes her very leery of entering the airlock with it. "Niss. I think something's here. You might not see it, it might not exist, but if it does can you watch me and make sure I don't get yanked out the airlock when I check it?"
"You are alone in the corridor, Tasha," the ship's 'control system' replies. "Nothing has been moving but you. Shojo and Aaron are in the galley, and Captain Akkers is on the bridge."
"Just, um, humor me. You know you can't percieve everything. So. Airlock. Extra safety. Don't let Tasha out sucked, get." Taking another in what feels like a marathon of deep, deep breathes today, Tasha inches towards the airlock and, grabbing hold of the wall, leans over to peer inside.
The airlock is empty, at least through the transparent doorway leading into it.
Tasha exhales, then steps away. The hard part done, she lets go and heads towards the other way the child vanished to, hoping to also find a whole lot of nothing.
So far her hopes are realized, at least until she turns again and finds Sam standing right next to her. "What are you doing?" the demon asks.
Tasha jumps back, wings flapping and hackles as raised as her fists. "Gah, don't do that Sam," she berates him, then swats at his muzzle in a fit of pique and venting of nerves.
The muzzle deforms, and then snaps back into place. "You seem on edge," Samael notes.
Tasha shakes her hand out, not wanting to get any demon on herself. She tasted demon once; never again. "I am on edge, half of everyone is on edge. I just saw a child run through here claiming I hit him, but of course nothing was detected. Oh," and here she straightens, looking less likely to belt him again, " ... I think Dr. Amuntaton might be our 'power', or at least he knows a lot and hints at enough to make mer nervous. I'm not saying he's a danger -- not yet -- but he's a real possibility."
"Yes, I know," Samael says. "I don't like being around him. You may be succumbing to spatiotemporal nostalgia."
"Oh." Tasha blinks. "Well, why didn't you say so, then?" She reconsiders another swat, but decides against it and relaxes. "Spacio-temporary what-now?"
"You are hallucinating your own memories," Samael explains. "Flat-space can do that. The lack of spatial curvature can effect your sense of time and place, which can be exacerbated by self-doubts, anxiety or guilt."
"O-. I mean, ah-ha. Well, that does explain the little boy." Tasha rubs her knuckles reflexively, thinking back. She did think the child looked familiar in a vague, generic sort of way, but now she realizes what she thought was a generic sense of Karnor children may be the opposite: Her old, inverted resentment of them from back when she resented everything. "I may of uh, I may have actually hit him. A long time ago. I'm not very proud of it, it was back when I was almost that age and I was angry for being different. I guess talking to Dr. Eyes made me think about it."
"You didn't say anything to him about me did you?" Samael asks, apparently nonplussed at Tasha's admission of being a cruel child.
"You? Well, a little. He obviously knows you're here, though, enough to know you look like me and also enough guess you're not what you seem to be and hint at monsters. I may of, um, also slipped you're not my species. He was eyeballing me and he's smart." The young woman tosses her hands in a shurg; she was clearly ambushed. "But I think he knew before!"
"Even among aliens, with enough experience body language cues can make it difficult to hide things," Samael admits. "And your cues are rather loud when you are under stress. The others have likely already encountered void demons of their own, either while awake or while dreaming. You should be on guard."
"Yeah because sometimes they pop up behind you and ask, "what are you doing?" out of nowhere." Tasha squints at Samael, then sighs. Heavily. "More on guard. Right. So much for a nice, quiet trip. Well at least it won't be boring and it will save me from having to listen to lectures so dry we could stick them in the dehumidifier unit." Her head shakes and she looks back at the man. "Also you seemed kind of surprised I hit someone. I thought your type could, um, sense that sort of thing. Or just kind of knew, you really thought I was this nice all the time?"
"No, you are a monster like me," Samael claims. He then pushes against Tasha's muzzle with a finger. "Just more solid."
"I'd bite you for that if I didn't know I'd regret it. You cheat by being made of yuck." Tasha does rub her nose, though, then wrinkle it. "I'm not really that bad, am I? I mean I did save a civilizations, and I am trying to stop the end of this universe, I saved Gabriel and the others, and I even help Lacci and that takes some effort sometimes."
"And yet, I am not the only demon in your life," Samael claims. "I'm just the one that's outside of you at the moment. But that may change, as the effects of flat space worsen."
Tasha has to think for a moment on who -- or what -- Samael might mean. That she has to stop and really consider doesn't do her any favors in the not a monster catagory, she laments. "What, you mean ... metaphorically? Like the 'demon' of my own regrets, or the 'spectre' of my guilt? The phantom of anxiety? The daikaiju of gluttony? That sort of thing?" She hopes it is that sort of thing, because her list doesn't end there.
"I mean that you must be on guard from within, as well as without," Samael says. "You're more accustomed to monsters than the others. Well, than most of the others, probably. You'll need to be strong for them."
"That's surprisingly good and altruistic advice, Sam," Tasha notes, sounding impressed. She leans back and folds her arms, brows raising. "Should I warn you to be on guard for inner angels? Is this a bright new turn? I am a good influence!" She beams.
"Well, if you can't help them, I may have to offer my own services to do so," Samael points out. "And those carry a high cost."
Tasha snorts a laugh. "You're not fooling me with that," here she lowers her voice, which as she's impersonating what amounts to a male version of herself is unsurprisingly accurate, "'there will be a dark and tremendous cost' line, you know. I mean I know you can, but I know you don't want to. You're part of the group and losing us means going back to His Sinister Goatship."
"Then hopefully I will be better at suppressing my urges than the others will be theirs," Sam says. "The void will draw out your monsters. The ones everyone pushes down, or the ones they revel in. The regrets, guilt, fear, anger.. this place will slowly turn them inside-out. Yue will have it the worst. Gabriel is already succumbing. Remember what Urgo-hem did to Shojo. That is the sort of thing to watch for."
Tasha's ears flatten back. "Gabriel," she whispers, having a very good idea of what sort of monsters he has, the regrets. She's been saving him from those very same regrets since she met him, yet with everyone else around mow, she hasn't been at his side nearly as much as she had been back then. She had hoped he'd largely moved past them, but here that may not be the case. Then there's Yue, a psychic sponge for their failings and weaknesses; she can only hope her training can keep her sane. Dr. Yue Sen losing her grasp on herself would means Terragens agent uncontrolled and dangerous. Then there's Shojo, with his insecurity and supressed hatred, resentment. "Urgh. Maybe we should insist on having some of us hit the tubes?"
"There's no guarantee that will shield them, only force them into being more helpless in the face of the void," Samael offers. "Perhaps Dr. Knight's medicines will help. Otherwise, make note of who functions best, as you may need to depend on them later."
Tasha reaches up and rubs the side of her head. "I should create crew functionality tiers and assemble sub-crews, have backups or my backups. Consider helping people but also restraint. Oh gods, do you think the Niss could be effected? If they lose control we'll be stilled out here." She chews on her lip. "There were impacted by the Trumpter when we weren't, maybe they're safe. Their nature is different and they can usually control their local space. I'll need a replacement though ... I should grab a coffee and sit down with Gabriel."