STATION ALERT!

Be aware this station is only just now complete!
All units will start up with enough power to get the engines running!
The station AI or captain will speak to you from here on!

Captains Report

Everything is running at one hundred percent,
engineers, get the engine up before we all die!
All sectors working, one unmanned but that's okay.
Anyways crew, AI is in charge while I watch our supplies and power.


Sparkling to life the AI shifted through its data before appearing as a hologram, resembling a giant floating face. "Good morning crewmembers! Do have a good time aboard our ship, I may be momentarily absent due to updating reasons." It said echoing through the station comms into everybodys personal radio device on there ears. "Hmmm, no borgs, but it seems we have another AI aboard. My trackers aren't picking up an AI any longer, probably a passing ship. It left trackers so quick I couldn't track!" It said searching the station a momrnt before halfway shutting down to add updates.

"...And then after I open up the damn panel, what do I find? Nothing."

Kezal finished his rant by throwing a pen onto his desk, much to the amusement of his partner, seated behind a similar desk opposite him. Their office was small and cramped, even by the standards of Station 13's security division. There was just enough space for their desks, a few filing cabinets and a small lane between their desks to allow them to move. Despite the small space, the office was crammed with stacks of papers, folders, most of them on the desks of the two officers. Kezal even had a rifle leaning against the wall beside his chair, and a sword hung up on the wall behind him. On the other side, his colleague had several old, pin-up posters pasted on the wall behind him and oddly, a baseball bat leaning against the wall beside his chair.

"What'd I tell you, Kez? This job pays well, but we have to deal with eejits on a daily basis." Kezal's colleague said and sat up straight in his seat. The name plate on his desk identified him as sergeant Glen Doohan, though the two of them knew that the rank meant nothing within the security division. Outside, however, it did give them some authority over civilians.

Kezal scowled despite knowing that his face was hidden behind the full-face helmet he wore. He had been allowed to keep the armour he had worn during his days in the Sera'Shuun military after he had been discharged. Since every Sera'Shuun citizen was expected to return to duty in the event of a war, it made sense to have every citizen keep the suit of armour they had been issued during their compulsory service. Also, most armour suits were customized to show a soldier's clan and tribal loyalties. Kezal's suit was painted the deep blue hue of the Sikal'Shuun and adorned with the pristine white stripes of his family's clan.

"I know," Kezal said with a sigh. "But it rattles my plates after a while."

"Rattles your what now?" Glen asked with a smirk. Neither of them were paying even the slightest attention to what the Station AI had to say. It rarely informed them of anything useful, anyway.

"Gets on my nerves," Kezal corrected himself. He had only been working with humans for a few weeks and was still getting used to their phrases and mannerisms. The translator did a good enough job of making him understood, but sometimes it translated things a little too literally. "I swear to my ancestors, if the we get another call regarding-"

He never got a chance to complete his sentence, as the box-shaped device on his desk suddenly rang, as if on cue. Kezal and Glen looked at each other for a moment. Glen arched his brow and Kezal sighed as he reached forward and pressed a button on the box, channeling the call directly to his helmet's communication system. "Good morning, Station 13 security division. Sergeant Vazarik'Sikalaz speaking. How may I help?" He paused as he listened to the lady's complaint. "Noises behind the walls? I see. Please hold for a moment while I check with our maintenance crew to see if there are any schedules maintenance activities in your area. Thank you."

He pressed the same button on the box, leaned back and placed his feet on the desk. "Aren't you going to respond?" Glen asked with a smirk on his face.

"Nope," Kezal replied, but then got to his feet. "But I should-Wait, what's this? I'm getting a message that tells me that I'm needed at inbound cargo. Could be contraband or attempted smuggling."

Glen arched a brow. "I'm not getting anything on my headset."

Kezal shrugged. "Must be just me, but as a good security officer, I should probably check it out." He said, then pressed the button on the box, returning to his call. "Yes, I'm afraid maintenance isn't responding right now and I have been tasked with important matters at cargo. However," He trailed off and made his way to the door, punching in the key code to allow the doors to slide open. "My colleague, sergeant Doohan, will be more than happy to help. He will be there shortly." He slipped through the doors and they slid shut before Glen had a chance to protest.

Kezal chuckled to himself and made his way towards the cargo import bay. It was not a long walk from his office; after all, his office was the one responsible for answering the requests for help from the cargo bays. It showed just how little trouble was expected when a grand total of two officers were allocated for both the import and export bay. Very rarely did they actually catch any contraband, and when they did, it was often just the usual drugs and narcotics. Never had it been anything Kezal found remotely exciting, such as arms shipments.

He turned a corner and found himself looking at a square-shaped room filled with crates, and people all over the place trying to find out just what was supposed to go where. "If I recall..." He muttered to himself, vaguely remembering the Station AI mention something about another AI construct possible being on the station. It was probably either just a ship passing too close or someone bringing onboard an unlicensed construct. AI smuggling was unheard of, but Kezal figured that there had to be a first for everything. With that in mind, he quickly made his way towards the pile of crates which had only been recently brought in. He stood with his arms crossed, watching the workers go through the paperwork and just waiting for the slightest hint of trouble.

Subject: Raven, "Princess" Amelia.
Location: Prisoner cells, Security wing

Amelia stands before a door to the prison cell, staring into the empty room. For such a long time, she has remained in the same position-- Facing slightly away from the gate, eyes locked on the cot, and her hand on a bar. It was too strange, to be in such a place, while still not in captivity. "What a reversal of the role... I've never seen prison cells from the outside. And now, I am supposed to be locking people in them? How can I do such a thing, when I have spent my whole life locked in and breaking out?" She shakes her head. "I shouldn't even be here. If I had some way to contact my crew, I would be with them. I should be raiding this place, not aiding it."
Upon realizing her failure to think silently, she turns her head to the exit. She didn't want to harm anyone, but if she was heard, there may not be much of a choice. She reaches for her handheld burning laser, just to discover it is not there. Finally, she looks into the hall.

Dr. Arron Blake looked over Mr. Henshaw's chart and shook his head slowly. Henshaw asked, "Is there anything wrong Doc?"

Blake replied, "Yeah your adhesion issues are starting to get worse in your shoulder because you're trying to do much without attending therapy. You need to go to these sessions Don, or you're gonna undo a lot of the good work that I did putting your right shoulder back together."

Henshaw said, "Come on Doc. The lady is a taskmaster and that accent she has makes her sound like she should be leading an invasion."

Blake put the chart down and said, "Regardless these sessions are set up for your benefit, and if you're not gonna follow up on them then find another surgeon to repair your shoulder when you screw it up again because I won't help you."

Henshaw bowed his head and said, "All-right you win Doc. I'll be at my session tomorrow."

Blake replied, "Good I'll call to verify that." Blake typed some notes on his medical-pad and said, "I wanna see you back here in 1 month and until then you don't pick up anything heavier than a martini glass."

Henshaw asked, "Does that include me playing tennis?"

Blake finished up his notes and said, "Is that what you call it? I thought it was you swatting at imaginary elves that were near the ball."

Henshaw chuckled and asked, "Are you still bitter over the fact I beat you at poker a week ago?"

Blake replied shaking his head, "A little. I still don't know how you pulled that inside straight when I had two pair Jacks and Kings."

Henshaw shrugged his shoulders and said, "We got a game tonight at the Asimov lounge. The Usual players private room at 7. You in?"

Blake shook his head and said, "You're full of dumb questions today aren't you." Blake smirked and said, "Of course I'm in first round is on me."

The two men shake hands and Henshaw then heard the announcement from the Captain on his ear piece.

Once it was over Blake shrugged his shoulders and fixed himself a drink.

As long as they don't drop a bomb on my street it ain't no concern for me...yet

Jax walked through Engineering, checking everything, at least once. She wasn't going to fire the engines until she was certain there would be no issues, she'd spent so much time with them, they were like her children, she couldn't risk anything happening to them so early." I hope you girls are ready for your big girl panties, nap times over."

Jax flipped the switch on the power core's link to the Engines, and watched as the Ionization chambers came to a full charge." Hmm, a little slow on initial startup, but you'll be purring like a kitten once you have some time to warm up." Jax walked back to the control panels and flipped the master switches for the engines. A smirk crossed her face as the Powerful engines came to life. She cycled the power up slowly to 60%, the lights getting a bit brighter througout the vessel as the engines take over the strain from the central power core. After a few checks, and double checks, and no signs of problems, Jax powers the engines up to 75% power, their standard running level, and puts in a call to the Captain. " Engineering to Bridge, Engines at optimal levels, power and life support levels holding, everything looks good here."

John walked the halls, as always. Being the only proper Janitor on the entire space station meant that there was always a lot on his plate. By the time he'd had done a full round of the station it was just about time to start again. Then every fortnight he had to go on a space walk to wash the outside of the windows. John felt a little ridiculous having to go out and essentially squeegee the station. It was time consuming, far more dangerous than what a simple Janitor should ever have to do and worst of all he didn't get hazard pay for doing it.

John was currently on his break in the hall that connected the Security Wing to the main deck, sitting on a bench with a sandwich in one hand his phone in the other. John listened momentarily to the AI's announcement before finishing up is lunch and heading off in the direction of the Bar area. Everyone seemed to go through that way so John always had his path to his next cleaning destination pass through so he can keep the area a manageable level of clean.

As John approached it became obvious that someone had spilled something rather nasty and just walked away. With a sigh, John pulled out his 'cleaning in progress' sign, setting it up in the middle of the pathway, and pulled out his mop. It made John half smile that even in space and even with advanced AI technology, a simple mop was still useful. Poking the spill with his boot, John found it to be a bit sticky so he added a little vinegar to his mop water and started the slow process of cleaning.

John Mahone leaned idly over the bar in the Asimov Lounge, skimming news reports on his pad. The place was abandoned, at the moment. Generally nobody around until the evening. And today was no exception. Lifting his eyes from the events of the Galaxy he looked about the establishment- his establishment, he thought with a bit of pride- and sipped from a glass of soda water. It wasn't much, to be sure. The unkind might call it a hole in the wall, and that was true enough. Just a bar, a jukebox, several tables, and a private room in the back. Maximum capacity was twenty, plus another ten in the private room, if he ignored station safety regulations. What it did have was a lovely view of space, via a series of portholes opposite the front door.

And where some men might have seen a dive, all John saw was potential for growth. The Asimov Lounge was the only bar on the station, so he currently enjoyed a monopoly. When expansion came to the station, and it surely would, Asimov's would have to expand as well. And he had big plans. Oh, yes he did. Pool tables, dart boards, one or two more private rooms, maybe even a stage. All in due time, of course.

But, for the moment, the barman was bored out of his skull. Currently a one-man operation, he had absolutely no one to talk to when business was slow. Even solitary men yearn for company from time to time. To amuse himself, he made his way over to the jukebox and played some old Earth music- Western, they called it, though he wasn't quite sure which west it came from. It was pleasant, just the same, and he strolled back to his post, humming along to the music.

“See them tumbling down,
pledging their love to the ground.
Lonely but free I'll be found-
Drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweeds. “

Rainman bit the end of his pen as he peered into the box filled to the brim with cans of beans, He was 90% sure that this box was supposed to contain cold cuts, not beans. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the clipboard in his hand, sliding down the list of supplies that was supposed to be on the ship. Finding nothing, he sighed and shut the crate again and slid the pencil behind his ear.

"Hey, Kris, you checked that crate over there?" Rainman asked, tilting his head towards another crate up against the far wall. The other man shrugged and shook his head, tp which Rainman just rolled his eyes before turning to the crate in question. The station had just opened up, and these idiots couldn't get a bunch of damn crates together and organized. Back home he probably would've been shot if he'd mixed up crates, though to his knowledge they weren't smuggling highly illegal drugs for the local mafia here. Though, some of the crates did look pretty suspi- THUD!

Rainman stopped short as he walked into something... No, someone. The Security Officer, infact. Well, the bird one anyways. "Whoops, sorry..." Rainman searched for a name, but came up with nothing. He shook his head and continued. "Something you need, officer?"

"Oh, nothing, Rainman." Kezal replied and looked down at the human. Due to the combat-grade damping systems of his armour, he barely shifted and only felt a slight rippled when Rainman walked straight into him. It was only after the human spoke did Kezal actually notice his presence. Kezal made a note to permanently set his armour settings to one which was more suitable for a civilian environment; remembering to do so every morning was apparently too much for him to handle. "Station AI mentioned something about another AI coming on board. Thought that I'd check here."

He smirked beneath his visor, then shrugged his shoulders. "It also gives me an excuse to drop everything to Doohan. Tenth call about hollow walls in three days, can you imagine that? It's as if these people have never been on a station under construction before." He said. "Anyway, back to work. I'll be checking the crates for any suspicious markings. Call me if you find anything odd."

With that, he started walking through the stacks of crates. He was on the lookout for a small crate; an AI did not take up too much space, all it needed was just a sufficiently powerful processor to allow it to function. It was possible that the AI could be smuggled onto the station via one of the larger crates, but Kezal wanted to eliminate the most obvious choice first. Once that was done, then he would move on to the tedious process of having every crate opened and physically checked to make sure that there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Kezal sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Rainman shrugged. "I haven't seen anything, but I'll tell you if one of us finds something." Rainman nodded and stepped past the officer and towards the crate he'd set his eyes on earlier. He clicked it open and raised the lid, frowning as soon as he saw the contents.

Ugh, fish he thought, closing the crate again and making a mark on his clipboard. After growing up on practically nothing but fish, the idea of fish was anything but appetizing at this point. He continued, checking a few more crates. After the 5th or 6th one, he came across a crate that was a little longer than most of the other ones. Click. He lifted it open and froze. Staring up at him was a human body. "What the hell." he mumbled. It was a woman, though he couldn't determine an age. "What the hell." he repeated again, a little louder. She was naked, and he was 99% sure that this was illegal. "Uh, officer?" he called out, still staring into the crate.

Subject: Raven, "Princess" Amelia.
Location: Prisoner cells, Security wing

She sighs, returning to her position, sitting infront of the cells. Her job is obviously the least fun one. For starters, she has to remain in the security wing all the time. Along with that, the security wing is the most painful place for her to be, with pictures of her beautiful face stored in many of the computers as someone to look out for, and having nobody to talk to. And finally, there aren't any prisoners to watch after-- As far as she knows, the only true criminal on the ship is herself, and she hasn't even been identified yet.

She grabs onto a bar above her head, to pull herself up. Once she is on her feet, she steps out of the cell block. She makes her way to a familliar destination. (Like sea-pirates from Earth fairytales, the space-pirate Captain Juliet enjoys the occasional inebriation.) As her luck goes, she finds herself stuck in a situation where there is a man in the hall, cleaning the floor. As she is not normal people, Amelia realizes that she may not get away with just walking past the man, avoiding conversation. Still, she attempts to cross the hall, away from the mess, and...

Location: Hall, near the bar
As her luck goes, Amelia's feet fail. More precicely, the tiny, human shoes on her long, Vuri feet fail, with the sole on her left foot ripping, causing her to tumble forward through the hall. After she finishes rollng, and halts flat on her back, she finally is able to decide the cause of her problem.
Who put flat ground where I was going to trip?

It had been mere minutes since Kezal left Rainman and he was already tempted to call it quits. It was not because the task was hard; it just required him to check the paperwork and if necessary, bring up relevant or extra details on his visor. A cakewalk compared to actual police work, but much more tedious. Kezal swore he could feel his brain slowly shutting down, synapse by synapse, as he flipped through paperwork care after crate. It was a wonder how the personnel working in the cargo bay were not all comatose from this lack of mental exercise, and Kezal found himself respecting them a little bit more.

Most of the crates contained the usual items: Food, water, construction materials and other basic necessities. Whether they actually contained those items were a whole other matter, but until Kezal found sufficient evidence to support the idea that there was a contraband AI on board the station, he was unwilling to lock down the entire cargo bay and have the crew start opening every crate. He had already laid out just what would make him take that action. A mismatch in the location of origin between the physical and digital logistic papers were usually a good indicator that something was amiss, or a large crate for an object that could otherwise be transported via soft packaging.

He heard Rainman call for him. Thanking his ancestors for the chance to stop his repetitive task, he rushed towards the worker. "What is-" He began, but then immediately saw the reason for his presence. In the long, oddly-shaped crate directly in front of them laid a human body. It was quite obviously a she, completely nude and was either dead or in a drug-induced or cryogenic sleep. "Vaskrin mak zihal!" Keval swore in his native tongue, thankful that the translator had declined to translate that particularly rude and vulgar phrase. He sprang into action immediately, kneeling down and placing a finger to the woman's neck. He pumped the sensitivity in his gloves to maximum, and even then he could barely feel a pulse. "Alive, but barely."

He stood back up, returning the sensitivity settings to normal levels. "Rainman, I want all paperwork related to this crate." He said quickly. Trafficking was as bad as a crime got. With drugs and arms smuggling, it usually just involved throwing the offending items off the station and looking for the person who had decided to bring them into the station. When it came to living things, it became more complicated. No one would attempt to smuggle in a person for the fun of it. It was expensive and required plenty of help both inside and outside. Last but not least, the station was still under construction. It was incredibly weird for someone to put so much effort into smuggling a person onto a station that was still not fully operational and had only a population of only a couple dozen people.

"Someone lock this damn place down! I want every crate of a similar make and shape to be opened and inspected!" Kezal barked. "On authority of Sergeant Kezal Vazarik'Sikalaz, Station Security division!"

He looked back down at the woman. "Rainman, see if your boys can get her out of that crate. Don't do anything too rough. We don't know about her physical condition yet. She could be falling to pieces for all we know." He said, then looked at the rest of the workers. "And someone bring that surgeon, doctor Blake, down here!"

John was making good progress, he was about halfway done and had allowed himself a small smile when he heard a body falling behind him. Stopping momentarily and sighed with his entire body. Should he turn around? He was only half done, if he left it too long it might get worse and need more than vinegar and soapy water to get out. What the hell was this stuff? it was sticky, sure, but it was purple! If I don't help, I will be yelled at for not helping. On the other hand I still have my job to do. On the other other hand, they could be hurt and he could get in trouble that way. One silent groan later John had dropped his mop and was walking over, pulling his gloves off and putting them on his belt as he walked.

John may not be incredibly intelligent, but it was pretty easy to see what happened. This young lady had managed to trip on a completely flat surface, with no stairs and not even a pot plant to hinder her. "Well at least you didn't make a mess for me to clean up." realising he said that out loud, John looked down. "You don't look broken, you're not bleeding and you don't look dead, you should be fine, but do you need a doctor?" John leaned over and putting a hand on the lady's back to help her, pulled her up onto her feet, noticing the split heel of the shoe, but not really caring. Putting hands on her shoulders, making sure she didn't look she was going to fall over again, John took a few steps back as he let go and stared at her as if she was going to fall like a house of cards. Once reassured, John looked the lady in the eye and asked with a raised eyebrow "Well? Do you need a doctor? Or am I wasting time? Miss...?"

Electric sheep danced around on the stage, but their music ended abruptly, replaced by more ominous tones. Other sheep ran on, all carrying guns. Loud bangs, and the first sheep fell. Another came on, barking things at the top of his lungs, though they didn't make any sense. The commander sheep marched around the stage, looking triumphant as he checked whether the other sheep still lived, then jumped off the stage, quickly checking with audience members as well. Most in the first row played along with the show, pretending to be dead. As he checked Praefecta, she at first didn't feel it, thinking she wasn't just playing at being dead. But his the feel of his touch started to build. It was cold and metallic. He mumbled something to the nearest sheep under his command, who rushed over, guns ready.

And then she was awake. But there was no longer a stage. And she was cold. She didn't want to risk moving until all her systems were refreshed, but she made sure to keep her networking off for now. She was mentally vulnerable at the moment while everything booted. She had no idea where she was, but the crate she was in was definitely open.

The AI flickering to life and quickly checking the station over making clear the station hadn't collapsed. He searched around a while blue rays flickering off his machine. He began checking his cameras all alphabatized on his database. A quick suit sensors check here a quick gander at all of the station spots he realised something was amiss, he knew there was a botanist on ship but it wasn't on his cams. He continuously searched for the botanist when-(I will play as most antagonists, for example if somebody goes insane I will take place as them and begin roleplaying as them until they are captured(good ending?) Or killed(bad ending?) Racing through the halls this botanist was tired of going from one station to the next for a paycheck! Putting on a bandana from his locker in order to hide his face he grabbed an ax he used for cutting out plants. Quickly grabbng another one of his coworkers after running out from a place hidden from cams hi put the ax to his neck and began screaming over comms, "I want my goddamn paycheck you hear me?! Five thousand dollars now! I have a hostage and I will kill if I have to!" - the AI hearing this quickly managed to find the botanists location, botany storage. Sending a radio message only the security headsets could hear he spoke "This is the AI he is in botany storage with a person held hostage, be carefull engaging him." The Ai said monitoring the man in case anything bad happened (This will be the first event of the ship treat it well!)

Subject: Raven, "Princess" Amelia.
Location: Hall, near bar
Amelia looks up at the man before her. She runs over the remark he makes, and the questions he asks, yet unable to comprehend any of it. She is too dazed to speak, until he finally lifts her onto her feet. She focuses on his words: "... octor... wasting my time? Miss...?" Amelia nearly forgets that she is in hiding, and quite possibly blows her cover with her next few words.
She unsheathes an imaginary blade, raising it up to the heavens. "I am Pirate Lord Captain Princess Amel--" Her words are halted before she gives enough verbal evidence to be held in court for crimes against humanity, with revealing what she has done. She clears her throat, preparing another, flat-voiced explaination for who she is. "No, I'm actually the new warden... 'Amy Julie.'"
She hears a b-flat saw-wave beep in her ear, as her modified and mis-toned security-team transciever warns her of the news.
'Amy' looks toward the man who, at the very least, aided her in standing up. She tells him what she just heard; There is someone in the bonanical storage holding a crewmate hostage. She presses a button on her transciever, hoping to send a high-priority message to the captain and leader of the securety division.

Jack was still humming along to the music when an unrecognized voice called over the intercom- which, unfortunately, was wired to interrupt the Asimov's jukebox. The music stopped, replaced by a rambling and vitriolic message, uttered by a human male. Or so Mahone assumed. The announcement was... disconcerting, not to mention confusing. Somebody definitely wanted his check pretty bad, and apparently payroll was behind on that front. But how would taking a hostage help? How did that even make sense? Was it really happening, or was it just a prank? He couldn't put it past some of the station crew. The barman sighed, and finished the rest of his soda water. Curiosity had the better of him now.

Walking across the lounge he came to a control box by the door- hidden by a layer of paint, so that drunk customers wouldn't play with it. Sliding the panel back gently, Jack switched out the lights, and set the door to lock behind him in thirty seconds. Quickly replacing the panel, he stepped through the door and into the corridor. He was startled to find others nearby. The janitor was there, with a woman. The barman recognized her as the warden of the jail- though he could not quite recall her name. He approached them, and gestured vaguely at the ceiling, indicating the recent communication.

"What the Hell's going on?" he asked, glancing briefly down the corridor in each direction, "Is somebody playing a joke, or is this guy for real?"

At the sound of an announcement, one of a hostage situation at that, Praefecta crawled out from the crate. She did so like a cockroach, but from what she understood, modesty was important to humans; she had to convey that somehow. She sat curled up on the floor, covering usually-hidden body parts with her crossed ankles and arms. The floor in the room was much colder than the inside of the crate. "I...might be able to help. But..." She looks down at her body to express her situation. What actually concerned her was the much more simple fact that followed: "It's cold."

Of course, it would have helped more if she had spoken in a common language. Instead, what came out was more along the lines of "Nioske tuvad...metcara."

Kezal nearly jumped at the sight of the lady awkwardly crawling out of the box. Something about her movements seemed unnatural, but Kezal chalked that up to her only recently waking up from a sleep that lasted who knows how long. He knelt slowly and made sure that he kept his own movements slow and gentle. He did not want to spook her and make the incident worse than it already it. Bad enough that he had a potential trafficking case to work on, there was now a crazy nutcase holding someone hostage over something as minor as pay. Kezal could not really understand that; according to Sera'Shuun culture, the ability to contribute something to the big picture was reward enough. Earning money was but a desirable side-effect.

"Cargo Security busy. Get Hizaka'Tivakaz and Tabatier on it. They should be closest to botany storage." Kezal said over the security division's secure channel. He had bigger things to worry about, the biggest being the fact that the first words out of the lady's mouth had registered as untranslatable by the software installed in his suit. It was possible that she was speaking an obscure or relatively new language; Kezal had not updated the software for years.

"Can you understand me?" He asked in the universal galactic tongue, then repeated the question in his native language. "Mazikarik Ist konik zum?" It was a longshot; the Sera'Shuun language was not spoken by many people outside of Sera'Shuun space, but at least it was something. At the same time, Kezal ran his eyes over her body to check for any physical signs of damage. She seemed to be perfectly fine, but he was going to wait for the doctor to arrive to confirm his hunch. That was assuming he would even show up. Kezal could do the medical inspection himself, but his medical training was basic, and had been primarily focused on battlefield medicine.

"I don't suppose anyone here has any medical knowledge?" Kezal asked the nearby dockworkers. He wanted to clear this up as soon as possible so he could get to figuring out just what was going on.

Words. Sheep commander. "You are the sheep commander." Her voice was that of sudden realization that he was the voice from her dream. Then she realized it had been a dream. "Oh. Sleep. Dream." Her mastery of the language was slightly behind. She had relied on jargon and codes for far too long. "Cold. Very cold. Might be have help able." Those were words, right? "Have clothes for I you?" Syntax was important. She remembered that now. She shook her head, trying to think of how a sentence was coded for coherence. "You have? Clothes available. Me." Totally worked. Clearly understandable. Obviously. And this time, she thought she may even have the right language. Sera'Shuun. It must be the most spoken in the area, if he was using it, too. The other was just to be polite. Logical conclusion. She would have to access so many databanks to be sure of her location. "I help can." Autocorrect seemed to be working, at least.