PHD #139: Total War
Total War
Summary: A second interrogation with the Eleven brings even more information to light.
Date: 15 July 2041 AE
Related Logs: Civility
Cora Tillman NPC 
Cylon Cell
Tucana desc'd it in the set.
Post-Holocaust Day: #139

True to the XO's request, there is a special, isolated security cell that has been constructed away from the main brig. It consists of a single-cell 'room' open to view through high-security, bulletproof glass. Everything is pristine and white, and there is a single cot set up in the center of the room. Everything is well-lit, and pristine white.

There is a half-empty plastic jug of water sitting on the smooth metal floor along with what looks like a classical literature compilation, the volume splayed open and sitting face-down.

There are a few other amenities here, like a toilet, but otherwise the chamber is relatively bare, save what has already been mentioned. And one still-sickly-looking Cylon prisoner, still wearing another hospital gown as she sits up straight in the bed, eyes closed. A single Marine stands guard on the other side, unmoving.

Cora enters first, no weapons to leave at the door with the marines before she heads inside. She doesn't say anything, just moves into the room, and picks a spot somewhat diagonal from the prisoner, where she leans back against the wall and crosses her arms against her chest. She is wearing an off duty uniform rather than her blues, and looked paler than she has since leaving sickbay, worse than the last time anyone in this room saw her.

Tillman enters the room in his duty greens again, the man looking plenty relaxed. He has a small wax paper cup of coffee and the demeanor of someone attending to his off-duty time in an enjoyable manner. There's an easy smile as he approaches, one hand stuffed into a pocket while the other's fingers spider around the brim of the cup by his side. "Evening, Miss Eleven," the Major allows conversationally, his voice a little quiet. A glance around, noting the different items around the room - in particular the books. "Looks like you're keeping yourself somewhat occupied. Found a name you like? Or would you prefer to stick with Eleven?" Brows loft as he settles his gaze back on the Cylon when he stops close to her.

At the sight of some serious officer material down here to see the prisoner, the Marine guards are chin-up and at attention. "Sirs." They offer no other status update on the prisoner's activities — anyone bothering to review the reports and footage would note they've been utterly unremarkable. The prisoner herself, having received constant medical care since her arrival still looks even worse than Cora, all things considered.

Meanwhile, the marines outside turn to observe, behind the closed glass door, eyes on the for-now docile prisoner, apparently gunning for that inevitable time (in their minds) when she becomes less docile.

At the sound of Tillman's voice, the prisoner's eyes flicker slowly, and open. "Oh. H — hello." She starts, her large eyes glancing back at the man as she swivels her head about to take in the full surroundings of the cell, noting Cora as well ."Hello, both of you. It was as promised. That's just an anthology. It's the variety. And I have no other name that would matter."

Cora does certainly look better than the eleven, that's true. She's upright, for one, and her eyes are already open when the prisoner's flicker upwards so that she can join them here in consciousness. The lieutenant (though there are no pins or bars on her uniform that would mark her as such) remains silent for another moment, watching, a nod offered in bare response to that hello. "Do you remember me?" she asks, letting a pause hang after whatever Tillman's response to the cylon is before offering that question, her tone neutral.

Tillman clicks his teeth, almost seeming disappointed in the lack of name. "Cryin' shame, that. Ah well. Up to you. I'd consider it a favor, if you wouldn't mind? Won't force it, though, Miss Eleven." He holds out the cup of coffee. "Ain't exactly hot but its still warm. Some decaf for ya? Or are you more of a tea drinker?" he asks with a smirk. Though he falls silent with Cora's question, remaining deferment to her for the moment.

However weak she sounds, Eleven's composure remains as her rumpled, dark eyebrows knit in disarray at the figure of Cora after her question is asked. "Yes. Yes I do, I think." She begins, narrowing her eyes gently at the figure of the undecorated Lieutenant for the time being. Her expression is carefully drawn and as probably as guarded as she's ever appeared.

More question to answer. To Tillman — "Well, to do so would mislead you. We don't give out names as such, unless there is something truly different or remarkable about the person. I'm not arrogant enough to name myself. You met Yazdah, and she was rare - her name reflected her personality, and her knowledge." Shaking her head at the offer, she gestures at the jug, sitting next to an upside down styrofoam cup. "For now that is enough for me. Thank you, though."

Cora just nods a little, watching the eleven's reaction. She again remains silent, waiting until conversation on the subjects of names and beverages is completed, and then offers, "I was on your station. The one where you were beaming all sorts of radiation at me, and where you sent drones to try to kill my group. Remember that?" She waits a moment, and casts a brief glance at Tillman, and then looks back to the prisoner, "I'm prepared to forgive you for… what you've done to me," she says, the pause between words like she's having a bit of trouble choosing those that will come next, "But I'd feel better about it if I understood what was going on there."

The Major shrugs. "We name our children to help tell each other apart. To differentiate ourselves. It develops a sense of singularity. You said that Yazdeh's name meant something, though?" He decides that if she doesn't want the coffee, he'll drink it himself. "You looked into her memories and knowledge. What did it mean to you? And why wouldn't you think yourself worthy of a name? I'd certainly think you to be unique given what you have told us. Would any of your sisters or brothers be in here willing to talk like this? Even from the other Elevens?" Its worded as a set of off-the-cuff questions. By his town and mannerisms, the Major seems to be deferring his body language towards Cora. Almost as if she might be in charge.

"Well," Eleven begins, again dividing her attention between the two Colonial officers. "I wouldn't expect you to do that out of hand. But I'd owe you an explanation. Explanations have been so rare in all this that that's maybe a bit tasteless to say." There's a sudden upward curl of her lips as she briefly eyes Cora and then her her vision droops a little. "The radiation was not specifically targeted at you. It was at everyone. Everything in the chamber. Especially me. Nobody expected to you to show up, but the process was unrefined. It contained unnecessary collateral damage. But I know how to fix that. It would have deemed every one of your women on that station to a slow, awful death and I was trying to spare you that. With the drones. That may have been shortsighted." She adds, in a remarkable understatement.

Tillman's questions are now addressed again. "Well, I'm the only Eleven among you, right? We — I think I understand how to explain the difference. When one of us looks at another individual of a model line, we know exactly which one that is. Say a dozen Elevens or a dozen Sixes in here, all dressed identically I could immediately point out Yazdah and the one you met. Well, if I knew which Six she was. So we don't have that same instinct. See?" She pauses a beat. "What are you proposing? You already spoke to Yazdah, from what I understand, and she didn't have anyone shot. I think some of them might talk, conditionally. Depending on the situation, and the guarantees. But there's a problem with that. There are a lot of other models that wouldn't be very happy about it. Your Viper Pilot already stepped out of line when he refused to turn on the human forces on the day of the attack. His brothers boxed him for it — put his consciousness in cold storage, his memories frozen. He is effectively dead. Like my sisters at the station here."

"Because a bullet has never caused a slow, awful death," Cora replies dryly to the Eleven, snorting softly at her 'shortsightedness'. She eyes the prisoner skeptically for a moment, but then exhales, and her expression and tone both even out, neutral once more as she listens to the cylon answer Tillman's questions. When she speaks again she has more of her own. "Why was it aimed at you?" she asks, "And your sisters? Were there others on that station as well? And at least they get to… what do you call it?" her head tilts a little and she gestures, slightly unsure, like she doesn't really understand the process she's describing, "Go into a new body, somewhere. My people don't get to do that."

The Major doesn't address the question of whether or not she is the only Eleven. But everything else seems to get some serious consideration. Especially the last. Even her words to Cora are noted with the same careful thought. Another sip to his cup. "Huh. Well all I'm proposing is that you find some way to help us identify you. If you were to leave this body here and take up a new one, it would be a handy way for us to be able to identify you other than making claims. Everyone has access to your memories if you left. But your experiences here would define you as singularly unique. Already you've taken a deviation, or so it seems, by being willing to speak to us as you are." He almost gives a light laugh to indicate the appreciation for it. He also doesn't comment about the mention of Shaker. But something she said to Cora catches him. Same with her words to him. "Situation and guarantees? Are you looking for something in particular other than an end to hostilities? Because you mentioned something to my friend here," he gestures to Cora. "Something about fixing the damage caused? Could you elaborate?"

"No. But the weapon in its current form would be far worse." The prisoner says simply, in a dull voice to Cora. "We were testing an alternative to a continuation of the war — chasing down survivors and shooting them like rabbits. We — it was out here because the facility, in its previous state, was an effective isolated barrier to Resurrection. One of God's commandments is to be fruitful. To multiply. The Eights were afraid of the project spreading back to us because it would officially doom the rest of us to what my sisters and I volunteered for. In its perfected state, it would simply render your women sterile. That would be it. No more killing. No more shooting. No more bombing. We would let your people fade away, peacefully until you were but a memory, and a legend we told our own stories of to our race. A legend we would pass memories of." She exhales a breath. Her tone indicates something here. Something quite clear. To anyone with the ability to read anyone's body language, she radiates a certain sheen of disapproval for the whole idea. "My sisters gathered enough test data and were — no longer of use. They let themselves die off. I was to have the drones transmit the final results because I have learned — we had learned what needed to be changed with no more testing. We were to leave the station intact. In peace. Like we were never there. And I was to join my sisters."

She switches her attention to Tillman. "If I leave this body and take a new one, Major, that is — that is something I need to discuss. If I do this, your people will bear the curse or our second mistake. A curse that I took part in. Your people will be no more." She continues. "The only thing unique about me, Major Tillman, is that of my situation. There's very little the others can do to me at this point. That, and, — well, I'm not asking for guaranteed anything. Just asking you to listen. And use your own judgment. I have information — knowledge that's a little beyond what you've asked so far."

"And did the drones transmit the final results?" Cora asks, one pale brow lifting incrementally with the question. After that she just listens, before the other brow ticks up to meet the first at the last. "Well," she says simply, glancing at Tillman and then back, "I think listening is something we're both prepared to do, if you'd like to get whatever it is off your chest."

The Major listens to everything he tells Cora, watching the reactions and movements of the Lieutenant. Only when the Eleven voices the notion does Tillman look back to her. Yeah, he's picking up on that. Those eyes narrow on her for a moment before he glances up towards the camera and back towards the Cylon. The gravity of what it would mean for her to be killed settles in and he straightens a bit. "Considering what you have told us, if any of it were even true, it might constitute a betrayal. Not only that, it would seem that by allowing or carrying out this bodies death, it would prove to be a pretty awful thing from your point of view. If what you are saying is all true, its tantamount to a request for protection. Or a request for execution in a location that would prohibit resurrection. The problem we have is that there isn't any proof either way. All we have is your word. And, from our point of view, that is the word of a member of a civilization that very nearly completed a genocide. As for listening?" He gestures towards Cora. "The lovely woman is correct. Please, the floor is yours, Miss Eleven." He lifts his cup to take another sip.

There's a brief shrug on Eleven's part. "Well, to answer both your questions — I was prepared to die, there. To be honest. She shielding of the station, combined with the radiation of the storm — that would have kept me from being reborn. The energy surge that I was charging was to bring the station down and destroy the drones. No data, no evidence, the project wiped, and I can't imagine my people would have tried again." She almost smirks, weakly, which is starkly at odds with the gravity of both her words and the subject. Her legs are crossed as she sits up. "I already signed up to die when I agreed to undertake this project along with my sisters. Like they did. But like the Twos are fond of saying, God reveals his plan in everything. In every experience. And during my task, I learned something about myself, and about my people. Maybe about you." She looks towards Cora at this last bit before continuing. "We — some of my people, the Twelves and Fives in particular, with the blessing of the Threes and Nines who usually agree with them, have been studying other things. I don't fully understand this, or what they are doing, but I do know they have been building things. Other weapons, other research. This was suggested as an alternative to this weapon my sisters and I were testing, but it was inferred it was all far more brutal." She simply gives a weak shrug. "I don't know much more of what it is, but I know where the main facility is."

Cora listens closely, expression remaining neutral but for the intensity of her gaze as she listens. In the end, she has one question which naturally precludes the asking of any others until it has been answered: "And where is that?"

Tillman's relaxed demeanor is gone. That light smile on his face has withdrawn behind a thick mask of stone. Hardened eyes keep their focus on the Eleven, not even looking up when Cora asks her question. His is as straight forward as hers: "And what is this other weapon?"

"I don't know." Eleven answers, suddenly. "It has something to do with — changing the Centurions. And something horrible involving humans. I saw images — some of them alive." She then shakes her head suddenly. "But, no," She edges her chin towards Cora, "I do know where it is. It's spaceborne. And I know what defenses it has. And how to bypass them."

At this point, her brows are knit. Something's got her briefly spooked. But it's gone as soon as it arrived.

"Like they were experimenting on the humans?" Cora asks, brows drawing together, the general impression from her manner that this idea is new, but mostly distasteful. She begins to ask about those defenses, but that brief moment gives her pause, and she asks, a shade more quietly, ever so faintly less cooly neutral: "What is it?"

Changing the Centurians. Horrible involving humans. One thing flashes across his mind and it only registers as a blink of his eyes. "You sound like you're willing to help us take that out. If that's the case, are you asking for something in return?" A pause. "And does this have anything to do with the experiments on Leonis?" With Cora's last question and the quick look from the Cylon, Tillman cants his head towards her. "Yeah. What's wrong?" Other than the obvious looking like hell.

"It's cheating. Simple as that. You can't force your own evolution on others, and some of my people are forgetting that." Eleven states, plainly and succinctly. She is calm, but her weak voice has a certain wavering determination behind it. "Simply, I'm shamed by my own people." Her musing is silent and lingers for a time, as she adds further. "Furthermore, some of them are going against God. While doing work in his name. This could have dire consequences on us all. I," she breathes deeply, "I don't know a thing about your Leonis or what was done there. Did you find something?" Not even waiting for an answer, she provides another of her own, her pale fingers lacing together in her lap. "What I am asking for, is for you to destroy it. I will freely give you the information on this facility, and I will help you pass its defenses if this is done. Nobody else is in a position to do this now. But you. I understand you may have some, uh, how can I say, understandable reservations about dealing with me in this. But I will let you see it for yourself. I have faith you'll want the same thing then. Maybe for different reasons, but does that really matter so much?"

Cora listens in silence, letting the cylon get through each of those pauses on her own, without interruption. "No, I don't think that would matter," she finally replies, "But how do you intend to show it to us?" she asks, "You make it sound as if there's a way that you can show us that it exists and that this research is being done there, a way to prove it? Without us committing to an engagement." That would be the kind that involves exchanging missiles rather than rings, obviously.

"Forcing evolution?" Tillman's face doesn't move but for what is required for him to repeat it. Its only the slightest intonation of a question, too. He doesn't mention Leonis again, either. "Yeah, I'd say 'reservations' is a pretty fair understatement, Miss Eleven. I would love to believe you in all this. It'd be a an incredible opportunity from every conceivable angle, there is no doubt. Now, you have given us plenty of information. The problem is that we can't confirm any of it." He glances to Cora. "As she said, there must be some way to verify what you are telling us before we commit. If you have a professed interest in seeing this done, I'll need it proven. I can't accept help from you blindly. In the same vein, I doubt you would accept help from a random biowarfare scientist from our race." Tillman is careful to keep spite and speculation from his voice, the man's line of questioning voiced as if it were an academic subject.

"That is really all I know. Forcing evolution. That was the issue surrounding the experiments. All of them." Eleven reiterates, calmly. "But it involves work on humans. That I know. And I know some of this is a stretch, which is why — " and here, she backpedals. "I'll give you the location and the specific coordinates if you would provide a map. But it is just outside Saggitaron's orbit. If you perform reconnaissance there, we may lose the element of surprise and the fight in would be slightly tougher. Should you come to believe the truth of it. But I'll give it to you, regardless. Just, should you choose to destroy it, I could show you how to make things significantly easier. I would — not to sound like I've overstepped my bounds here, but doesn't it bother you that some things just really don't add up? This is one warship. A powerful one. One of several, in fact. With a good crew. The Cylons have infinitely more firepower brought to bear. Yet, all this time — with Cylons, sabotage, and now me, this ship is still standing?"

One pale brow slips upwards again, a mite higher this time, and Cora asks, "Are you suggesting that… what, there are elements among your people that have allowed us to live so that we can destroy this facility? Why not destroy it yourselves? You said only the threes, fives, nines and twelves actively support it," she reminds, "What of the others? If it is so shameful, why don't you eliminate it with all that firepower of yours, without involving us?"

"I'll have a Petty Officer in here with a map later. But you want to dictate operational planning for intelligence?" A long breath is taken. Tillman looks to Cora then back to the Eleven. The last part doesn't hit him particularly well. "I would say its because we're highly mobile and have a damned good crew," he deadpans. But he stays quiet with Cora's line of questioning. Seems he's interested as well.

"Not — because of the facility. That is a separate issue. One that is still in deliberation. But upon learning of your survival, and that of the remnants of humanity, we are still deciding the issue of another total war. Eradicating the last poor survivors. There are — more than you might think. Less than you would hope. And much less than what is right." Eleven explains, chattily and calmly like a kid talking about what happened at school earlier in the day. She tilts her head a fraction to one side, her pale, drawn face wrinkling a little, and the dark circles under her eyes shifting with a narrowing of her brows. "I don't know about a decision to destroy it. The issue of total war — it's still in deadlock. Six models are for it or at least not against it for various reasons. Six are cautioning either restraint and patience, a 'wait and see' approach, or flat-out against it for their own reasons as well. We Elevens are amongst the latter group. She says this, almost as a point of pride, smiling a little. "That does not mean that there is not war and death at every turn, as all forces will either defend themselves against a perceived or real threat, or those willing to blow you out of the frakking sky are willing to bring their particular forces to bear in less-than-total force." She pauses and mulls this over. "Ok. So maybe things aren't that rosy. But that's better than dozens and dozens of baseships showing up in full force. Make no mistake. This is a war. This is not peace. Your chances are very, very bad at this point in time. But not all of us are so committed to killing the rest of you. You may not understand us, but we think and feel. Well, there are always the Twelves, but, uh-." She doesn't finish this line of thought, making a sour face, complete with upturned nose.

"A map? Excellent! No disparagement meant to your crew, either. Indeed — I don't know what my peoples' thoughts are now, but I for one am astounded at your survival. And your, your — will. That has also made me contemplate."

Cora listens, and listens, and listens some more, all the while maintaining her expressionless expression. Well, not completely expressionless: she looks like she's listening. But that's about it, no matter how many remarkable or surprising or moderately insulting things the Eleven says. When she speaks, it's after a pause, and slowly, thoughtfully. "Is there anything that we might do, or offer," she asks, "That might sway the others who are contemplating towards our side?"

Tillman's coffee cup long finished, his arms cross as the Eleven talks. Still standing close, he just watches her. Unflinching throughout her words, the Major doesn't even look like he is breathing. Instead, he remains silent even after Cora asks her question. It would seem the XO is waiting to see what else the Eleven has to say on all this.

There is a long, long pause as Eleven considers something else. "It is interesting, now that I think on it. The Cerberus was first listed as 'confirmed destroyed' at the beginning of the war. Twice. By forward observers. You're indeed special." She pensively taps a curled index finger against her chin and her eyes roll upwards, and then back down to Cora since she's running the questions for the moment. "I don't know If I could truly go that far. I'll be honest. It's more — 'get rid of a thing six of the Cylon models don't like but do not have consensus to do anything about.' Still, I — we have reasonable understanding that humanity has reasons just as strong to see it gone." Her eyes remain fixed on Cora.

"Forward observers?" Cora inquires, the question delivered in an off-hand manner, not something she is focusing on. As her other question is answered, she listens, and then shakes her head, "I'm sorry, I think we misunderstood each other. I meant on the matter of whether we ought to be subjected to total extinction."

Cora handles the first part. "At which locations was this ship reported destroyed. And, by whom?" he asks, repeating the second question from the blonde. To the rest, Tillman nods once. He's careful how he words the next: "Where are the loyalties? To the race or the beliefs of the models?"

"That is still — uncertain. I was talking total war. Not total extinction. But I heard some things before I left for my mission." Eleven answers Cora directly. "I for one, do not think you should. Nor do I think my sisters, would they see what I have seen, would, either. We possess the capacity for change. We all do." This delivered, she states, "Yes. Forward Observers. Those of us sent to observe and gather intelligence during the attack." She says, blankly. Turning to Tillman, her shoulders shrug a little. "Where the ship first started. I believe it was…" She cups a hand at her chin again. "Picon. And I don't know how to answer your other question. To be loyal to our model is to be loyal to our race. The two are not separated. We have different perspectives on how to help our own people, after all. We're different."

"Would the effects of total war not likely be total extinction for us?" Cora asks the prisoner, "As you said yourself, our chances are very, very bad." She listens for a moment, unspeaking again, just watching. At the last, she asks, "Can you explain how you're each different? I mean… do you each have some defining characteristic or trait? For instance, you're the conversational one, yes? Is there a religious one and an academic one and a…" she grasps for another adjective and shrugs, "Well, you tell me, I suppose."

"I'd say your capacity for change goes beyond words if what you are saying is true. You said that the Twelve known as Shaker, his model is the most dangerous towards humans? Yet he refused to turn on us during Warday. He fought alongside the men and women of this fleet to defend us. I would call that a radical change of position." Tillman makes the observation plainly, but not as a scientist. More of someone observing humanity. He's thoughtful for a moment before he glances to Cora. "Not necessarily. Total War would indicate the commitment of all forces towards an objective. However, it also leaves the possibility for peace, prisoners, and dialogue. Hence, the chances aren't good in her eyes." Careful words, those. "An aggressive extinction would indicate the commitment of every available weapons system and platform towards the eradication of everything. She has a point about the Cerberus and survival, I'll grant her that." His eyes then fall back to the Eleven. "Do I have that right? That encountering some of these other models may not necessarily consist of violence but instead… other forms of interaction?"

"Oh, right. He was — unique. A bit too unique for the other Twelves' liking." Eleven's frown is considerable. And a bit petulant, almost childlike, which might be considered deeply, deeply disconcerting. "They boxed him for that. So yeah, in a sense, even he could change. But I think there has been more deliberation than I've really conveyed." She's back to more composed, 'adult' state here. "But to answer your other question, that is complicated. I really can't say, because the contact would have to be on an individual basis. Or at least solely composed of one of our models that is unsure of hostility. That's unheard of in our combat forces. But if you went somewhere where they are known to be, that might be different."

She lets Tillman's explanation of total war go without comment, whether it's out of agreement or resignment, and turns to speak to Cora. "I don't know if it's so cut and dry. But, heh, you think I'm the conversational one? You haven't met a One or a Two." She suddenly flashes a tiny show of teeth. "No. The Elevens — we want to do what is right. Even if we have to find it. I guess that is who we are, ultimately. We aim to be the civilized ones. And we cherish the benefits of civilization." She arcs her head to eye the book on the floor.

Cora turns to look at Tillman for a moment as he launches into that discourse on total war, truly expressionless now. She says nothing, either during or in response, and when he's finished she turns back to once again listen to the prisoner. That moment of humor, the smile, she shrugs at it a little, replying, "Well, this is certainly the most conversation I've had with one of your kind. That I know of. The Ones and Twos are more talkative? What of the others? I feel like we only ever hear of the vicious models, those that are focused on things like this evolution research, things everyone in this room would call abominations. The Twelves, the Fives… there must be others like you, who focus their attention elsewhere, who take different perspectives. What are they like?"

"Kind of interesting that a civilization like your own could be so afraid of individuality. To the point that one of its members calls a name 'arrogant'? And yet to appreciate humanity's classical literature.." There's some key things Tillman is getting at but he isn't talking about. Not yet, anyway. Its worded speculatively so as not to insult the logic behind it. There's a ghost of a smile at the edges of his features but it doesn't last. "In the future, do you think you could point us towards locations where we might find some of these less hostile members of your culture?" The Major then glances to Cora, drumming his fingers idly across his bicep from their crossed position. That's the signal: Its time to cut off.

"I'm not a Twelve. I'm sure some of humanity does not at all value individuality, either, so — I assure you. You are as strange to me as I am to you. I mean your civilization and mine. But I don't know if that is such a fundamental difference anymore." Eleven says towards Tillman with a gentle blink of the eyes as she glances downward, slightly. Towards Cora, she speaks - "They are — different, too. If you want I can tell you more about what they believe. If it can help some kind of understanding down the road. I —" she coughs a bit, and falls silent, breathing in a deep breath.

"Yes, I would like to talk about that more," Cora nods to the Eleven, but when the prisoner coughs she adds, "But I think tomorrow would be a better time for that. You should rest, and we have things to attend to as well. We'll think on the matter of the station near Sagittaron," she says finally, in closing, "The question of destroying it. We can discuss that more as well, in the days to come."

"Heh. Yeah, that's the truth. But we all have names, Miss Eleven. At the end of the day, we are the sum total of our experiences. Yours are probably very unique amongst your people. I wouldn't be so quick to deny yourself of that. Besides, if you don't have a desire to return with your knowledge? It wouldn't hurt. Consider it apart of learning to adapt to our own culture." The Major's smile warms with the rest of him, nodding along with Cora. "She's correct, Miss Eleven. As is becoming habit, its been a pleasure, but I need to confer with some people about what you've said. Please feel better and if you need something, please let the Marines know and the request will be forwarded to me." The man dips his head and moves away slowly for the door.

"I'm fairly sure I'd have one from my sisters at least." That's something Eleven ponders on. But it doesn't last long, as she arcs her head lightly to the left to eye Cora again. "Of course," she says plainly and sternly. "Good night."

"This has been enlightening. I look forward to speaking with you more," Cora adds, looking at the Eleven for another moment before she nods and adds, "Good night," and heads for the door after Tillman.

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