Ianthe gave a short, wry laugh.<span style="color: mediumturquoise">"Well, I guess, I've long since exceeded <i>my</i> specifications, too."</span>She paused to look over a drawerful of combat rations, wrinkle-nosed, and then let her gaze drift to the open hatch leading back out of the galley. Satisfied that no one was about to join them, she lowered her voice to share,<span style="color: mediumturquoise">"I was taken from my parents when I was small and raised in an off-books government program to produce psionic spies and assassins. They taught me how to fight and kill with my hands and my mind, and how to be invisible while I was doing it, and... everything, really. But I was, to them, just an asset, a tool -- useful, maybe, but never <i>completely</i> trustworthy despite the indoctrination, and utterly expendable. Sound familiar?"</span><br/><br/>She turned veiled blue-green eyes back to Toi, and leaned back against the counter.<span style="color: mediumturquoise">"When I broke my program and escaped, I had no idea how to be a real person. I've kind of been faking it for the last two years. You should have seen me back in the early days -- I was learning everything from trideo, so I sounded like a character straight out of action movies or romantic comedies, depending on the day. Even now I sometimes catch myself kind of defaulting back to that. But I wasn't ever <i>taught</i> that I should fear or hate androids, so I don't, and I've always found it's more productive, and usually more lucrative, to try to get along with my shipmates than to try to find excuses to mistrust them. I find it less work to be kind to people than to freak out about them."</span><br/><br/>She let that hang in the air for a few moments, watching for Toi's reaction, before adding,<span style="color: mediumturquoise">"Besides: we 'tools' really ought to stick together, don't you think?"</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>