Pale saffron, almost white hands gripped the thick fork poking at the indeterminate lumps in her bowl. The skin covering her fingers – like the rest of her, had the melanin stripped from it now – an effort to allow her to fit in easily with the Makani crowded into the hall around them.

“Can you alter your appearance?” Kyso had asked her.

“Maybe my skin tone,” she’d told him. Without direct NAN control, adjusting her melanin level was as much as she dared try. “You think the Panaki might react badly?”

“There aren’t any with your kind of shade here; I could change mine once, before…” He’d told her. “These Makani are not as accepting as in the old days.”

Few were, anywhere, she knew.

“What about you,” she’d asked. “You’re obviously not a native.”

“They’ve seen me before,” he replied.

“I still won’t have Makani features,” she suggested. Changing her underlying appearance would be far too risky, lacking control, she could end up hideous.

“I admit they’ll find your roundish face a little strange,” he offered critically. “But add a few smudges of dirt, and you’ll fit right in.”

She’d looked back at him sharply, but seeing his smile, relaxed, smiled in return.

So… with concentration, desire – she changed her skin to match Traejan’s as closely as she could. The effort proved to be a frustrating struggle, taking the better part of an afternoon, before the effect elicited smiling approval from the old Consortian. The alteration, not surprisingly, had garnered her disturbed glances from Traejan – step forwards, step back. The effect must have made her appear even more like his dead wife, certainly there were as more dark haired people in the hall than shared his coloring.

She hoped it wasn’t affecting his work. He seemed to be taking his time at the other table across the hall – negotiating – so he had claimed.

The trip to Panak through the frozen wasteland had also been difficult. Helping repairing the lifter when it broke down in the immobilizing cold – even covering the limited ground from the vehicle’s hiding place in the pass above to the settlement – was a test that she barely passed.

It was a wonder anyone could survive such a harsh environment with what the Makani possessed. They didn’t pass any living creature on the journey until reaching Panak, and struggled with it’s the heavily bundled residents as they shuffled through alleys filled with thigh–high snowdrifts. The journey had been harder on her than expected, remaining NANs having constant difficulty with the demands to keep her core temperature even, leaving her shaking with chills or overheated and sweating, the three days a physical rollercoaster of vigor and exhaustion.

The snow-covered buildings ahead had seemed a blessed relief from the bleak lifeless mountains. They began to look less and less inviting on closer approach. The settlement turned out to be disappointingly typical of a lost world. Scraps of the old civilization, held together here by ice and improvisation. As small as Panak was, barely half of it looked to be occupied at all.

The structure that the men took her to, ‘The Brother’s Hall’ was also familiar – dark, smoky, rank and noisy. It was surprisingly lively though, full of men, women and children – all laughing, shouting and screaming – taking advantage of the warmth, food and sociality the place offered. She glanced around surreptitiously, wondered how many might be implants, then she again poked at the foul smelling lumps in the stew on the poorly repaired, poorly balanced table she and Kyso were sitting at.

She could hear Kyso chuckling over the din, turned to scowl at him. As she did, smirking, he popped a lump into his mouth. She pointed at the bowl.

“You expect me to eat this?” He shrugged, continued chewing – then swallowed – as though it was actually edible. “It looks– It smells vile.””

Kyso’s expression turned serious.

“Eat up,” he told her firmly. “On Makan you don’t always know where your next meal is going to come from.”

“I don’t want know where this one came from.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sure it has a lot protein and fat,” he added in a parental tone. She was not comforted.

“Beautiful,” she muttered, then turned back to business. Which Traejan was supposed to be handling, which he insisted on handling. Better she watch the proceedings, the men had told her – develop an eye for the local culture – an eye for what was right… and what was wrong.