"Miss Katara, may I present: the universe," Picard said, gesturing in the Sensorium to what appeared to be nothing more than a big black nothing with a small glowing ball in the middle. He made the statement expecting and hoping for questions, and was honestly looking forward to answering them. Katara reminded him of himself and of Renè. In the elderly captain's eyes, that was more than enough to earn some favor.

Spaurh had found the sensoriums. At first she'd merely been curious, recreating a few places from memory, trying out the zero-gravity simulation. She'd even dabbled in the piloting program (and found that she was almost as good as she had been out of training). And then she'd recreated her flagship. It had been perfect - almost too perfect. The crew acted like the real crew. Her Chief-of-Staff was so real that she'd almost thought he'd materialized next to her. Of course, that's when that worming little thought had burrowed into her head - what if? Could the battle at the Sord have gone differently? Could she have saved more of her men, her ships?

Despite her rather smug exterior, she honestly had cared for those under her command, even if in some abstract way. And even though she'd achieved a "victory" of sorts at Lobnas, the defeat had still stung. She was supposed to be rebuilding her squadron. Instead she was here. So, at a loss, she'd replayed the battle in the Sensoriums. And then again. And then again. She lost less ships, she lost more ships. But every time the losses had been crippling to her little fleet. And now she was doing it again. The ship rocked from a nearby explosion, "Looks like the enemy is stupid..."

She had made it this far into the fight - the retreat from the Sord, breaking enemy contact. But just as the first time, they were following her. Her crew, her wonderfully trained crew were giving it there all. Reports continued to stream in from the fleet. Another ship had exploded. and then-

"Mine! Incoming!"

"Evasive-"

The ship shuddered for a moment from an impact and a frantic bridge officer begin yelling as information scrolled across his screen, "Impact! Our engines are disabled! Another-"

The ship shuddered underneath her again and then the deck plating seemed to rise to meet her as the entire room turned into blinding white light. It faded out a few moments later, leaving Spaurh standing on an empty bridge. The words "Ship destroyed" burned across the viewscreen. Spaurh bit back a curse and stalked back to her command chair and slumped, sulking. There had to be some way to get a better result out of the fight....

Arha leaned over the tub her Little Maker had been confined to and hummed something that wasn't exactly a tune and yet was.  It was rhythm-less, but it seemed to help ease the Shai-Hulud's distress.  He was uncomfortable confined like this, much in the same way she was.  Her fingers, too, helped, as they brushed along the sand-smooth hide. 

Arha did not feel well.  Unbalanced was a good description for it.  Hot was another.  It was not illness.

Yet today, the racing flipping colors outside that had fascinated her made her wish to vomit quite violently in the utmost of non-Fremen ways.  She, like one of her training could, ignored the impulse and sat with her back to the lightshow, with her fingers gliding over the Little Maker's head as he bumped his tri-sectioned mouth into her hand.  Arha closed her eyes and lay her head against her arm.

She was not so sure she liked space.

Perhaps it would pass.