Vyakti Nau

The tortle lists a dozen versions of her and asks which is true. She gives him the one about the blind men and the elephant, because it's the only honest answer: every account is a hand on a different part of the animal. She admits one thing — I made a mistake, that's why I'm here — and lets the rest stand sealed. When the rock falls on Oot she is under it before she decides to be. Later someone puts a baton in her hand that she isn't quite trained for. She takes it. She would rather be sparring with friends. She does not say so twice.

She doesn't talk much, though she looks like much is concerning her. She practices Qigong at length. She's cold. Distant. And, hopefully, a lot stronger than she looks.

She gave her name exactly once — told everyone to "pronounce it like it looks" — and has answered only to "Now" since. Whatever she was before the chassis, she keeps it filed where no one else can read it.

She carries no corporate serial number, which is not a thing that happens by accident. Oot has heard she's a command core dragged out of a sunken warship and crammed into a generic chassis; that the Remnant Senate has a kill order out on her; that her face was copied from a real woman whose every record was scrubbed before it was printed. She confirms none of it. What she will say is that she made a mistake, and that's why she's here.

When pressed on which version of her is true, she offers the parable of the blind men and the elephant, and lets the listener sit with it.