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Federation political prisons are not particularly uncomfortable. She's not going anywhere, but she can read, she's considering taking up an instrument, the only really awkward thing is that she doesn't particularly want to be supervised while she's sweating her way through her next pon farr one way or another but that's years off. That and she wishes she'd taken longer to get caught. But she was running out of the really low-hanging fruit anyway.

This is what she signed up for. She makes up imaginary profiles of people on the planets she got to, people who can live longer fuller lives with the stars in reach, one per day. One per day and she'll have loads of estimated impact left unused when she dies. Perfectly reasonable tradeoff and she can still read books.

Someone wants to interview her about Vulcan; they don't want to lose anything that anybody remembers; she gives the interview and then picks up some poetry.
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"I'm not planning to stand around in her prison cell for very long, just enough to explain what's going on and get her to confirm she would like to teleport to Davlia."

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He pouts. "Okay. If you pick coordinates on Davlia, we can pack and then meet you there."

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So Bella finds the science ethernet's opinion on where Davlia's capital city is and picks a spot easily flyable from there to land.

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And they wave her off, see you soon, good luck with Pointy Bella.

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So Bella turns invisible and goes to visit Pointy Isabella.

Hey.
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...Are you Fëanáro's Bella?

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Is that what he called me? Yes.

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You can call me T'Mir, if that's less confusing. He said you were better at explaining things.

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Right. Uh, there are alternate planes where the fundamental rules of things in general can be wildly different. I'm from one, Fëanáro and Rúmil are from another. I got to theirs by an accident, and some things happened, and we all decided to find another one we liked better and wound up here and then saw you on the news when you got arrested. And we look just alike except you're greenish and pointy-eared and we have the same name and our mothers have similar names and we were going to be more circumspect about this but Fëanáro went ahead and visited you anyway, so. I can teleport you to Davlia and finish explaining there?

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Is this dangerous or unpleasant in any way and will it have any results other than us being on Davlia?

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Nope. I picked a spot a ways from the capital, is that okay?

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Should be fine. I've never actually landed on the planet, you understand, I just think they'd be favorably disposed.

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Well, say when.

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T'Mir tucks her PADD into her pocket. When.

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And here they are on lovely Davlia!

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They've arrived already. Fëanáro is even younger than she's have imagined him from hearing his voice, if he were human he wouldn't be older than five. He's holding the hand of a very pretty man who has pointy ears himself but obviously is not a Vulcan. They both have long hair in elaborate braids and Fëanáro leaps thirty feet in the air at the sight of her. "Pointy Bella! Welcome to Davlia!"

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"You can call me T'Mir, both of my names are personal names and it seems like it'll be less confusing that way. Thanks for the rescue."

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He lands. "Hi, T'Mir. You can call me Fëanáro, and this is Rúmil."

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Bella turns visible. "And I'm Bella."

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"- that's really uncanny. You look human, though."

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"I am."

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"The science ethernet says you're half-Vulcan," Fëanáro says. "What's your father's name?"

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"My father's name was Chalek."

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"Charles. Charlie."

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"Tomorrow once we have mana we could do a planar shift to all planes with Bellas on them, I think I could specify that. Though some of them might be like Materia and eat me."

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