it may take centuries

[The video clicks on to a very composed Vulcan. Anyone who saw her when she arrived might note that the gash across her cheek is gone, and there's only one light bruise left on her jaw; everything else visible has been neatly healed. She also looks a hell of a lot calmer than she did: the constant fight or flight response in her has been muted for the moment. That doesn't mean she's giving away any identifying information about where she is, though; the feed is focused on her face. For those who'd notice, the pointed tips of her ears are visible between locks of her hair: she has never tempered her pride well enough to hide what she is.]

I have a question to pose to all passengers [she says this with the faintest hint of irony; she knows at least a third of them are prisoners] aboard this ship. I understand that many of you come from a time when interstellar travel is not yet feasible. Regardless of your place in your galaxy, I would like to know more about where you come from.

What year is it? How does your government function? Describe the sociopolitical climate.

And avoid any personal indulgences.

[She wants to know about the various represented universes, not so much the people here. Then, as an afterthought she adds:] What was the result of the war game that was recently played?

[Laser tag is still fucking illogical.]

[Private to Marsh]

[It didn't take long to sort out how to send private messages, even without identifying information beyond a name.]

I was informed you function as a clothier aboard this ship. Was that information correct?