Helmets usually mean Breen soldiers where Aeon's from, and she scrabbles one arm against the broken tile floor, trying to brace herself in case she needs to get up and move. Then the rest of the world floats in around her and she gets the details, and her short-term memory returns. The little ball that filled her mind with pictures and words and a story of a broken world. The path she'd followed to get where she is now.

She studies the man in the helmet as her eyes focus. He doesn't look like anything she saw in the little ball, but that may not mean anything.

"Figuring that out," she says carefully. "Who are you?"