The ships arranged themselves into a square formation, spanning thousands of kilometers of space.Then they activated their impassors and began to project and shape the fields, painting the sky with auroral colors. The curtains flickered and shimmered and intertwined, dancing with increasing swiftness, different hues being introduced, until shapes became apparent. The shapes formed images, we were being shown a sequence of pictures drawn from Cyphel's memories, sampled from those stored inside her ship. There were landscapes and cities, moons and planets - as rich cross section of galactic history as any of us has tasted. She was usually caught with her back to us, a distant figure standing on some cliff or high building with one hand on her hip and another shielding her eyes from the sun, lost in the rapture of scale and scenery. Her hair was the electric white of a comet's tail, streaming back from her brow as if fingered by a caress of photon pressure.