Irian shakes her head slightly. "It was my choice to answer," she says. She pauses a moment, then adds, more softly, "But your words are well meant, and for that I thank you."

Her shoulders straighten, almost imperceptibly, though Spock with his Vulcan intuition will likely notice. Honor — that was the right word to use. Irian was raised in one of the old Rihannsu families, the ones who still believed honor and nobility were things to strive for, not to be thrown aside in the name of expediency, power or fear. Whether or not she has kept that honor over the course of her life is, as her people would say, for the Elements to decide — but she would like to believe she has some small scrap of it left. If nothing else, she certainly has her pride.

"And as for you," she says, changing the topic deftly — clearly the events of her own time period are a thing she no longer wishes to discuss, at least not so openly, "what are conditions in the galaxy like for you?" Irian has studied twenty-third century history, naturally, and she knows a little bit about the Enterprise and her five year mission — from an admittedly biased perspective — but it's different to speak with someone who has lived through those events. She settles back a little in her chair, appearing casual, though the look may be a little deceptive; she may have begun to grow used to this place, over the past several days, but she knows better than to let her guard drop too far.