forbarrayar | [ january ii log ]

[ january ii log ]

Who: Everyone
What: The end of quarantine, a breath of fresh air, and the first taste of action
When: January 18th - 31st
Where: Barrayaran camp / Cetagandan base
Warnings: TBD

Quick links:
Barrayar: Piotr Vorkosigan / Barrayaran camp / Missions
Cetaganda: Zahal ghem-Zefyst / Cetagandan base / Missions
Special thanks to Ana for last-minute PB hunting!

It's been a little over two weeks since you first arrived on Barrayar. As the month wears on, the weather shifts a little colder, and snowstorms come, dumping over a foot of snow on the ground over the next couple of weeks.

barrayar
So far, the outsiders tent has only been visited by the Countess and the Princess. But on the morning of the 18th, the General Count himself makes an appearance. Piotr Vorkosigan is a lean, hard-faced man, battle-worn and fierce, but despite his reputation as a master strategist and the bane of the Cetagandan existence in the southern half of the continent, he looks to be no older than his early thirties, and he's held the rank of General for nearly a decade. When he comes to speak, the guards make way immediately, and he doesn't waste time mincing words.

"My name is Piotr Vorkosigan. I am the commanding officer of this camp." Hands clasped behind his back in a parade rest, he surveys the outsiders at a glance. "I hope it's been clear to you all that you aren't under arrest here. We had to detain you until we could find out what you were, because you clearly were not our enemy. I'm sure you've heard by now that we're at war, and not on the winning side. This planet -- Barrayar -- was cut off from the rest of galactic society for seven hundred years, until just thirty years ago. Until then we had no plasma weapons, no spaceships, no electricity. We had just barely begun to absorb the changes that had eclipsed us when we were attacked without word or warning by the Cetagandan Empire. Eight planets already conquered, and they sought to strike us while we were vulnerable. They claim to be saving us from ourselves, to bring us the light of civilization, as though we are dogs being taught a new trick."

His lip curls. "Komarr -- the planet that controls the only wormhole entrance to this system -- allowed itself to be bribed by the Cetagandans so that they could get their warships through the other side. They demanded unconditional surrender -- no treaty, no convention -- but we answer to one Emperor only, and our refusal to surrender under any conditions was met with warfare and occupation. Some Counts, traitorous collaborators with no honor, have surrendered, but our Emperor refuses. And Vorkosigan's District is loyal to the Emperor. Our only chance at outside help is through his son, Prince Xav, using his position as ambassador to Beta Colony to try and drum up support and get supplies through the blockade. With ghem patrols on every street of our cities, we've gone to ground to fight on our terms, wherever we can, lest we fail to remind the Cetagandans that this is our planet. They don't know these mountains, this land the way we do -- staying hidden is the only way we survive."

He gestures at the camp with one hand, the worn tents, the campfires, the weapons long-antequated by galactic standards. "If we used any galactic technology, the Cetagandans would be able to trace our location as easily as if we'd sent up a flare, so we are relegated to our own traditional weaponry, to fighting from the shadows. And our location has been compromised before." His face is mostly hard and impassive, but his eyes flash briefly. "A scant month before you arrived. How, we still don't know. But we were forced to split our forces and flee. We're operating at half our usual manpower and supplies, and we can afford to take few risks, so you must understand why we had to be so cautious with you. We still don't have a clue how you wound up here, or why; that's beyond even the imagination of galactic scientists, I think. But I do understand that you had no chance in the matter, none of you, nor have any of you given any reason to suspect you might be a threat to our effort. So, effective today, I am lifting the guard around your tent. You are free to walk the camp as you please -- save for the areas restricted for military use. But as you know, we are short on resources -- manpower included. We have no room for freeloaders or empty hands. If you wish to stay, you'll work like the rest of us. We could always use extra hands around camp." He surveys the outsiders once again with an even sharper eye. "We might be able to use a few extra hands elsewhere, too, if you can prove yourself trustworthy.

"I won't hold anyone in this camp against his will. Anyone who wishes to leave my do so -- but know that there is no protection in a war zone. All of our cities are occupied by the enemy, and their soldiers won't hesitate to shoot any man wandering down from the mountains. If you do want to leave, you'll be escorted by one of our scouts down to the foothills, to as safe a space as possible -- and to make sure you won't be able to trace back your route. We cannot afford to let our location fall into the hands of those face-painted bastards, however remote the chance."

He'll leave it at that, and when he takes leave, so do the guards who have been posted around the outsiders' tent. The detainment is over.

camp
Now that you're free to roam about the camp as you please, except for the restricted military areas, the atmosphere has changed a little. Some of the soldiers still regard the outsiders with wariness or diffidence, particularly those who might not look not quite normal. Barrayarans don't take especially well to the unnatural. But they are ultimately social and outgoing by nature, and they’ll especially gravitate toward other soldierly types, although they're sort of dubious about the women who claim to be warriors or soldiers in their own right. Still, their disposition is tentatively friendly if on the gruff side. Now that you're no longer under quarantine, they might strike up a conversation or invite you to play card or dice games with them, even if just out of curiosity if nothing else. But Barrayarans are stubborn as well: arguments might escalate quickly, and you might find yourself in a confrontation.

Now that you're no longer confined, you eat at the mess at designated mealtimes like everybody else, and you'll find that the soldiers don't eat much better than you were these last couple of weeks. You also get access to the bath tent for the first time since you arrived, if you'd like to take your chances, but bathing in the winter is always risky business. Near the bath tent are the stables, which always have a soldier or two on duty as stablehand. If you need medical attention of any kind, sickbay is the place to go, although don't expect much in the way of bedside manner from the medical officers.

Lower-ranking officers and the little old Dendarii ladies who help with the camp direct you to your jobs, a variety of mostly menial but necessary tasks. The work isn't extraordinarily demanding, and it's hardly slave labor – you're doing no more work than the average soldier here. If you're decent with knives or know anything halfway about cooking they might requisition you for the mess, if you know anything about horses, you'll probably be assigned to the stables, if you're just plain strong they'll set you to chopping firewood, and no one needs any special skills to help with the washing. But no one is assigned to just one job – when something needs doing, they'll find one of you to do it.

Life among the guerrillas is tough – none of them have it easy, and neither do you – but it isn't all bleak and miserable. When it starts to get dark and the winter chill sets in for the night, the off-duty soldiers gather close around the campfires to socialize and swap stories, maybe even share a little wine or maple mead if they've got any. Once in a while a particularly courageous (or drunk) soldier will even start a round of one of Barrayar's many traditional drinking songs, a few of which have had their lyrics adjusted with more contemporary references. However war-worn, wary, and rough they may be, the Barrayarans have an unmistakable sense of family and unity among them.

missions
After Piotr's speech on the 18th, the outsiders will be offered an opportunity: they're short on manpower, but they can't afford to waste time. Their intelligence on Cetagandan security is out of date, and the operations are risky, but if you're willing to stick your neck out for the Barrrayaran cause, it'll start to establish a bond of trust.

Piotr orders Captain Aaron Vorbataille and Captain Alexei Vorinnis to organize two recon missions to scope out the base's perimeter security, and two more to infiltrate the base and scope out the power supply. On January 22nd, the first perimeter scouting teams return more or less successfully, but with some unfortunate bonus information: there's a traitor in Piotr's camp. On January 23rd, the second perimeter scouting teams have even better success with gaining intelligence, as well as happening on a Cetagandan field science team. Adrien and Beth's squad does not engage, but another squad chances an attack on the Cetagandan team, and manages to capture one of their scientists.

With the discomfiting knowledge that there is a traitor among them, Captains Vorbataille and Vorinnis choose their infiltration teams for the power supply recon carefully. Lieutenants Dmitri Vorhalas and Boris Vortala are ultimately selected to lead the teams, though there is some heated disagreement between the captains on whether they should be bringing in more personnel at all. The power supply recon mission on January 28th has mixed results: intel gathering was mostly a success, but otherwise it was a failure. Not only were the Cetagandans alerted to their presence, but Lieutenant Erik Grey was KIA, and Lakshmi Bai and Lieutenant Vortala were both taken prisoner. No one in either squad seems to be able to provide an answer as to how or why the alarms were tripped so early. The only upside is that Lieutenant Vorhalas has taken a prisoner: Duv Galeni.

Needless to say, the implications of a traitor being in camp are troubling, but with two prisoners from the Cetagandan side, hopefully they'll be getting some answers.

The unabridged event writeup is here.

cetaganda
Zahal ghem-Zefyst approaches the gathered exotics with a welcoming smile, and a near bounce in his step – face fully painted in a more intricate manner than any of the other soldiers present. Unlike the rest of the Cetagandan soldiers, he's dressed in multiple layers of robes, all in colors matching his face paint to the exact shade. To the casual observer he looks unarmed and relaxed, but those who know what to look for will find that some of the folds of fabric are designed to keep things hidden, especially at the hip. Once he's certain he has the attention of every exotic, he gestures, open armed, as his smile grows.

"Good day. I am General Zahal ghem-Zefyst, commanding officer of this base and all operations, and I would like to first offer my sincere apologies for what has occurred – ending up here from wherever," and here his eyes light upon the most non-human of the group gathered before him, "you originated from must have been a shock. You've been told little of what is going on, but I see no reason why that should continue. You are currently on a planet known as Barrayar – but we," he gestures to himself, his wife, and the assembled soldiers with him, "are from the Cetagandan Empire. Nine planets wide, the Cetagandan Empire has existed for centuries, and flourished for all of them. There is nowhere else in the galactic Nexus that can rival our standards of living, our level of technology, and our way of life.

"This planet," he continues, cheerful voice taking on an edge of scorn and sadness, "has been left in the dark for seven hundred years. You can imagine what befell them without modern technology – society could not handle the strain, and these past eight centuries have been filled with bloodshed and fighting. Only recently has the government become truly centralized, and even then it is a tenuous peace, enforced by more bloodshed. Cetaganda's hope – our hope – is to bring them back into the Nexus as a whole. We wish them no harm, and some of their district Counts have willingly joined us, having seen the value of our cause.

"But the Barrayaran Emperor – Dorca Vorbarra – has resisted us, and there are still some districts where the population refuses to acknowledge the value of galactic technology. Of what it can do for them, of what we can do for them. This fracture between Emperor and Counts, of subjects and their ruling class, is only proof as to how fragile this society is, and how desperately it needs to be guided. We wish to be that guiding hand, and want nothing more but to live side by side with the Barrayarans."

The statement is made with a soft gesture of togetherness, before Zahal continues, smiling again. "Again, I apologize for your quarantine. We know you are here not by choice, and are taking steps towards understanding how you arrived and perhaps, how to send you home again. Until that time, however, you are free to go wherever you wish on base, respecting those areas set aside for military use. Some of you have expressed interest on learning about our culture – if you desire more in-depth information, that will be provided on request. You need not do anything beyond respect the boundaries and continue to be as civil and courteous as you have been. There are all only ten of you, and we have plenty resources to spare.

"Lastly – none of you are required to stay here with us. If you would rather brave the elements and undiscerning Barrayarans, we will escort you out, so long as you leave any technology you acquired here behind. Thank you, all of you." He bows, then, and turns to leave – gesturing the guard to follow him out of the room.

base
Now that you're free to roam about the base. as you please, aside from the restricted areas, the atmosphere has changed a little. It's still heavily military -- they are at war, after all -- but the genteel, almost delicate air hinted at during the exotics' quarantine seems to permeate the entire base, a certain fundamental Cetagandan sensibility. On a military level, everything here is built with function in mind -- but to the Cetagandan eye, form can rule supreme even in utilitarian contexts. Even such ordinarily mundane areas as the mess or the washrooms are dotted with art and designed to please the eye, even if subtly. You couldn't mistake it for anything but a military installation, but it's probably the most beautiful military installation you've ever seen.

The ghem troops are nothing short of civil, same as everyone has been. Some of them are even quite interested in the exotics -- whether seeking camaraderie or merely partaking in a novelty, it may be difficult to gauge, but there's no getting around the fact that anyone who doesn't look quite human, or anyone with an especially aesthetically pleasing form, is getting a little extra attention. However, they are all quite polite, in a way that is clearly cultural rather than circumstantial. The ghem ladies are a bit more elusive and much fewer in number, but they're even more outgoing than the soldiers, and any of the ghem on base might be pleased to share with you any Cetagandan cultural pastimes or teach you about Cetagandan art, although there may be a few polite laughs at the expense of anyone particularly "uncultured".

Now that you're no longer confined, you eat at the mess at designated mealtimes like everybody else, and you'll find that the artfully prepared fresh cuisine served along equally (somehow) artfully prepared meal rations you've been getting are the standard here. There are no longer any guards posted around the exotics' room, which has been officially dubbed as your living quarters, and you share a communal bathroom with the rest of the hall. There's a common room on each floor where soldiers often go to spend their off-duty hours, with the appropriately recreational accoutrements: the materials for a few kinds of games popular on Cetaganda, a couple of sizeable vid plates for watching holofilms, as well as the supplies for a variety of Cetagandan art forms. There's also an exercise room in each barracks building with about what you'd expect, but probably prettier and more future.

You aren't asked to do any work, just politely told to keep away from restricted areas. A couple of ghem officers appointed by Zahal take you in individually for interviews of a sort, a couple of times a week. They're perfectly civil, and the interviews themselves are tame -- the Cetagandans are merely trying to collect some more information to better understand this phenomenon. So while there might be some questions in the personal sphere, they're primarily interested in where you come from. They won't try to force you to answer in any way -- if you sit there in stubborn silence for the hour, they will endure it politely, if in exasperation.

missions
We're using that word loosely, because none of this is official or even remotely organized.

Now that the exotics' room is no longer guarded, curiosity gives rise to temptation. On the night of January 22nd, Ratchet and Kaidan sneak out to the science/medical complex and overhear Zahal and one of his science officers talking about signs of wormhole activity as they try to puzzle out what happened. On the following night, January 23rd, Lapis and Darkstalker make their way near the war rooms and listen in on Zahal and one of his intelligence officers discussing the Barrayaran information leak and confirming that there are 'exotics' among the Barrayarans too. They have also learned that the Barrayarans are planning a raid sometime in the next week.

Things get a little chaotic on January 28th, when security alarms are suddenly tripped and a few curfew-cutting exotics run into outsiders from the other side. The evening is sort of a mixed bag for everyone involved -- Duv is captured by one of the Barrayarans and this time, no one gets back to the barracks without getting caught. On the other hand, Wash and York manage to capture Lieutenant Vortala, for which the soldiers thank them in appreciation as they take him into their custody.

The unabridged event writeup is here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

a. inside

It's good to get out of the exotics room. He's been trying to keep to himself in there, not to pace like an animal, not to make any noise when he has an episode. He relies heavily on Ratchet and Kaidan and the pillow that Gail brought him, tracing the patterns of embroidery and memorizing every little stone sewn onto it for focus. It helps, and he's getting better at dealing at least. The Cetagandans finally brought him their scans of his implant and it looks... dead. Completely inactive, which explains what he's going through but also tells him that he is, truly, alone in his head for the time being. Nothing to be doing about it but deal. And distract himself.

He can be found wandering the halls, examining the art. Or in the mess hall, picking at the elegant food with an appreciation for its creation if not its taste. Sometimes he's just on his bunk in the exotics room, going through the information the Cetagandans have provided them on their history and culture, and what they know of the Barrayarans. He still feels like they're attempting to colonize, like Zahal's words are just like those of humans who took over over cultures for their own gain. Even if he believes what he's saying. On the bright side York doesn't feel like a prisoner anymore and it improves his mood. He'll be in the common room sometimes, socializing with the Cetagandans as well as the exotics, wanting to learn to play the foreign games. And of course he's in the exercise room often, training. He can't afford to let himself slack off, especially if they wind up thrown into the war -- which he suspects is going to happen, even if he hasn't decided what side he'll be on. He takes full advantage of their new freedoms.

b. outside

Getting out of the compound is even better, even though it's cold. He's borrowed a jacket to just stand outside, enjoying the fresh air and what view there is. Mostly just snow and trees and mountains, but it's something. He leans back against the building and watches his breath turn to mist, and if he closes his eyes he can feel the breeze on his face and imagine he's somewhere else.

Ratchet is curious about the exercise room--exercise he understands, on a basic level, but the uniquely organic process of straining and building muscle still seems... weird. Though no weirder than anything else he's been doing since he arrived here.

Still, the unavoidable oddness of a relatively well-built adult male having next to no grasp of the fundamental mechanics of exercise keeps him away until he finds himself out of other things to do, but when he does finally poke his head in the only occupant is York, to whom he wanted to speak anyway. He eases into the room, not wanting to interrupt, and just watches for a while, trying not to look too curious as he waits for York to notice he's there.

Another benefit to exercise besides staying in shape is that it's easy to zone out. Usually in quiet moments York gets trapped in his own head, thinking about home or Delta or now, Maine and the woman he'd come to base with. The one that he'd captured and imprisoned... after knocking out their commander. Whatever happened to those two now was on York's conscience, and he wasn't dealing with that too well. If there was any chance of breaking them out he would have, but the Cetagandans had the prisoners locked down tight. He couldn't even get in to talk to her. But when he's working out he doesn't think about any of that. His mind goes pleasantly blank, grants him a break from all of the guilt weighing on him.

Right now he's on an elliptical-esque machine with the resistance cranked up, his breath steady and even as he runs without holding the handles. He's planning on weights later, because Maine and Lakshmi were using swords and he's used to guns. He'll probably need to tone up more. Luckily Ratchet enters on his good side, so it only takes until he glances away from the display towards the weights to notice the other man.

"Hey." He slows to a stop, pressing a button on the machine to turn it off and stepping back to the ground. "Good timing... you wanna spot me?"

"Sure," Ratchet says without hesitation before he turns a hand palm out, the scars around his wrist pulling and his mouth tilting crookedly. "I have no idea what that is, but I'll be happy to if you show me."

He moves closer, keeping to York's good side--he's better about that now than he was in the beginning. "How are you holding up?"

"You don't lift, huh? It's easy, you just help me lift the bar if I ask, so it doesn't fall and crush me." He leads Ratchet to the weights, looking over their selection for a moment before loading up a barbell. Since he can actually use one now that someone's here to watch.

As for how he's holding up, York gives that a moment's thought before answering. His physical symptoms are better, and he's learning to cope with the hallucinations and mood swings. He feels more himself these days, at least, that's not the biggest problem. The biggest problem is their situation. "Better in some ways, worse in others. Keeping busy helps." He lies down on the bench and grips the bar, lowering his voice as he continues. "I didn't tell you exactly what happened the other night with that woman they captured."

"I have only the most basic grasp of what any of this stuff does," Ratchet says, wry and honest. "We don't have anything very like it back at home. I think I can handle helping you not let your torso get crushed though--seems like it's practically part of my job."

"I'm not surprised. You seem to be coping all right, though, from what I can tell with my complete lack of proper medical scanning equipment." He stands near the head of the bench and watches York's face thoughtfully, his own expression unreadable.

"No, you didn't. Would you like to?"

"We've got all of it, I'll show you if you wanted."

And then he's nodding, just slightly, and lifting the bar off its hooks, testing the weight on his straightened arms before slowly lowering it (breathe in) and then pushing it back up (and out). Where does he even start? With Lakshmi? With Maine? "Whatever happens to her is on me. I took her down."

"Sure, thanks."

Ratchet watches the slow, careful process of York lowering and raising the bar, his eyes narrowed and curious before he snorts softly.

"As opposed to what, attempting to persuade the Cetagandans you're conducting an elaborate catch-and-release program for POWs? Or letting yourself get stabbed? Or maybe not doing the job you'd been assigned and possibly getting tossed in the brig or having your access to medical assistance restricted?" Ratchet shakes his head. "I hear what you're saying, but you can't be held responsible for things you don't have any control over. You aren't making the Cetagandans do anything, understand?"

York nods slowly, continuing to bench the weight as Ratchet talks. He's right, of course. And there's the fact that she'd probably be dead if he hadn't taken her out. "They were going to kill her," he tells the other man, explaining why he did what he did. And then, "Thing is, she wasn't alone. She was with someone I knew."

"Sounds to me like you did her the best favor you could, then, under the circumstances," Ratchet says reasonably before his eyes narrow, tilting his head down at York.

"From home, you mean? Not Washington? ...did they recognize you?"

"Not Wash. Another teammate, named Maine. He recognized me but he isn't... exactly... the person I remember. Wash and I are from different times, too, so I guess it's possible but the Maine I knew wasn't Maine anymore. His AI fucked with him to the point he was someone else. Something else." He hesitates, then, putting the barbell back on its hooks with a clink and sitting up to get more weight. "He killed Carolina."

"Another teammate of yours, I'm guessing." Ratchet's not great at Earth geography, but New York is actually one of the few places he spent a lot of time and he can recognize a pattern when he sees one. He rubs a hand over his mouth, looking troubled.

"So he probably doesn't remember killing her, is what you're saying? That's... hell. That's something."

"He definitely doesn't. We attacked him thinking he was the Meta and he had no idea what was going on."

Weight increased, he lies back down, gripping the bar again. "So the other side definitely has 'exotics.' Maybe someone you know, too."

Ratchet goes very still as he considers this extremely terrible thought for a moment.

"That would be... mmm. I hope not." He frowns a little. "I mean, not that it's not good that you have Washington here, even if Maine is a bit of a shock, but I think the fewer people from my home here the better. I wish we knew for sure."

That's interesting. York's eyebrow raises curiously, but he doesn't ask. Ratchet will tell him if he wants to share.

"I get the feeling we might find out sooner rather than later. They obviously know where we are. Not knowing where they are is the only thing keeping Wash here, I think."

Ratchet looks down at York sharply, his face going still.

"Is he thinking of joining them?" he asks, his voice low. "...are you?"

York huffs, setting the bar back in its hooks for a moment and meeting Ratchet's gaze. "I'm almost certain he would have run off with them if there hadn't been so many guards. As it was we had to fight and sacrifice the woman for Maine to get away. Me... I don't know. I wouldn't fight for the Cetagandans, it seems like they're the invaders. But I know if we leave there's no coming back and they might be able to help me.

I'm not sure I want to be indebted to them, though."

"That is... a hell of a decision to have to make," Ratchet says after a moment, looking worried and pensive. "I wish I had an answer for you or some half-decent advice, but... damn. Damn."

He rubs a slow hand over his mouth, watching York's face.

"Would you be all right, without Washington? I know you're doing better, but I also know having him here is helping, is why I ask."

"It's more than one decision. I haven't decided if I'm going to take them up on their offer -- the CMO said they could replace my eye."

But then he'd owe them, if he even trusted them enough to do it.

"...I'd do better without Wash than I'd do without you."

"They have the tech to do that? Replace it with what? I--oh."

That last leaves Ratchet more startled than a human being able to just pop a spare eye in their head. He pauses to digest this bit of information for a moment, but processing it doesn't leave him with anything more eloquent to say on the topic. He just nods after a moment, then swallows.

"Well, hopefully you won't have to do without either of us. One way or another."

"They'd grow me a new one, I didn't ask how because it was so out of nowhere. I'd have to go in and talk to them about it more before I commit to anything." Having vision back on his left would change his life, especially here without Delta.

York lowers his voice further, out of caution even though they're the only ones around. The room could be bugged. "You'd come with us? If we broke her out and ran for it?"

"I can look over any data you have, if they'll let you bring it to me," Ratchet says, frowning. "I'm not exactly an expert, but I can at least look it over. I--"

He stops and bites his lower lip hard for a second, breathing out on a slow sigh. He thinks about Kaiden, and Lapis, and Daryl, about how they might be punished for even an attempt at escape by any others. But he thinks about the guilt in York's face when he told Ratchet about the woman, too, the unsettling feeling he gets just being here.

"I... want to," he says, his voice low and raw, rubbing slow fingers over his mouth. "I don't know if it's a good idea. Do you have a plan yet?"

"They should. I don't want to be in debt to them but I won't lie... I want it." And he trusts them enough to do the surgery. As long as they think he's not a threat it should be safe.

"Not yet. I won't go without her, but I can crack any lock they've got." There's confidence in his voice, this is something he knows he can do and do well no matter his state otherwise. "Wash was talking about patrol duty, he can learn their routes and schedule. We break her out and we go. With whoever's willing."

Ratchet nods, still looking wary.

"I'd... worry," he says reluctantly. "About the people who got left behind. But I'm worried about the prisoners, too. I don't know." He takes a slow breath. "But if it's something you feel you need to do, I understand. I'll back you."

"I don't think they'd hurt people who weren't involved. The prisoners..." Aren't safe. By any means, however humane the Cetagandans might be. York knows there were Barrayarans killed on base last week. What are a few more? "We'll see, okay? I need to talk to the medical officer again and Wash and. It won't be tomorrow or anything."

[ january ii log ]

york; open to cetas

exercise room

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