[ january i log: cetaganda ]

[barrayarmods]

Who: Everyone
What: Arrival on Barrayar and what follows
When: January 2nd - January 17th
Where: Cetagandan base
Warnings: None (at the moment)


welcome to barrayar.
It's the dark of night when you come to beyond the foothills. Snow on the ground, chill winter wind whistling. A steep mountain range towers overhead, its peaks illuminated by the light of two moons, and the foothills behind you ascend quickly into rocky mountain faces. Whatever you last remember, it isn't how you got here, and you feel oddly jetlagged, slightly queasy.

And you're not alone. There are nine other people close by, all looking equally lost and confused. But before any of you have a chance to figure out what's going on, the soldiers arrive.

They're fitted with what look like futuristic tactical vests and armed with some kind of energy weapons that look deadlier than not. They surround you at gunpoint, dealing orders in intelligible English, but with some obscure, unplaceable accent, and their faces are colored with vivid paint. It quickly becomes apparent, however, that you are not the people they at first assumed -- something about Barrayarans, the barbarians in the mountains. The one who seems to be in charge steps away to murmur into what looks like a wristwatch-like communicator. After a minute or two of inaudible conversation, the officer steps back in. He orders his men to escort you all back to their base. As long as you cooperate, that's all that will happen.


the base
You are taken back to a military base of considerable scale and some serious fortification. There are two rounds of guard checks to go through, both taking what must be a lot longer than usual, and it's cold out. You are ushered past the guard checks into what looks like a barracks building, but relegated to a bunk on one end. They seem to have cleared the immediate area, with guards posted at the door, but there's audible activity beyond the short hallway in front of the door. They make it clear you are not under arrest, that you are merely being detained until they have ascertained the situation -- the word quarantine is used, but it doesn't seem to be of a medical sort. Either way, the only people who come to the bunk are those cleared by the guards, and they all seem much more interested than hostile.

They answer your questions with the very basic facts: the people who hold custody of you are the military service of the Cetagandan Empire, and the planet you are on is their Ninth Satrapy, and they're currently at odds with some of the native population. They won't say it outright, but it's clear they have no clue how you came to be here or why, but it's clearly of great interest to them. For the most part, the Cetagandan soldiers are civil, if at times distant and aloof, but if you look a little less -- or more -- than human, they'll eye you with visible curiosity, perhaps even some kind of appreciation.

At daylight, a few women in lab coats and the same face-paint as the soldiers come to the room to escort you across the base to the nearby medbay, two or three at a time. The medbay is an intimidatingly sterile and state-of-the-art facility, all gleaming chrome and polished glass and crisp holo displays. You are taken in one at a time for a physical examination -- they have to make sure you haven't brought any foreign contagions into their base, after all -- but the military physician isn't the only base personnel in the exam room. You hear the word exotic tossed around a few times until they realized they're talking about you. They call you the exotics.


the exotics room
For a military bunk, it's in surprisingly tasteful design. The room sleeps a dozen soldiers, so you even have a little bit of room to yourself, and while the furnishings are relatively spartan, they're hardly uncomfortable. If you're in need of clothing, the soldiers will bring you base fatigues – no rank insignia, of course, but the make of the textile is surprisingly fine.

You're served food at mealtimes, a combination of shelf-stable meal rations and what seems to be fresh food, all prepared with unusual artistry for a military base. There's a sophistication to the preparation that seems more like it belongs in a four-star restaurant than a military base. If you have any special medical needs, they'll do their best to attend to them -- and their medicine seems impressively advanced.

Soldiers and scientists alike come to the room every so often to ask you questions, more like interviews than interrogations, but behind the civility there's a burning intellectual curiosity. They seem intent on knowing as much as you'll tell them, and then some.

The nearest bathroom is at the end of the hall, and while they seem to have cleared the area of all other personnel, showers and baths are scheduled, and any trips to the restroom are chaperoned. The guards, while not hostile, are certainly not interested in letting you escape. You could try sneaking past them, but you probably won't get far.

Well, at least you've got each other for company: the exotics on the Ninth Satrapy.

Comments

exotics room

[protocol]

[ Wash has been living off military rations for most of his life, now, and he can't remember the last time he's had a full proper meal. Which is fine, Wash is more than used enough to how things are in the military that he'd never thought it was a problem -- but the food they've served up here looks pretty damned good, by comparison.

There's some standard rations but there's other things that're clearly fresh prepared, and not just by whoever's on kitchen duty for the day, either -- there's something about it, something that makes it seem like an actual cook or chef was behind it. Wash has finally changed into the clothes he's been given, settled in, and he's about to put some of that food into his mouth before someone speaks up and questions him on it.

He lowers his fork, giving him a bit of a look, looking back down at the food. There is the possibility that it might be laced with something, but. A pause, looking back up at the other. ]

I don't see any other options, here. [ Glancing at the other man's plate. ] Not to your taste?

[norms]

[ He hasn't moved since he'd crossed his arms, staring at his plate and then the other man's like it's going to simply crawl off the table and out the door. Egil hasn't been too trusting of anything anyone's said so far, though he's more inclined to listen to everyone else who isn't dressed in a coat with their face weirdly painted, and he stops to think about the question, lips pressing thin. Eventually, he just shakes his head, stubbornly ignoring the way his stomach is trying to protest the fact there is food to be eaten and he's not eating it. ]

I don't know. [ It's probably one of the most honest things he's admitted since being here. ] Maybe you should try it, and I'll decide for myself after that. [ Just so he knows it's not going to kill him after he takes a bite. ]

[protocol]

[ The way the other man's just sitting there with crossed arms staring at the food kind of almost makes him smile, almost reminds him of some people that really probably need his help right about now. This one has to be another one of the -- exotics, another person that these Cetagandans ( Wash is trying to use the words, trying to remember them, but god they're strange and unnatural even in his own thoughts ) picked up from the snow. He seems -- young. Out of place, wary, but most of them are, Wash himself included.

This food does look maybe a little strange, Wash thinks to himself, looking back down at his plate -- but if they're trying to kill them, poison is incredibly inefficient compared to all the other opportunities they've had to kill them, and they're probably going to have not much choice other than to eat what they're provided here, anyway. A slight pause, but then he just forks at some piece of the food again and without much further thought pops it into his mouth.

It doesn't taste bad, but it doesn't taste like what he expected, either. He manages not to pull a face, swallowing it down, offering the other man a half-shrug as he looks back up at him. ]

You won't know until you try it, but. I'm not dead yet.

[ Maybe he'll drop dead in the morning, though. He'll let you know. ]

[norms]

[ To be fair, Egil hasn't seen a lot of the world, but he doesn't need to know even half of it to understand it. He's spent his entire life trying to survive, killing to keep himself safe, and once, years ago, he'd killed to keep someone else safe. But that doesn't matter now, hasn't mattered in a long time, and he doesn't want to care about someone dying over something they've done for him if he can help it. It's probably a bit selfish anyway, watching Wash actually follow through almost a little too intensely. His eyes drop to his mouth, then lift to search his face for any signs of...something. Reading people is difficult still, and considering how isolated he's been for the longest time, it's a wonder he can pick up on anything from what he sees.

Yet, it feels genuine—for what it's worth. Egil slowly uncurls himself and pokes at the food on his plate again, coating the tip of his finger in something soft before carefully tasting it. The flavor isn't as deep as some of the things Florian might have made, but it's decent. He's hungry enough not to really care at this point. ]

Not yet, but we both might be tomorrow. [ He gives a little shrug and slowly resigns himself to the fact it might actually be okay to eat something. His guard drops a bit, leaning over to look at Wash's plate. ] What's that supposed to be? [ He gestures to, well, all of it. ]

[protocol]

[ Wash watches as he slowly, almost delicately, tastes a bit of the food with a fingertip. Whatever his misgivings were, this apparently placates him enough to settle down and relax slightly, though he sure isn't immediately helping himself to any more of the plate. A pause and a slight frown, looking back down at his plate again as he leans over. ]

That's a good question. [ He doesn't know. Rations are rations, hell if he knows what even the rations back home were made of sometimes, let alone here, wherever they are. ] Some of it's rations, some of it looks fresh prepared. Probably made of whatever local fauna they have here in this sector.

[ This completely unfamiliar sector of space. He's tried to ask for more precise coordinates or locations, but all the names are unfamiliar. A slight frown crosses his expression, clearly uncertain. ]

[norms]

[ He's probably a bit more interested in Wash's plate than his own, wondering how he'd feel if he just reached over and tasted some of it the exact same way he'd done to his own, but he keeps his hands to himself. This isn't another member of Sorin's crew, someone he could (potentially) be friendly with, so he has to try to make smarter decisions if he can. Of course, conversation never really hurt anyone, and sometimes, Egil likes to talk a little to much. Even if it's about nothing. ]

It doesn't look like rations to me. [ There'd only been a handful of times they'd had to ration at sea, but he supposes different places meant different things. He pauses, curling his hand into a fist as if reminding himself not to dip his finger into Wash's food. ] Do you like fish? I almost miss fish now that it's been a while. [ No offense to the nice spread of whatever these people have given them. ] I don't even know if something like that exists here, so I guess it doesn't matter.

[protocol]

I've never really had much fish.

[ Fish means water and when you're going around in space there really aren't as many ocean planets out there as one might hope. Planets with large bodies of water here and there, maybe, and there was probably some fish of some kind in some rations he's had over the years, but certainly not in any recognizable form.

He takes another bite of the food. Now that he's more prepared for the taste of it, it -- really isn't bad at all. ]

Guess it depends on whether or not there's much in the way of oceans, here. [ There's snow, so there's water, so who knows how much water or whether or not it just stays frozen all the time. ] Was there a lot of that, where you were from?

[ Wash really isn't the most social, conversational kind of guy, but this person clearly is, and maybe he can get a little information about it. Finding out more about where other people are from might give him a better idea of what the hell is going on. ]

[norms]

Never had much, or never had any at all?

[ Egil sounds a little skeptical about that, though he just sits quietly for a while and watches Wash eat. He doesn't know if that's really supposed to help him figure out what's going on, but there's a strange comfort in it that he can't quite place, eventually deciding that if the other hasn't choked or fallen over from poison, it's really safe enough to eat. So, he leans over as he continues talking, dipping a finger in Wash's food to see if he likes it better than whatever's on his plate. Whether he actually minds or not doesn't cross Egil's mind. ] I don't know about here, but home is almost all water. I was on a ship before all of this. The Speranţă.

[ Though that had only been for a handful of months, and home for Egil is a little too complicated to explain all in one sitting to someone who might not even care. There's a shrug, clearly liking whatever Wash has more than his own and taking another taste as he looks at him. ]

Where are you from?

[protocol]

[ Egil dipping a finger into his food is. Unexpected.

Wash does distinctly pause, and something crosses his expression as if he means to say something about it, but then Egil is just tasting it and you know what, never mind, it's -- fine. Home is almost all water, an ocean world of some kind, and he as on a ship. Something tells Wash that he might not mean a starship.

The name is unfamiliar to him, a word he doesn't understand in a language he's sure he doesn't know. So much for maybe figuring out where he was. ]

Pretty far from here, from what I can tell. An entirely different system. [ Who knows how many jumps it took to get them here, or if they used jumps at all, if they don't operate on entirely different tech. A pause, and he reaches over to fork some of Egil's food onto his own plate, without much comment. Fair's fair. He isn't using his hands, though. ] I was on a ship for a while, too, though not the water kind.

[norms]

[ Fair's fair, and Egil doesn't even care what's going on with his own plate to really give much comment about it. He should probably not keep using his finger though, which prompts him to reach for a spoon. If there's etiquette he's supposed to follow here, he doesn't know what that is or what it's supposed to entail. It's not as if half the crew on the Speranţă had much to begin with, and Egil only knew so much where he was from. He does hesitate when Wash hesitates, though it hardly lasts more than a few seconds. Obviously, they could just switch plates, but that takes the intrigue out of it. ]

What kind of system? [ He frowns around the half-mouthful he takes, and it has nothing to do with the food. Understanding the concept of things beyond the one he'd been from is something for people in lab coats, and no one's trusted them since they practically destroyed the world. And then, a little more quietly: ] Have you ever been to a place like this one before? Maybe you could ask them to send us back to wherever it is you're from. It can't be any worse than here... [ Still skeptical, obviously, but then, there's a firmness to his decision, leaning a shoulder into him. ] I could go with you.

[ As if there's very much waiting for him back home as it is anyway. So why not? And if it almost sounds like a pass at him, well... it probably is. Just a little. ]

[protocol]

[ It doesn't sound like a pass to Wash, mostly because that kind of thing is pretty far from his mind at the moment. Though the way Egil leans his shoulder into him doesn't go entirely unnoticed. It's -- something he's not used to, as someone who values his personal space, and he ends up tensing slightly without meaning to. This guy's clearly the friendlier sort, and Wash doesn't really see the need to shove him off as long as he doesn't push it too much. He doesn't seem too uncomfortable, but the slight tension in his frame is probably noticeable. ]

Your usual fringe star system. Nothing unique, a few scattered planets that're hospitable enough. [ It was usual in his part of space, at least, who knows what the hell is usual over here. Just giving him a bit of a look, a little incredulous but also amused. ] You'd probably rather go home.

Where were you from? [ At this point Wash has more or less given up on hearing familiar names, and judging by the name of that ship that this guy had given him just now he's not going to recognize where he's from. Worth a shot, though. ]

[norms]

[ As noticeable as it might be, Egil's still a little focused on trying to eat without taking Wash's entire plate from him. Starving himself for the last few days hadn't been a good plan, but it's not as if he hasn't gone longer without it either. If he presses a bit more, it's unconscious at best, and as friendly as he thinks Egil might be-- that's not usually the case unless he's sure he can get something out of it. He does pause though, turning to get a better look at him, and slowly, he sets the spoon down on the table, hand wiping at his mouth.

Why did everyone keep asking him that like it was going to change their situation? He didn't get it. ]

Earth. [ The frown that had passed across his face is back again. ] 2250. [ He tries not to spit the date out, but it tastes a little bitter in his mouth as he says it. ] I don't know what you mean by fringe star system, but there's not much there for me. You seem nicer than most of people I know anyway. [ He hates that he's so susceptible to small kindnesses, and Wash had (potentially) risked his life to prove he wouldn't have to die of hunger for as long as they were stuck here. Hopefully. Egil didn't want that sort of debt on his conscience. ] I can be useful.

[ Not exactly the best way to sell himself, but it's all he's got. ]

[protocol]

[ This kid's eagerness to latch onto him is strange and not quite what Wash's used to. He might instinctively be a little suspicious of it, but Wash is guarded about everything, especially in a situation like this -- still, he figures that all of them who were found out in the snow are in this together, one way or another, whatever the reason it is they were brought here.

Earth. That's surprising, given how far out they probably are, you don't meet that many Earth-born people this far from Sol, and then there's the numbers that Wash takes a moment to realize are a date. A year. That's not -- that's not right. ]

You should probably worry more about why these people might find you useful. [ Gesturing vaguely at the door, indicating the guards outside, referring to the Cetagandans in general. ] Why they find any of us useful, why they're keeping us here.

[ Just looking at him carefully, his food clearly forgotten. ]

The year was 2557, where I was from. [ Up til now he's -- mostly been thinking about being transported to a different sector of space. A different, very very far sector of space. Different times implies. Something else. ]

[norms]

I'm not worried about them. I'm not going to give them anything.

[ Maybe he doesn't mean to say it as bitterly as it leaves his mouth, but it's the same line of thought he's stuck too since he'd showed up. Nothing's going to change that, not even anything Wash might say, and his expression only deepens into something a bit darker the longer he speaks. The only reason he's willing to stick with any of these people is because of the fact they're in the exact same situation. Otherwise, he would have been gone as quickly as he'd shown up. Somehow.

Still, underneath all that, it's impossible to hide his surprise. ] 2557? You're telling me you're from the future, and I'm supposed to think about what everyone here might want from me. How does that even work? [ It's mostly the confusion, drawing back and dropping the spoon on the table as if he's suddenly disgusted with the idea of taking anything from these people. ] I thought everyone would have been dead by then.

[ That's only assuming he and Wash are from the same timeline. Egil really has no clue. ]

[protocol]

[ Being transported across time. A -- a theoretical possibility, very theoretical, discussed with some amount of seriousness in some circles but still mostly regarded is idle fantasy, but if this person was from Earth some two hundred years ago. Another possiblity is of course that perhaps they'd been out for even longer than either of them could have expected, that they were just kept somewhere for centuries until now, but.

Either possibility is a lot to weigh. Wash tries not to let that cross his expression too much, but it does anyway, his brows knitting, looking back up at the incredulous tone in Egil's voice. ]

I just don't think we really showed up here by accident, and if they brought us here for a reason, it probably isn't a good one. [ He'll be happy to admit his wrongdoings if it somehow turns out they've been brought here to cure galactic poverty or something. ]

Plenty of people still alive where I'm from. [ Though the Covenant had dealt blows that were far from insignificant. ] Even as far as Earth.