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.

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It's been a long damn time since Daryl's had to deal with alarms. Even back when the world was still alive, the alarms he wandered around weren't exactly sophisticated. Daryl assumes it's him, assumes he let the entire base know he was sneaking around in the snow after dark to get a better idea of the base's defenses, when the entire place explodes with noise.

He says nothing, just crouches down with his arms out and ready to fight. Nothing happens. No one comes. There's a guy standing out in the snow doing God knows what, Daryl doesn't care (he's some kind of 'Exotic', that's all Daryl knows), so the answer is... what?

This is a military base, god dammit. He wishes he had a knife, a gun, anything. His bow seems like too much to hope for when they're clearly being attacked. Daryl seriously doubts these Barrayarans will give a shit whether they're loyal to the cause or not. Daryl wouldn't.

Arms up. Get ready to fight. He'll have to knuckle this one out. He gets near the other guy, the Exotic standing in the snow with him. Safety in numbers, or some shit. "Get ready."

All Duv wanted to do was create a mental map of the base without Cetagandans watching his every move. Whether he ends up staying here or takes his chances out in the wilderness, knowing the layout here would be beneficial. Duv has no illusions of safety and he knows carrying a weapon would hardly change that when surrounded by hostile threats.

The alarm sets him on edge. He scans the area and curses himself for being out in the open. A stupid mistake, but how was he to know the alarms would be blaring and those stationed here would be gearing up. The Barrayarans showing up could easily spell his death or be a boon depending on how this raid plays out. The other man caught out here with him has his attention as soon as he moves closer and he takes up a defensive stance beside him. An ally, for now. Duv's not sure where the other 'exotics' loyalty truly lays.

"Unarmed?" he asks dryly. Maybe the man had been more resourceful than him. "I would have borrowed a stunner off of a guard if I knew this was coming."

Well, at least the guy isn't an idiot. He takes point like he's done it before, and that's good. Maybe he'll make it through the night. Maybe he won't. You never know anymore. (Beth was strong and Beth was brave and Beth-)

"You ain't that lucky," he says through gritted teeth. "Fists'll have to do it."

Rub some dirt on it. Get ready to go.

He could try to snag something off of a guard now, but if he's trapped in this base, he doesn't need the Cetagandans wary of him and knowing he has firearms training. Trapped between a rock and a hard place. What else is new in his life, he thinks wearily.

"I don't think our hosts will care if we're caught in the crossfire." Cetaganda's plasma blasts on one side and arrows from the other. It's the odds that make him frown as his attention turns to finding somewhere they could duck behind. If only Cetaganda didn't insist on having artful form and function in their military installations.

"We have better chances for survival if we make for cover."

No, they can't hide now, the alarm's on, and that will just attract more attention. Any dead hiding in the hills and the trees will swarm them while they crouch and wait for reinforcements. They'll--

They're fighting soldiers. Humans. Living people.

"Yeah," Daryl says, pointing to a nearby snow drift. Someone's paved the walkway around the base to give guards a clearer line of sight. It's safe as anything can be. Daryl nods his head toward it, and ducks agilely toward the lump of snow. "C'mon."

Live people who were ready to defend their planet with their lives. Duv's seen the loyalty of Barrayaran's first hand and nothing had solidified their newly unified Countships under the Emperor like a common enemy on their doorstep. At least those that hadn't tried to play the invasion in their favor.

He's following Daryl, watching their back as they move. His attention is primarily fixed on those assaulting the base and it's not until he confirms their weaponry that he scowls.

"I thought their equipment would be better if they were attacking now." These were the tactics that had won them the war although that was before 'exotics' had been thrown into the mix. "They're using swords and arrows."

Daryl doesn't know where or when this guy is from. He doesn't know if he's from Earth or someplace worse. The way the guy scowls at 'swords and arrows' tells him a lot, though.

"Those'll kill you all the same," Daryl says. "Just uglier. Looks like these pricks know that."

He shakes his head as he studies the scene. He's read about the tactics used in the invasion, but seeing it in person was another story. If only he had a proper way to document everything and ensure he could bring it home.

"They will, but more slowly than what our hosts are wielding." He sighs and keeps his head low. "You're familiar with what the Barrayarans are wielding?"

There's this strange moment of disconnect where Daryl, for a half second, thinks this prick is messing with him. Now is not the time for jokes. But, of course he doesn't know shit; this guy's never seen Daryl with a crossbow.

He peeks over the snow drift, studying the Barrayarans fighting for their damn lives. This is a chance, more of one than he initially realized. "You could say that." He crouches low, readying himself to spring. "Gonna get me one of them bows."

Bow-training had been outside of Duv's Imperial Service Academy classes, a thankfully antiquated weapon on Barrayar by the time he signed on. The swords had always been more for show in modern times though he'd feel more comfortable attempting to wield one of those than a bow. He eyes the closest Barrayaran as he tries to decide his odds.

"And who are you planning to aim it at?" he asks with a slight edge to the question. Duv's not sure which side he'd prefer his fellow 'exotic' to take fire on.

Daryl doesn't catch the contention of sides. As far as he can tell, this war is a stupid farce. Both sides in this crusade are just gunning to get their people killed over honor or principles or whatever they can use to justify it. The only thing people like him can do is survive it.

So all he can say to his companion is, "not you," before he runs, quick-footed, into the snow, eyes already on a straggler at the edge of his group.

Not him. That is likely the only reassurance he will receive from the other man. It's not a greatly comforting one, but it will have to suffice. Although Duv is questioning Daryl's sanity as he runs off in the snow.

Duv silently curses to himself as he makes off after Daryl, not quite as quickly due to the snow. That was one aspect of Barrayar that had taken him a while to get used to, weather. It's been a while since he missed the climate-controlled domes of his home planet.

A few things are immediately clear to Daryl: First, that the kid he picked with the bow is just that, a kid. He's too damn young to be out here, he doesn't look like he ever shaved. Second, that the kid's perfectly willing to shoot Daryl in the head as he gets closer. He's damn young to be out here, but he isn't green.

Daryl tucks and rolls through the snow, ignoring the cold and the ice that inevitably gets into his shirt and sleeves. He aims himself to bow the kid over, hitting him right in the gut and avoiding any arrows. It's better than Daryl expected. Honestly, he was expecting to die. It wouldn't have been so bad, if he did. There's no reason to keep going, on this godforsaken planet.

But he isn't dead yet, so he keeps going. Daryl doesn't know how to give up anymore. Merle made sure of that.

The kid falls flat on his ass, and Daryl takes advantage of that immediately, stomping his boot hard into the kid's soft stomach. Daryl doesn't see Duv coming up behind him. He hadn't in a million years expected someone who doesn't even know his name to follow him into an unclear fight he wasn't completely planning to win.

Duv stays low to the ground and out of the initial entanglement. Better he stay out of the way and ready to help than leap in and cause even more confusion. One Barrayaran picked off of the raiding squad by a single assailant is less likely to be noticed though part of Duv's stomach twists when he notices the age. He knows the statistics of who made up the troops on the Barrayaran side. An act of desperation he knew well from when Komarr made a more active effort in his childhood to shake off an Imperial power.

He sucks in a breath as Daryl's boot knocks the air out of the young man. Is he going to kill him? It'd be the safer option, but Duv would rather the Barrayarans have a chance at recovering their fallen and keeping their numbers up. He fumbles for a moment in the snow until he finds what he's looking for -- a large enough rock to act as a weapon.

It's here he moves in closer, aiming to knock the young man unconscious rather than attempt a killing blow. Incapacitation would be more than enough.

Daryl isn't expecting to be followed. Honestly, he defaults to being alone and left to his own devices. He hears someone behind him, and winds up to swing-- but it's that guy again, the one from the snow drift, the one he promised not to fire on.

That means something.

It means something, too, that the guy doesn't kill the stupid kid. He's just a kid, after all, pulled into a war even dumber than he is. Daryl nods at the other man's decisive action-- he isn't someone to fuck with, from the way he carries this all out with a practiced hand-- and watches the kiddie soldier crumble into the snow. From there, it's easy work to tie his hands back and stuff him up a tree. They're out of the line of sight of both parties for now. They should be safe if they're fast.

"Thanks," he says, hoarse with exertion. "Daryl." He nods to himself while he shoves the kid under the heavy branches of a fur tree.

The rock falls from his hands and he briefly contemplates if he should take one of the man's swords before leaving it. Better to rely on his hand-to-hand that risk harming himself from improper sword use. So far his fellow exotic has held to his promise, no arrows have made it towards him yet.

"Duv," he replies in kind and motions with a nod of his head toward Daryl's new weapon. "When did you learn to wield a bow?"

Daryl takes the bow and tests it, checking the weight and the balance of the weapon. Truth be told, it'd been a long damn time since he's held a bow that wasn't a crossbow, and even back then it'd been a compression bow, not a goddamn longbow straight outta Braveheart. But the mechanics are the same, even if his aim is going to suffer for it.

"While back," he says, because he's pretty sure whoever this Duv is (in his head, he thinks, what, like the bird?), they don't want to hear about shooting empty beer cans with fancy toys they stole off slumming rich dicks. "Where'd you learn to fight?"

This guy's no novice, that's for shit sure.

"Childhood interest," he answers dryly. About as informative as Daryl's response and more pleasant than saying forced child terrorist. His military training would easily explain it, but if he's playing the part of Komarran academic for the Cetagandans, it's not a truth he wants to reveal so easily.

The way Daryl handles the bow is enough to sate Duv's curiosity on whether the man actually knows the weapon. It's enough that he's sure neither of them will be on the wrong end of a misfire though now that begs the question what he plans to do with the bow now that he has it.

"If you intend to charge into the battlefield, give me warning first."

That's almost a joke, so it gets what's almost a laugh. A cough in the dark of the forest, and he gives Duv a canny look, but doesn't press. Fair's fair, and his answer wasn't any better.

"Will do," he says dryly. He mostly wanted a weapon to have a weapon; being without makes him twitchy. That shard of statue he stole won't do so hot for so long.

He studies Duv. "You going back?" To the compound. They could slip away in the confusion. It'd be easy. Well, as easy as anything is, anymore.

The moment feels unbearably long as Duv tries to decide if he does want to go back to the compound. It'd be safer and simpler, but that nagging voice in his head that wants to prove himself won't let him back out that easily. There's enough to be gleaned from this encounter that it's worth staying if only for the small chance the information would be useful later.

"I want to get a better idea of what force we're dealing with," he answers finally. "Yourself?"

Daryl nods, silent approval of Duv's choice. He backs around the tree to get a better vantage point. Daryl loads the bow, but it's slow and without any particular deadly intent. He likes to be prepared, but there's no one's life he's planning on taking at moment.

"Meant ever," he says, but there's no point in repining on it. This guy keeps his own council. Daryl can respect that. "Dealing with both forces, here. We ain't on nobody's side."

He raises a brow at that final statement. A powerful claim to make when it's difficult to discern the whims of their fellows here. Duv knows which side he is on even if that side would hardly accept his help.

"No, we're not. I'm not sure how much that can be said for anyone else here," he says with a sigh and crouches beside Daryl to make himself a smaller target. "I wonder why they chose now to attack."

At least this guy gets it. Daryl isn't sure what he'd do if he was asked to explain his feelings on the war and how goddamn pointless it was for both sides. Of course, he didn't say that, even if it's what he meant. The fact that they got no place in it is close enough to the truth.

"You got a theory?"

"Either an act of desperation or they saw an opening," he replies with ease, attention still focused on the battlefield.

Which he's not sure though he can't say he's seen an easy vulnerability of the Cetagandan's they could exploit. Were they running low on supplies and needed to strike now? A morale boost of sorts? This would be the kind of rallying Barrayarans would do. Successful hit-and-run raids had won them the war in the long run.

"This could end in their favor if they play their hand well."

That's the obvious truth, isn't it? Daryl's never been to war, but he's seen desperate men do desperate things. You only attack like this if you think you can win, or if it doesn't matter if you loose. Daryl doesn't think it's the latter.

"Don't sound like you'd mind," he says, voice carefully free of judgement. They're not on either side, not innately, but there are more than a few bleeding hearts in the Cetagandan nest.

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komarran - 2017-01-29 23:52 (UTC) - Expand

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