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forbarrayar2017-01-18 09:31 pm
barrayarmods) wrote in forbarrayar2017-01-18 09:31 pm
Entry tags:
- !event,
- #barrayaran camp,
- #cetagandan base,
- *diya d'zefyst,
- *piotr vorkosigan,
- *sonia vorbarra,
- *zahal ghem-zefyst,
- adrien arbuckal | prorenataa,
- agent carolina | startpoint,
- agent maine | traitorous,
- agent washington | protocol,
- agent york | infailtration,
- arthur pendragon | changeth,
- beth greene | littlemissfutility,
- byerly vorrutyer | vorrutyer,
- darkstalker | threemoons,
- daryl dixon | pigsfeet,
- duv galeni | komarran,
- kaidan alenko | standsentinel,
- lakshmi bai | shri,
- lapis lazuli | mirrortide,
- miles vorkosigan | dendarii,
- ratchet | asafepairofhands
[ 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.
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
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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[ He acknowledges this with a lift of his eyebrows. But he counters immediately afterwards: ]
But what is honesty, in this situation? True; a man will do quite a lot to be able to enjoy beauty such as yours. But I must ask...What dishonesty do you imagine me committing? Promising to marry you, perhaps? I don't think it's your ambition to make a husband out of me.
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[ Merciful, really, because there in lay the problem wasn't it?
She unwinds her fingers from the mare's mane, the dark strands slipping from her fingers and she takes a step towards him. A set of her shoulders stiff and back. ] Because it would be cruel, I think. Forgive me my lord for saying so, you seem the kind that finds solace in as many smiles as those who you leave bereft of them.
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[ He translates this with a little smile. It's more amused than rueful. ]
You're not wrong. I like...variety. Excitement. Which means - [ He presses a hand to his heart. ] You would easily see the end of me if you decided you no longer enjoyed my company. Surely that's a plus.
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Perhaps. [ Sets her teeth brief to her lip before she carries on. ] You still haven't answered what makes me so marvellous to you my lord, if not simply convenience and the thrill of something unconquerable.
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[ His hand, fingers spread, takes in her face and everything underneath. ]
Is elegant, spare calm in the face of impossible circumstances not enough? - Because that was what truly struck me, when we first arrived. As I was twisted up in terror and uncertainty, you were like a beacon of tranquility.
[ Not mentioned, of course: the way you were looking for helpers. Like a noble lady, requiring assistance. By knows High Vor, and while a lady or a rich woman or whatever-she-is from another planet is not precisely Vor, she'll have similar patterns of thought and behavior. And Vor let their tongues get unguarded around their helpers. They let slip things they wouldn't otherwise. They unburden their souls. It's why Byerly almost always acts as the procurer and the purchaser for his targets - the reason he always makes himself useful to him - because they are chattier with the friends who serve them than the friends who are their equals.
No, this lady isn't Vor. But if she sees Byerly as a man who's slavishly devoted to her, who'll polish her gold and comb her hair in the hopes of gaining access to her bed - or (a more beautiful vision) as a man who's madly in love with her and services her intently in bed out of devotion to her - Well. The dynamic between them will change. And he anticipates it shifting in a more...information-rich direction. ]
But I don't see you as unconquerable, milady. I don't think of you in terms of conquest at all. [ He presses his hand to his heart. ] One does not come to a holy city with armies, looking to rip down its ramparts and loot its temples. One approaches a holy city on his knees. A supplicant, filled with awe.
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Well, it's an offer, more of what he's already said and she'd be lying to say she doesn't watch the way his mouth forms the words. It's different to what she's expecting. He paints her in the colours of the temples. He calls her Kashi itself. Devotion, pure as hymns sung.
It's quite a notion, isn't it? ]
Did your mother not tell you to have a care that the divine does not burn you?
[ It's mirthful, teasing him like she's still weighing him up. Happy to lead answers to more questions without giving him anything in return. Is this why people played such games? She could see the merits of it. ]
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On Barrayar, we don't have any gods at all. So you speak to an ignorant pilgrim indeed, milady. [ He sweeps down his long, long eyelashes, lowering his eyes (his best feature, dark and clear and beautiful) and murmurs: ] Are you saying you're a danger to me?
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A pilgrim that does not know how to be on his knees then? [ Her smile and sharp, flash of white teeth, like she might sink them into his neck just for that alone. ] Of course, just as you are to me.
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Am I a danger?
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I wager you aren't just good at talking a woman out of her clothes, what else might your sweet words take from her once you've run out of those to divest?
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Madam - sex shouldn't ever involve taking. It should only ever involve giving. That is my philosophy. You should be left better than you were before, not worse.
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[ Sighs, relents, and beside her, the horse wants for attention again. Given him too much already and she turns her head back briefly, smiling for it, running her fingers over her mane again. ]
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[ He doesn't step into her personal space, but steps around it - keeping himself in her peripheral vision, though at enough of a distance that his presence constitutes a reminder rather than a threat. This means shoving himself up against the stall wall in an uncomfortable position, but he manages to still make it look suave, he fancies. ]
If it's a good offer, and there are no good alternatives, why not take it?
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An invitation, perhaps. Though nothing to give too much. ]
Well, you haven't told me all the particulars yet. Do you have somewhere in mind? Or shall whilst I convince these men to respect me as a woman and warrior, be caught openly with someone and be called every vile thing for it?
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[ He lowers his eyelashes at her. ]
We could start with a simple kiss.
pushes them both over
[ She doesn't look up, of course she doesn't, rather - she crooks her finger to beckon him to her. He will come to her, she will never go to him. She will never go to anyone, never answer to another. A slow draw, as easy as a finger on the trigger. The worn scarred fingers that hold themselves kind and careful to the horse, but are as easy to cleaving a man's skull in twain. ]
kicks them while they're down
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But there are no words for its loneliness. That how such a thing, so little a thing as his fingers brushing against her hair, can be so much. ( Galahad's hand, set onto hers, his warmth, his murmur for her safety like she's something worth being precious about - and he will be fine, he must be, she cannot afford to keep thinking on it. ) How it is to drift, so far out of herself, as year after year blur into a war she could never fathom the end of but never knows how to stop, to go back, never look back - it is full of the dead and rotting things on the battlefield where she should have perished with them.
This would be so easy.
Her hand catches his, fingers curling around his rough and warm, short blunt nails, where once her hands had been painted by her maids in lotuses of the Goddess she had taken the name of. Feels the weight of his hand in hers, how he is so much taller than she and she doesn't feel trapped by that even if instinct from fighting things so much monstrously more than herself. Feels the heaviness of the blackwater tucked away against the thud, thud, thud of her heart. Eyes shut and forgive her weakness, a moment when there's nothing but the easiness of some things long forgotten and so needily familiar, and she swallows on it. ]
By.
[ It's warm too, half breath of heat in her throat, the steady thump of her pulse she can feel working it's way up that is the after taste of the blackwater that kept her - as he appreciates her now. ]
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It's a simulacrum of warmth. Nothing more than that. Even as he draws in an unsteady breath, like a man unmoored by what he sees, he feels...nothing, really. Respect for her intense ferocity, and respect for her refusal to accept anything but worship, yes. Regard for her considerable beauty. But the faint edge of trembling vulnerability in his touch, his eyes, his breathing - that's completely faked. The adoration and need are faked. The hunger is faked. The only real emotion he feels in this moment is a little ache of contempt for himself, just like he feels every time. By the liar through and through. Doing his damnedest to take apart a woman - for what?
For Barrayar, he supposes. For the not-yet Imperium. For his honor and his oaths.
He leans in, then, his lips just brushing against hers. Not a proper kiss yet. A shy, uncertain touch - and then a hesitation, as though he's making certain he's welcome - and then another, firmer touch of skin to skin. Breath mingling with hers, fingers curling against the skin of her neck. ]
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He plays it so well that she cannot tell to the truth of it - he might just be a drunk besotted with a woman he's just met in the middle of a war that certainly makes it seem like a good idea. Because it does feel good, she'd be lying to say otherwise, the firmer brush that has her want to respond to just the same. Push back, see how much he would relent - do as he said he wanted and - oh, put him on his knees. See how he looked there. Holds him just - just so. Hand flat to his shoulder, still in his hold as if she wouldn't dream of doing anything else than stay fast to him. A mimicry of years ago, when she had been a young woman capable of soft humming words.
Then she shoves him, hard, pushing him off him as if his considerable height were nothing to her and the softness is gone. Every bit of her replaced in the half second of blinking. There's nothing but a hard line, vicious, the set of muscles from her so many years of fighting and she holds him away from her like she might a weapon. That holds him back like he's nothing and she takes a deep breath, all quick and high. Regards him like something to be torn down - perhaps she should. She would pick the bits of him, honeyed as they were, out of her teeth. ] Did you honestly think, that a good enough offer would ever tempt me? [ It's hissed, low, she has no want to draw attention to them from any other groomsmen passing through. Especially when he's Barrayan, and she's a woman and an outsider imposing her insistence to take her seriously on them. ]
You feign at supplication to me, [ it's so low, so quiet, murmured like lover's words and she's at her worst, always, like this. Her laughter isn't sweet, it's mockingly bladed. ] as if you can grasp at so much. My maids offered nothing less than their lives, their valour - at their least, they fought tigers with nothing but sticks and at their most, they laughed in the face of our enemies even unto death rather than betray me.
[ and she drops him like he is nothing to her at all. ] When you have something more than convenience to give, my lord, come find me.
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Well.
He gazes at her with a new appreciation. Before, his look had been calculated, a carefully plausible mix of lust and admiration and desire. Now it's honest, and he looks completely unlike before: now, his eyes are bright and laughing and appreciative. There's a new intelligence in his face, a new liveliness, unlike the previous dissolute dullness. She's shocked him out of his calculated act, and so for just a moment the real Byerly shines forth.
Only for a moment; it's hardly a breath before the look of ironic distance snaps back into place. The humor doesn't vanish, though. He grins openly at her as he lowers himself into a bow. ]
Please. Just Byerly. I'm no one's lord.
[ But that protest is just to establish a baseline of honesty and accuracy. It's just to ensure that when he looks up and calls her: ] My lady. [ It's not just a term of flattery, but an acknowledgment of her status. One that's compounded in the next moment by a sly grin: ] Or is lady lowering your status? Are you more than that? [ After all, fighting tigers with sticks and killing oneself seems like something you might not do for just a common Countess. That grandiosity seems more the realm of royalty, doesn't it? ]
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But he bows, her head lifts as she looks down on him and she really ought to try to be something other than what she is, but she cannot, she knows, not anymore.
But it hides it as quickly as she gathers up lines of defence against it and he cuts to the quick as fast as Miles had - versed enough to know the cues. He's good. He can give him that, damn good. ]
I have already told you the truth of it, Byerly.
[ And with that oh so helpful, wonderful remark, she opens the gate to lead it away from him. Clear to her at least, that this conversation is over. ] Now if you'll excuse me, this horse needs to be saddled for her rider.
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Serve them well, Your Worship.
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( Like he needed more proof of her station than the pride she threads through herself. But she has never bothered to tell herself she will ever be anything else other than Jhansi ki Rani, and the sooner he learns that, the better. ) ]