[ january ii log ]

[barrayarmods]

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.

Comments

[vorbratta]

Oh, and Byerly gets it. Olivia does too, of course, but she always somehow seems...separated from it, a little distant from the things Sonia's trying so hard to preserve. She flushes a little, pleased, and his compliments on this subject are naturally so different from the outrageous flattery she'd been enjoying.

"It's all about catching the right angle, although, ha...that one was a happy accident, I think."

[vorrutyer]

"Well, that's the origin of new technique, isn't it?" He smiles wryly down as he lifts up the photograph to look at it more closely. "Figure out how the happy accidents happen and try to make them happen again."

He gets to the end of the photographs, then, and smiles at her genuinely. There's no mockery in his voice, and no emptiness or calculation to the flattery, when he says, "Thank you, Sonia. Truly. These are absolutely lovely. It makes me happy to see them."

[vorbratta]

"Really?" There's that vulnerability again, that doe-eyed look that begs to be wounded by the ravages of war around them, and this time it isn't just a flash. She smiles helplessly, looking deeply pleased and touched in a place that's been lonely for a long time. "I'm...I'm glad. Thank you, Byerly."

[vorrutyer]

"Thank me?" He asks with exaggerated incredulity. "Why - thank you. You're the one who decided to share this with me. Why on earth are you thanking me? I just sat here like a leaden lump and drank it in. You're like a master chef who thanks the people who eat his food. Yes, of course, the appreciation is nice, but you needn't feel grateful for due recognition."

[vorbratta]

She half-covers her face and laughs, helpless. All play aside, this conversation has filled her with a genuine warmth, something she hadn't realized just how badly she'd needed until just now.

"But I do feel grateful. Just for -- for this. It's nice."

[vorrutyer]

"Mm." He doesn't deny that, this time. Instead, he sits back, tilting his head back to the watery winter sunshine, soaking up its feeble radiance. "A bit of normalcy in turn, yes. It's astonishing how well you're holding up out here, Sonia, considering that this is very much not your milieu."

[vorbratta]

Sonia just shrugs one shoulder at that. "I was thirteen when the war started. I grew up in it. You get used to it." Almost. Almost used to it. She never really has been. Not the way her sister seems to have, the way she's reforged herself, emerging from the crucible a woman changed, but still could only ever be Sonia's sister. And Sonia's old enough to have caught a hint by now about just why it is that Olivia's changed so much, and she hasn't.

"One does one's best to keep sane," she adds with a little more levity and a nod at the pictures in Byerly's lap. "Entertainment can be hard to come by around here. Drunken soldiers' antics are only amusing for so long."

[vorrutyer]

"You get used to it, or you break," Byerly replies a little wryly. "Don't act like there's only one option, here." He knows that very well. He'd grown up in something of a war zone himself, after all, and had absolutely chosen to break rather than choosing to get used to it.

He touches his moustache, then, smoothing it down as he considers her. Lightly, with an air of unconcern, he says to her, "And surely you could have run away if you'd truly been unable to handle it. You could have taken a profession. I could see you as - oh - a professional bear-wrestler, perhaps. A construction worker. Bounty hunter, maybe."

[vorbratta]

Byerly has a keen talent for making her laugh -- one of the reasons she adores him so. Gathering up her photographs with the care one might take with sheets of glass, she raises her eyebrows with an amused smile.

"And just where would I run off to, that I could find work as a...professional bear-wrestler?" Her lips twitch with the effort of not bursting into laughter immediately at the end of that sentence.

[vorrutyer]

"Why, the bear-wrestling pits, of course!" He grins back at her, delighted by her delight. Oh, there really is something so enchanting about the way her face lights up. Not in a regular pretty-girl-smiling sort of way - in a way that really makes his heart glad. She bears up under so much...

"Don't you know of them? They're all the rage on Jackson's Whole. You place a bet - ferocious girl versus ferocious bear. Why, you'd have the most formidable genengineered grizzlies flat on their backs in seconds."

[vorbratta]

He has her in fits of giggles now, hugging her folder to her chest as she kicks one foot in delight. Even in the midst of her laughter, she wrinkles her nose and makes a face. "Jackson's Whole? I'd sooner take the construction work, thank you."

[vorrutyer]

"Ah, but there's the catch." He lays his finger along his nose. "The construction work is also on Jackson's Whole. Building not space stations, but your very own crime family. I think you'd be excellent, don't you? Baronne Sonia...?"

[vorbratta]

He might be fishing for her surname there, but he won't get it, and at any rate he's still making her laugh. She shoves him gently by the shoulder with a wild pout, trying to shake away the hair that's fallen in front of her face.

"And I suppose the bounty hunting work is for some horrendous Jacksonian baron? That's a hard sell, Byerly."

[vorrutyer]

"I'm insulted," he says, tumbling backwards wildly in response to her push like she used some enormous force rather than something dainty and charmingly gentle. "That's for the Kshatriyan Mercenary Force. Hunting horrendous Jacksonian barons. Tell me that doesn't appeal a little."

[vorbratta]

She laughs, and leans over him, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "A little," she concedes, grinning wryly, "but I've never even held anything more dangerous than a stunner. Unless they use swords in the Kshatriyan Mercenary Force. Besides, if I was going to run off to anywhere, it'd be back to Beta Colony. All the fun jobs are there, you know."

[vorrutyer]

Somehow, it seems a bit wrong to tease her about going into licensed sex therapy. So, instead, he lifts his eyebrows, and allows, "Ah, yes. Far less limited than it tends to be here - particularly for women. Tell me, what would you do, if you had full freedom?"

[vorbratta]

Full freedom? The idea is so distant as to be a fantasy in itself. Sonia's eyes widen wistfully as she thinks about that for a moment, biting her lip in thought.

"If I had full freedom? I'd like to take some classes, at Silica University, maybe. I miss school." Something she'd hardly ever have admitted to anyone even a few years ago. Maybe even now, to anyone else but Byerly. She fingers the edge of the folder. "Or maybe I'd set up a studio. You know, doing family portraits and that sort of thing."

[vorrutyer]

Ah. He could see that. Either of those things. Both those things. And they're happy thoughts. An artist in a studio, fingertips dark with ink, hair mussed, squinting thoughtfully at a subject of a portrait. A student, holodisk reader tucked under her arm, giving some Betan professor a bit of sass in class. Far better images than this - the cold girl, fragmenting under the stresses of this conflict, bound in the heavy skirts and traditions of the Vor class. Fated to die from body-birthing a child, fated to die in this dirty war.

"What a charming image," he says cautiously. Then: "So...Why don't you?"

[vorbratta]

Now that's a loaded question. She is Barrayaran, even if decidedly not the most Vorish of Vor ladies, and her family is here... No, her sister is here. Her brother and mother are still back on Beta Colony, and her father is...somewhere out there, trying to raise support for the war effort. But after the last ten years, she's not sure how she'd live without her sister.

But she doesn't say any of those things, her mouth opening before she has a ready word. After a moment she finally gestures helplessness and says, "How would I even get off-planet?"

[vorrutyer]

"There are ways," he says simply. Admittedly, he'd probably have to recruit Miles to help with this task - he's confident he'd make a passable smuggler of girls, but ideally they'd need someone better than passable. But he could convince him. It could be done. "They take a bit of courage and determination. And material resources. But there are ways."

[vorbratta]

Sonia bites her lip. He sounds so sure. But technically -- if his wild tale is to be believed -- he's not even from this Barrayar. She still doesn't know how to feel about what he'd told her. It's...no more impossible than anything else the outsiders have brought with them.

"I don't have any resources," Sonia says, not wanting to admit to lack of courage or determination. She wants to leave, badly -- she hasn't seen her mother or brother in ten years. "I...don't think I could, anyway."

[vorrutyer]

He touches his lips lightly. He does...not want to overencourage this, of course. It is clear enough that Sonia's presence here is important for morale. The fighting men see her, feel her presence, and they fight. Her abandonment of the camp might well lead to a decrease in spirit - hell, it might well lead them to break and run, if she flees at a time when things are so bad. For Barrayar, she should stay. But the poor girl. Here since she was thirteen. Trapped in this life. How could she even consider escape?

Quietly, dispassionately, he offers her this diagnosis - this diagnosis which he, himself, scion of the Vorrutyers, tries to believe every day. "One's surname is not one's destiny."

[vorbratta]

She jolts at his quiet words as though they'd touched her with an electric current, eyes widening. Is he just taking shots in the dark, or has he known all this time? Or is he just being deliberately vague and fishing for a reaction? In that case, she's already given him one. She bites the inside of her cheek, hugging the folder to her chest.

"It's not about surnames," she says carefully, equally quietly. It's a weak deflection, but she won't acknowledge it directly. "It's about family."

[vorrutyer]

He allows this with a small wave of his hand. "Fair enough," he allows. Which, yes; family is a broader category than simply surname. There's the mother's blood, as well. He, for example, is as much Vortugalov as he is Vorrutyer - funny, though, how the former always seems to be drowned out by the latter.

No matter. He tilts his chin up at her and asks, now, "So then do you take family to be destiny?"

[vorbratta]

Sonia relaxes a little, that angle no longer being pressed, although she almost wishes she hadn't brought up family. It's very nearly the same thing. She shrugs and purses her lips, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"Who said anything about destiny?"