There's a strange feeling being on a planet he's spent a good portion of his adult life on only to have it feel very... different. The difference being of several decades. Pinpointing the date becomes trivial as soon as he realizes his captors are from Cetaganda. An occupation on Barrayar of this sort could only have taken place at one point in time and he hopes this is some bizarre, vivid dream brought on by a long night of reading historical documents.
That theory starts to dissipate the longer he's guided by the guards and by the time he's brought into the medbay, it's vanished entirely. How in the hell is time travel possible? Never mind that he was five wormholes away from this damn planet.
If he's truly in the middle of the Cetagandan occupation of Barrayar, Duv knows one thing. He needs to keep his damn mouth shut. Never before had he thought academic knowledge of a particular period could be so dangerous. It wouldn't be as simple as finding his way out of the compound and slipping into Barrayar's. His accent could easily ping the few that might have heard what a Komarran sounds like and land him into even more trouble.
He comes out of the medbay glancing around at his surroundings with a careful eye. He's walking around in a moment of history and he's torn between wanting out of this place and documenting every second he's here for a personal account of the Cetagandan side of the occupation. He's not the only 'exotic' here either.
Curiosity gets the better of him as he approaches his fellow captives to ask, "Excuse me, do you mind telling me where you're from?" Are they all from the surrounding area or from farther reaches of the Nexus? Only one way to find out.
The Exotics Room
Cetagandans. He manages to withhold rolling his eyes as he stares at the artistically prepared food. Trust them to add frivolity to eating in the middle of an occupation. Routine for them, he supposes. The Cetagandan Empire of now was different than the one he dealt with at the embassy and at least there's no assassination squads to handle this time around. Yet anyway.
"You'd think they'd want to spend their energy elsewhere," he grumbles as he settles at a table with his meal.
Duv Galeni | The Vorkosigan Saga | come harass a historian nerd
There's a strange feeling being on a planet he's spent a good portion of his adult life on only to have it feel very... different. The difference being of several decades. Pinpointing the date becomes trivial as soon as he realizes his captors are from Cetaganda. An occupation on Barrayar of this sort could only have taken place at one point in time and he hopes this is some bizarre, vivid dream brought on by a long night of reading historical documents.
That theory starts to dissipate the longer he's guided by the guards and by the time he's brought into the medbay, it's vanished entirely. How in the hell is time travel possible? Never mind that he was five wormholes away from this damn planet.
If he's truly in the middle of the Cetagandan occupation of Barrayar, Duv knows one thing. He needs to keep his damn mouth shut. Never before had he thought academic knowledge of a particular period could be so dangerous. It wouldn't be as simple as finding his way out of the compound and slipping into Barrayar's. His accent could easily ping the few that might have heard what a Komarran sounds like and land him into even more trouble.
He comes out of the medbay glancing around at his surroundings with a careful eye. He's walking around in a moment of history and he's torn between wanting out of this place and documenting every second he's here for a personal account of the Cetagandan side of the occupation. He's not the only 'exotic' here either.
Curiosity gets the better of him as he approaches his fellow captives to ask, "Excuse me, do you mind telling me where you're from?" Are they all from the surrounding area or from farther reaches of the Nexus? Only one way to find out.
The Exotics Room
Cetagandans. He manages to withhold rolling his eyes as he stares at the artistically prepared food. Trust them to add frivolity to eating in the middle of an occupation. Routine for them, he supposes. The Cetagandan Empire of now was different than the one he dealt with at the embassy and at least there's no assassination squads to handle this time around. Yet anyway.
"You'd think they'd want to spend their energy elsewhere," he grumbles as he settles at a table with his meal.