For Barrayar mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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forbarrayar2016-12-20 10:13 am
barrayarmods) wrote in forbarrayar2016-12-20 10:13 am
Entry tags:
- !event,
- #cetagandan base,
- *diya d'zefyst,
- *gail ghem-estif,
- adrien arbuckal | prorenataa,
- agent washington | protocol,
- agent york | infailtration,
- darkstalker | threemoons,
- daryl dixon | pigsfeet,
- duv galeni | komarran,
- egil dagsson | norms,
- kaidan alenko | standsentinel,
- lapis lazuli | mirrortide,
- ratchet | asafepairofhands,
- vlad tepes | theyfear
[ january i log: cetaganda ]
Who: Everyone
What: Arrival on Barrayar and what follows
When: January 2nd - January 17th
Where: Cetagandan base
Warnings: None (at the moment)
welcome to barrayar.
It's the dark of night when you come to beyond the foothills. Snow on the ground, chill winter wind whistling. A steep mountain range towers overhead, its peaks illuminated by the light of two moons, and the foothills behind you ascend quickly into rocky mountain faces. Whatever you last remember, it isn't how you got here, and you feel oddly jetlagged, slightly queasy.
And you're not alone. There are nine other people close by, all looking equally lost and confused. But before any of you have a chance to figure out what's going on, the soldiers arrive.
They're fitted with what look like futuristic tactical vests and armed with some kind of energy weapons that look deadlier than not. They surround you at gunpoint, dealing orders in intelligible English, but with some obscure, unplaceable accent, and their faces are colored with vivid paint. It quickly becomes apparent, however, that you are not the people they at first assumed -- something about Barrayarans, the barbarians in the mountains. The one who seems to be in charge steps away to murmur into what looks like a wristwatch-like communicator. After a minute or two of inaudible conversation, the officer steps back in. He orders his men to escort you all back to their base. As long as you cooperate, that's all that will happen.
the base
You are taken back to a military base of considerable scale and some serious fortification. There are two rounds of guard checks to go through, both taking what must be a lot longer than usual, and it's cold out. You are ushered past the guard checks into what looks like a barracks building, but relegated to a bunk on one end. They seem to have cleared the immediate area, with guards posted at the door, but there's audible activity beyond the short hallway in front of the door. They make it clear you are not under arrest, that you are merely being detained until they have ascertained the situation -- the word quarantine is used, but it doesn't seem to be of a medical sort. Either way, the only people who come to the bunk are those cleared by the guards, and they all seem much more interested than hostile.
They answer your questions with the very basic facts: the people who hold custody of you are the military service of the Cetagandan Empire, and the planet you are on is their Ninth Satrapy, and they're currently at odds with some of the native population. They won't say it outright, but it's clear they have no clue how you came to be here or why, but it's clearly of great interest to them. For the most part, the Cetagandan soldiers are civil, if at times distant and aloof, but if you look a little less -- or more -- than human, they'll eye you with visible curiosity, perhaps even some kind of appreciation.
At daylight, a few women in lab coats and the same face-paint as the soldiers come to the room to escort you across the base to the nearby medbay, two or three at a time. The medbay is an intimidatingly sterile and state-of-the-art facility, all gleaming chrome and polished glass and crisp holo displays. You are taken in one at a time for a physical examination -- they have to make sure you haven't brought any foreign contagions into their base, after all -- but the military physician isn't the only base personnel in the exam room. You hear the word exotic tossed around a few times until they realized they're talking about you. They call you the exotics.
the exotics room
For a military bunk, it's in surprisingly tasteful design. The room sleeps a dozen soldiers, so you even have a little bit of room to yourself, and while the furnishings are relatively spartan, they're hardly uncomfortable. If you're in need of clothing, the soldiers will bring you base fatigues – no rank insignia, of course, but the make of the textile is surprisingly fine.
You're served food at mealtimes, a combination of shelf-stable meal rations and what seems to be fresh food, all prepared with unusual artistry for a military base. There's a sophistication to the preparation that seems more like it belongs in a four-star restaurant than a military base. If you have any special medical needs, they'll do their best to attend to them -- and their medicine seems impressively advanced.
Soldiers and scientists alike come to the room every so often to ask you questions, more like interviews than interrogations, but behind the civility there's a burning intellectual curiosity. They seem intent on knowing as much as you'll tell them, and then some.
The nearest bathroom is at the end of the hall, and while they seem to have cleared the area of all other personnel, showers and baths are scheduled, and any trips to the restroom are chaperoned. The guards, while not hostile, are certainly not interested in letting you escape. You could try sneaking past them, but you probably won't get far.
Well, at least you've got each other for company: the exotics on the Ninth Satrapy.
What: Arrival on Barrayar and what follows
When: January 2nd - January 17th
Where: Cetagandan base
Warnings: None (at the moment)
welcome to barrayar.
It's the dark of night when you come to beyond the foothills. Snow on the ground, chill winter wind whistling. A steep mountain range towers overhead, its peaks illuminated by the light of two moons, and the foothills behind you ascend quickly into rocky mountain faces. Whatever you last remember, it isn't how you got here, and you feel oddly jetlagged, slightly queasy.
And you're not alone. There are nine other people close by, all looking equally lost and confused. But before any of you have a chance to figure out what's going on, the soldiers arrive.
They're fitted with what look like futuristic tactical vests and armed with some kind of energy weapons that look deadlier than not. They surround you at gunpoint, dealing orders in intelligible English, but with some obscure, unplaceable accent, and their faces are colored with vivid paint. It quickly becomes apparent, however, that you are not the people they at first assumed -- something about Barrayarans, the barbarians in the mountains. The one who seems to be in charge steps away to murmur into what looks like a wristwatch-like communicator. After a minute or two of inaudible conversation, the officer steps back in. He orders his men to escort you all back to their base. As long as you cooperate, that's all that will happen.
the base
You are taken back to a military base of considerable scale and some serious fortification. There are two rounds of guard checks to go through, both taking what must be a lot longer than usual, and it's cold out. You are ushered past the guard checks into what looks like a barracks building, but relegated to a bunk on one end. They seem to have cleared the immediate area, with guards posted at the door, but there's audible activity beyond the short hallway in front of the door. They make it clear you are not under arrest, that you are merely being detained until they have ascertained the situation -- the word quarantine is used, but it doesn't seem to be of a medical sort. Either way, the only people who come to the bunk are those cleared by the guards, and they all seem much more interested than hostile.
They answer your questions with the very basic facts: the people who hold custody of you are the military service of the Cetagandan Empire, and the planet you are on is their Ninth Satrapy, and they're currently at odds with some of the native population. They won't say it outright, but it's clear they have no clue how you came to be here or why, but it's clearly of great interest to them. For the most part, the Cetagandan soldiers are civil, if at times distant and aloof, but if you look a little less -- or more -- than human, they'll eye you with visible curiosity, perhaps even some kind of appreciation.
At daylight, a few women in lab coats and the same face-paint as the soldiers come to the room to escort you across the base to the nearby medbay, two or three at a time. The medbay is an intimidatingly sterile and state-of-the-art facility, all gleaming chrome and polished glass and crisp holo displays. You are taken in one at a time for a physical examination -- they have to make sure you haven't brought any foreign contagions into their base, after all -- but the military physician isn't the only base personnel in the exam room. You hear the word exotic tossed around a few times until they realized they're talking about you. They call you the exotics.
the exotics room
For a military bunk, it's in surprisingly tasteful design. The room sleeps a dozen soldiers, so you even have a little bit of room to yourself, and while the furnishings are relatively spartan, they're hardly uncomfortable. If you're in need of clothing, the soldiers will bring you base fatigues – no rank insignia, of course, but the make of the textile is surprisingly fine.
You're served food at mealtimes, a combination of shelf-stable meal rations and what seems to be fresh food, all prepared with unusual artistry for a military base. There's a sophistication to the preparation that seems more like it belongs in a four-star restaurant than a military base. If you have any special medical needs, they'll do their best to attend to them -- and their medicine seems impressively advanced.
Soldiers and scientists alike come to the room every so often to ask you questions, more like interviews than interrogations, but behind the civility there's a burning intellectual curiosity. They seem intent on knowing as much as you'll tell them, and then some.
The nearest bathroom is at the end of the hall, and while they seem to have cleared the area of all other personnel, showers and baths are scheduled, and any trips to the restroom are chaperoned. The guards, while not hostile, are certainly not interested in letting you escape. You could try sneaking past them, but you probably won't get far.
Well, at least you've got each other for company: the exotics on the Ninth Satrapy.
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"Did you see that?!"
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"See what, York? What did you see?"
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Ratchet's hand closes firmly on York's upper arm, squeezing carefully. Here's hoping York doesn't break his nose. He hasn't even had it for very long yet.
"I need you to calm down, York. If Delta is an AI implanted neurally, all the shouting in the world isn't going to make him show back up if he's already in your head. Just breathe for a moment."
no subject
"Fuck," he mutters, head back in his hands. "He's in there, he's gotta be in there..."
no subject
"He might be, still," he says. "And even if he isn't, that doesn't mean he's gone. Whatever ends up getting us home has a good chance of undoing whatever it did to get us here and reinstalling him. You'll be all right."
no subject
He might be going insane, but it feels like someone actually cares.
There's a tiny nod at Ratchet's reassurances, as York struggles to pull himself together. He leans into the other man's touches for just a moment, allowing himself that last moment of weakness and comfort before straightening up again. "You're right. I'll keep it down, sorry." Keep the crazy to himself as much as he can.
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"Not the noise I'm worried about, kid," he says. "Let me know if that keeps up, all right?"
no subject
He glances up at where Daryl is trying to break one of the support beams of his bunk off, probably for use as a weapon. The other exotic doesn't seem to be having any luck. "Do you know how to fight?" he asks Ratchet, seemingly out of nowhere.
no subject
"Tenacious, that one," he says, then nods. "Yeah. I'm--" He stops after a second, faltering. He's not at all sure if any of his skills as a Cybertronian will translate into his human frame, and he's been trying so hard not to think about not being able to do surgery it didn't occur to him that it might also apply to defending himself. "Hell. I think I am, anyway. Like I said, this place messed with me. But last time I checked I was a crack shot, and I'm a lot more dangerous with a knife or a scalpel in my hand, but I can hold my own."
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"If a group of strangers came up on your squad like we did, what would you have done? My old outfit would just have ordered us killed or abandoned, I'm pretty sure."
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"Not our style," he says firmly as he watches York. "Definitetly not for noncombatants, and not even for the people we were actively fighting. Refusing necessary shelter or medical care was never an option, not even at the height of the war." His eyes narrow. "Not anywhere I was in charge, at any rate, I'm not saying it never happened. I sure as hell didn't detain anybody for use as lab rats, either."
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"I've had a few friends in your position," he says, rubbing absently at the thick scars around one wrist with the opposite hand and trying not to think about Ambulon too hard. "But yeah, I take your meaning. I don't think they're keeping us out of any strong desire to retain a moral high ground, let alone out of the goodness of their sp--their hearts." He bites down hard on his tongue. Screw medical data, if he doesn't pay attention to using human idioms he'll out himself as some kind of alien, no matter what the Cetagandans do or don't find in his medical file. "Anyway, there's no way to know for sure just now, and not a lot we can do about it against heavily armed and armored guards, lucky or not."
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It probably is -- he doesn't seem all too bothered by the thought, though, like he's used to being monitored.
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