barrayarmods: (Default)
For Barrayar mods ([personal profile] barrayarmods) wrote in [community profile] forbarrayar2016-12-20 10:13 am

[ 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.
pigsfeet: (STOP HITTING)

im sorry

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-01-05 02:05 am (UTC)(link)
Daryl doesn't think he'll get new information, but it was worth it to try. It was worth it to see her reaction. It was worth it to see how the medical personnel reacted (they didn't). It was worth it to say something instead of rolling over and taking it.

It was worth it for Diya to lean in a little closer so Daryl could hock a loogie and try to spit on her.
eugengineer: (pic#10725603)

never

[personal profile] eugengineer 2017-01-07 03:55 am (UTC)(link)
Cetagandan reflexes are impressive, particularly in the ways that have been bred into the ghem, rather than the haut; they are, after all, the military caste. So before even Diya has a chance to move away, one of the ghem med techs lunges in front of her with a cried, "My lady, no!"

The sleeve of her lab coat is dirtied instead of Diya, and the tech looks both indignant and disgusted -- so does the rest of the room, the heat rising palpably in the otherwise cool room; Diya looks distantly disappointed as she draws back. The martyred med tech grabs a sterile pad to clean her sleeve off, a faint flush showing through the thin veneer of delicate face paint. "She is haut," she starts angrily, but Diya, not looking pleased, holds up a hand to silence her, as does the CMO.

"My lady, I think," the CMO says, looking pained, "that you will find little interest in the rest of the proceedings. I think you'll find the reports much more to your satisfaction."

It's the politest way he can request she leave, a careful attempt to save some very fragile face in the upset of the room.
pigsfeet: (no one makes me bleed my own blood)

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-01-07 07:08 pm (UTC)(link)
Drugged, tazed, exhausted and disoriented, Daryl still knows how to read between the lines. They want her gone so they can get some real work done, and not have to worry about offending her. Whatever haut is, it matters to them.

The makeup, Daryl begins to suspect, ain't just a fashion thing. It's status. She isn't wearing it because she's... hmm. He's not sure. Maybe if he ever sleeps again, that'll help his thinking.

It might be better for him if she left. It might be worse. Really, all of this boils down to one fine point, sharp and direct enough to fit through the head of a pin: Daryl doesn't care what they do to him. His people aren't here. He's never going to see them again. Beth's brains are blown out over linoleum flooring in Atlanta. He's on some goddamn alien operating table. Daryl is finding it harder and harder to care about anything at all.

So he goads her. "Better run," he says. "Let your little slaves do the real work."
eugengineer: PB: Ming-Na Wen (pic#10678197)

[personal profile] eugengineer 2017-01-08 02:03 am (UTC)(link)
The med tech who'd taken the fall glares at Daryl even more fiercely, and the rest of the room seems to stiffen. Diya's look goes faintly quizzical, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly.

"You are a simple man," she says, sounding disappointed, and turns toward the door, moving like water. "Colonel, you may deliver your reports directly to my comconsole."

The door opens into that slice of hallway Daryl had fallen just short of, and as soon as Diya is through, it closes again with a hiss.
pigsfeet: (im so disappointed in us)

[personal profile] pigsfeet 2017-01-08 03:46 am (UTC)(link)
It occurs to Daryl that they'll be more unkind to him when she's gone. He should be afraid. He should feel something.

He doesn't. Daryl stares at the head nurse as Diya disappear. "Get on with it." He's prepared for whatever comes.
eugengineer: PB: Ming-Na Wen (Default)

[personal profile] eugengineer 2017-01-10 03:16 am (UTC)(link)
"So melodramatic," mutters the CMO, but it's hard to tell if he's talking about Daryl or the haut. Both, perhaps. The other ghem med techs still look scandalized, but the Colonel mostly looks faintly exasperated. "The most invasive thing we'll do is a blood sample. You do know that the rest of our equipment is noninvasive, don't you?"

He gestures with a pinched mouth at the scanners, some mounted, some handheld, in the room. "Whatever it is you're paranoid about, you're overreacting. We just needed you to hold still -- and stop accosting our med techs."