measured_words (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
measured_words) wrote2009-07-05 10:31 am
measured_words) wrote2009-07-05 10:31 am
Entry tags:
Twenty-Five Years 06 - Connections
This one came out waaaay longer than previous setions. However the next one, which will be extra awesome, may turn out a little short. It all balances out somehow, I'm sure.
ETA: Series Notes and chapter index here
Twenty-Five Years 06 – Connections
Five days in, things seemed to be carrying along as smoothly as could be expected. T’Lalea had taken over most of the interactions with other groups of prisoners, networking through the female inmates to learn what she could about anyone who might give them trouble or be of use. There were some that he’d had to meet, and some boundaries he’d needed to establish. It was insulting, Ayel knew, that the Rihannsu women couldn’t establish for themselves that they were off-limits. They didn’t have the numbers on their own, especially not during the work-days. A number of fights had resolved the matter, at least among the inmates. The guards, however, might still be a problem. It made him angry, even though nothing had yet happened. T’Lalea was capable of handling the situation, more so than him, and as security chief it was her duty. The Fire remained, however, and he knew he wasn’t alone.
Some of the connections she’d made seemed like they could be notably beneficial. One of these was a woman called Saleema, an alien with light grey skin with a series of raised crests above flat eyebrows, from some system he’d never heard of. She’d managed to attach herself not to an inmate or any of the guards, but to the Klingon geophysicist assigned to oversee the penal colony’s mining operations. The official story was that she’d been sent here for murder, but there were rumours that she’d been a spy. Apparently, she wanted, or was willing, to talk to the Chief of the Romulans. I’ll have to do.
Ayel walked out of the barracks cavern they’d claimed their first night, and glanced above the door. Rihannsu territory was marked now, not with the bird of prey emblem of the Empire, but by a stylized narada. The creature of myth – winged and serpentine, many-mouthed and ravenous – was said to haunt the deep and unexplored recesses of space. It had seemed an apt name for a mining vessel, and it suited equally the silent lurking danger they’d sent the ship to be. He hadn’t witnessed the emblem’s creation, but suspected it had been done by Taul. The dark-skinned medic’s steady hand and artistic eye were visible in the mourning tattoos of most of the crew. That didn’t mean it had been his idea. That was Paren. She’d been telling stories in the evenings to those who weren’t too tired to listen. They were old histories, mostly, of the Departure, when the Declared had left Vulcan behind to follow S’Task rather than Surak. He hoped for a chance to listen to her later, partly from curiosity and partly to judge whether this was a activity he should allow to become ritual. Another evening – perhaps tomorrow. There is always something else to take care of…
For now, he pressed on towards the central cavern of the habitation level, where he met T’Lalea, Aifn, and H’Man. There were a few other barracks claimed by various smaller factions, and the security chief directed him towards one of these. The area was guarded by some of its members, a male and female alien. They didn’t seem to be armed, but T’Lalea had assured him they would be. She was working on acquiring – stealing, trading, or manufacturing – a supply of workable weapons, but for now they would just have to rely on the Elements.
They were admitted to a much more luxurious space than he’d been expecting. Saleema’s bed, or dais, or possibly both, was piled deep in furs. The other bunks had all been shifted so that hers, rebuilt as a single large platform, dominated the line of vision from the entrance. She herself was dressed more finely than anyone else he’d seen, though it was only a relative improvement. Ayel was used to the rough life of long-term mining operations, but his shirt was stained with week old blood, never mind the sweat. He could almost kill for a change of clothes. If only she were my size.
Her little luxuries aside, she was very much as described, with layers of black and red hair falling from a high pony tail, dark eyes with ridges above running into her hairline, and grey skin. She looked him over with slitted eyes, then looked to T’Lalea.
“T’Lalea ir’Dinalea. This is your leader?”
“Ayel i’Ra’tleifhi tr’Annhwi.” She gave him a slight nod, then slipped back behind him to join Aifn and H’Man. Saleema kept her attention on him.
“Welcome to my refuge, Ayel i’Ra’tleifhi tr’Annhwi. I am Ivey Lahasalyen’ee Saleemasareenyahia. Saleema.”
“Ayel.”
“You are the Romulan leader?”
No. Not Romulan, though the issue had been long settled by his time. The term Rihannsu was their own word, how they thought of themselves, and outsiders had disregarded it so thoroughly over time that they were no longer given the honour of knowing it. It was like a fourth name, almost. As for leadership… “I speak for our commander.”
“Very well, Spokesman Ayel.” Saleema stood and smiled. She was tall enough to look him in the eye, and fit and well built as might be expected of a Klingon’s consort. “I’m impressed with you lot. It takes others much longer to realize that I am the one to please to find any ease or comfort in this place. Though you are new, I am certain we can come to some arrangement.”
She didn’t ask about Nero. Ayel followed with his eyes as she circled him, separating from the entourage T’Lalea had selected. He was glad they were there. “Arrangement?”
“Oh yes. A cut of your productivity is quite common, counted towards my work quota and those under my…. protection. Sometimes I do make other exchanges, Ayel i’Ra’tleifhi tr’Annhwi.”
She was standing quite close, leaning her face close to his, and he realized he must be scowling. As made no answer, she shrugged and returned to her dais.
“You aren’t interested.”
“We have better things to bargain with.”
A disturbing gleam returned briefly to her eye. “If you say so. Still, there are many things said about you Romulans. That you are murderers, that you are wanted by the Federation and kept here as leverage. That you arrived in a ship of marvels which has disappeared. I know you are many, and that you do not act like most inmates new to this place, who decry innocent imprisonment after false trials, or else brag about their foulest crimes. You have seemed uninterested in the complex politics of this frozen rock, with some exceptions-” She nodded to T’Lalea, “-until now. Yet things change around you, and I think will change more. Tell me, then, Spokesman, what you want from me.”
“I want a meeting with Q’Vul.”
“Do you? He doesn’t deal with prisoners.”
“He deals with you.”
She chuckled. “I have things you can’t offer him, Spokesman Ayel. At least… I am sure he wouldn’t accept.”
Oh, aren’t you a witty whore. “Tell him our ship is a mining vessel.”
“I could tell him that, and he might be interested, if he believed it. It still remains for us to reach an agreement as to why I should.”
“You spoke of quotas-,”
She shook her head, cutting him off. “No. You spoke of having better things. It’s true, Spokesman. Have you a doctor?”
“We do.” Had T’Lalea known she would ask this? H’man said nothing.
“Then it is your doctor I want.”
“You can’t have him. You can have access to him.”
“Full access? Any time?”
“We are only asking for one meeting. You may have the same, and the rest, I’ll leave to him.”
Saleema looked down at her hands, buried in the thick pile of the furs that covered her bed.
“Very well. But I will have my meeting first.”
And the negotiations would continue. We might be in a stronger position then. “Make your arrangements with H’Man.” He looked to the doctor. Saleema seemed surprised, or perhaps relieved.
H’Man bowed his head to Ayeal, and stepped forward. As he did, however, a commotion arose in the main chamber, and drew everyone’s attention. Someone outside called Ayel’s name loudly, and Saleema’s guards tensed and turned inwards. The Rihannsu drew together defensively, but the lady of the chamber called her people off.
“Go,” she said to Ayel, and “Another time,” to H’Man. Her playfulness was gone, though her self-possession remained. He gave her no more consideration, but pushed with the others into the main hall.
The lift leading to the surface was just closing, and his first fear was that one of the crew had been punished by some infraction while he was distracted, and exiled to the surface to die. The arrogant guffaw of the warden boomed ahead, and again someone called his name. Chains clinked as they slumped to the ground, and the crowd parted, by will or by force, as he stalked purposefully towards the action.
There he was, just pulling himself to his knees – and that with much exertion, from a pile of loosed fetters: Nero.
“Captain!” he exclaimed, remembering himself. He folded himself into a full formal bow, holding it for four long breaths. Nero stayed kneeling, showing his relief in the hint of a grin he gave his second. The other Rihannsu, most of whom flooded the chamber as the news travelled, spread out to create a space around them. Nero’s hand was as cold as ice, and his grip was worryingly weak. Ayel called H’Man forward to help escort Nero to their barracks, out of the gaze of outsiders. He thanked all the Elements.
ETA: Series Notes and chapter index here
Twenty-Five Years 06 – Connections
Five days in, things seemed to be carrying along as smoothly as could be expected. T’Lalea had taken over most of the interactions with other groups of prisoners, networking through the female inmates to learn what she could about anyone who might give them trouble or be of use. There were some that he’d had to meet, and some boundaries he’d needed to establish. It was insulting, Ayel knew, that the Rihannsu women couldn’t establish for themselves that they were off-limits. They didn’t have the numbers on their own, especially not during the work-days. A number of fights had resolved the matter, at least among the inmates. The guards, however, might still be a problem. It made him angry, even though nothing had yet happened. T’Lalea was capable of handling the situation, more so than him, and as security chief it was her duty. The Fire remained, however, and he knew he wasn’t alone.
Some of the connections she’d made seemed like they could be notably beneficial. One of these was a woman called Saleema, an alien with light grey skin with a series of raised crests above flat eyebrows, from some system he’d never heard of. She’d managed to attach herself not to an inmate or any of the guards, but to the Klingon geophysicist assigned to oversee the penal colony’s mining operations. The official story was that she’d been sent here for murder, but there were rumours that she’d been a spy. Apparently, she wanted, or was willing, to talk to the Chief of the Romulans. I’ll have to do.
Ayel walked out of the barracks cavern they’d claimed their first night, and glanced above the door. Rihannsu territory was marked now, not with the bird of prey emblem of the Empire, but by a stylized narada. The creature of myth – winged and serpentine, many-mouthed and ravenous – was said to haunt the deep and unexplored recesses of space. It had seemed an apt name for a mining vessel, and it suited equally the silent lurking danger they’d sent the ship to be. He hadn’t witnessed the emblem’s creation, but suspected it had been done by Taul. The dark-skinned medic’s steady hand and artistic eye were visible in the mourning tattoos of most of the crew. That didn’t mean it had been his idea. That was Paren. She’d been telling stories in the evenings to those who weren’t too tired to listen. They were old histories, mostly, of the Departure, when the Declared had left Vulcan behind to follow S’Task rather than Surak. He hoped for a chance to listen to her later, partly from curiosity and partly to judge whether this was a activity he should allow to become ritual. Another evening – perhaps tomorrow. There is always something else to take care of…
For now, he pressed on towards the central cavern of the habitation level, where he met T’Lalea, Aifn, and H’Man. There were a few other barracks claimed by various smaller factions, and the security chief directed him towards one of these. The area was guarded by some of its members, a male and female alien. They didn’t seem to be armed, but T’Lalea had assured him they would be. She was working on acquiring – stealing, trading, or manufacturing – a supply of workable weapons, but for now they would just have to rely on the Elements.
They were admitted to a much more luxurious space than he’d been expecting. Saleema’s bed, or dais, or possibly both, was piled deep in furs. The other bunks had all been shifted so that hers, rebuilt as a single large platform, dominated the line of vision from the entrance. She herself was dressed more finely than anyone else he’d seen, though it was only a relative improvement. Ayel was used to the rough life of long-term mining operations, but his shirt was stained with week old blood, never mind the sweat. He could almost kill for a change of clothes. If only she were my size.
Her little luxuries aside, she was very much as described, with layers of black and red hair falling from a high pony tail, dark eyes with ridges above running into her hairline, and grey skin. She looked him over with slitted eyes, then looked to T’Lalea.
“T’Lalea ir’Dinalea. This is your leader?”
“Ayel i’Ra’tleifhi tr’Annhwi.” She gave him a slight nod, then slipped back behind him to join Aifn and H’Man. Saleema kept her attention on him.
“Welcome to my refuge, Ayel i’Ra’tleifhi tr’Annhwi. I am Ivey Lahasalyen’ee Saleemasareenyahia. Saleema.”
“Ayel.”
“You are the Romulan leader?”
No. Not Romulan, though the issue had been long settled by his time. The term Rihannsu was their own word, how they thought of themselves, and outsiders had disregarded it so thoroughly over time that they were no longer given the honour of knowing it. It was like a fourth name, almost. As for leadership… “I speak for our commander.”
“Very well, Spokesman Ayel.” Saleema stood and smiled. She was tall enough to look him in the eye, and fit and well built as might be expected of a Klingon’s consort. “I’m impressed with you lot. It takes others much longer to realize that I am the one to please to find any ease or comfort in this place. Though you are new, I am certain we can come to some arrangement.”
She didn’t ask about Nero. Ayel followed with his eyes as she circled him, separating from the entourage T’Lalea had selected. He was glad they were there. “Arrangement?”
“Oh yes. A cut of your productivity is quite common, counted towards my work quota and those under my…. protection. Sometimes I do make other exchanges, Ayel i’Ra’tleifhi tr’Annhwi.”
She was standing quite close, leaning her face close to his, and he realized he must be scowling. As made no answer, she shrugged and returned to her dais.
“You aren’t interested.”
“We have better things to bargain with.”
A disturbing gleam returned briefly to her eye. “If you say so. Still, there are many things said about you Romulans. That you are murderers, that you are wanted by the Federation and kept here as leverage. That you arrived in a ship of marvels which has disappeared. I know you are many, and that you do not act like most inmates new to this place, who decry innocent imprisonment after false trials, or else brag about their foulest crimes. You have seemed uninterested in the complex politics of this frozen rock, with some exceptions-” She nodded to T’Lalea, “-until now. Yet things change around you, and I think will change more. Tell me, then, Spokesman, what you want from me.”
“I want a meeting with Q’Vul.”
“Do you? He doesn’t deal with prisoners.”
“He deals with you.”
She chuckled. “I have things you can’t offer him, Spokesman Ayel. At least… I am sure he wouldn’t accept.”
Oh, aren’t you a witty whore. “Tell him our ship is a mining vessel.”
“I could tell him that, and he might be interested, if he believed it. It still remains for us to reach an agreement as to why I should.”
“You spoke of quotas-,”
She shook her head, cutting him off. “No. You spoke of having better things. It’s true, Spokesman. Have you a doctor?”
“We do.” Had T’Lalea known she would ask this? H’man said nothing.
“Then it is your doctor I want.”
“You can’t have him. You can have access to him.”
“Full access? Any time?”
“We are only asking for one meeting. You may have the same, and the rest, I’ll leave to him.”
Saleema looked down at her hands, buried in the thick pile of the furs that covered her bed.
“Very well. But I will have my meeting first.”
And the negotiations would continue. We might be in a stronger position then. “Make your arrangements with H’Man.” He looked to the doctor. Saleema seemed surprised, or perhaps relieved.
H’Man bowed his head to Ayeal, and stepped forward. As he did, however, a commotion arose in the main chamber, and drew everyone’s attention. Someone outside called Ayel’s name loudly, and Saleema’s guards tensed and turned inwards. The Rihannsu drew together defensively, but the lady of the chamber called her people off.
“Go,” she said to Ayel, and “Another time,” to H’Man. Her playfulness was gone, though her self-possession remained. He gave her no more consideration, but pushed with the others into the main hall.
The lift leading to the surface was just closing, and his first fear was that one of the crew had been punished by some infraction while he was distracted, and exiled to the surface to die. The arrogant guffaw of the warden boomed ahead, and again someone called his name. Chains clinked as they slumped to the ground, and the crowd parted, by will or by force, as he stalked purposefully towards the action.
There he was, just pulling himself to his knees – and that with much exertion, from a pile of loosed fetters: Nero.
“Captain!” he exclaimed, remembering himself. He folded himself into a full formal bow, holding it for four long breaths. Nero stayed kneeling, showing his relief in the hint of a grin he gave his second. The other Rihannsu, most of whom flooded the chamber as the news travelled, spread out to create a space around them. Nero’s hand was as cold as ice, and his grip was worryingly weak. Ayel called H’Man forward to help escort Nero to their barracks, out of the gaze of outsiders. He thanked all the Elements.