thisavrou_log | ( december intro log )

Entry tags:

( december intro log )

Who: Everyone
When: December 1st and on
Where: Throughout the Moira
What: Repercussions of Caducus Primary + New Arrivals + The Unknown
Warnings: None, but please label anything you do that needs a warning

SHIP LIFE

"In nature, there are neither rewards nor punishments; there are consequences."

The Ingress has pulled you in. Your body experiences several sensations at once: being pushed forward as if a hand is resting on your back, momentary and startling blindness, a gentle ringing in your head. You have difficulty discerning whether it is hot or cold, but where you have been prodded is noticeably warmer than the rest of you. Some may suffer from dizziness while others are perfectly fine. Once equilibrium has been reestablished, you will notice you are standing on a long platform and that the room is filled with a soft cerulean light. It's slightly humid and dark despite the glow around you, and various machines line the walls on either side, though they are not accessible from where you stand. Shortly after, you are led out and toward the medbay.

Inside this room, you are given a physical scan and sign a contract that states you are now part of the crew of the Moira with a specific job. This process consists of a complete work-up of medical history and current health, and afterwards, you are given your MID, a device that is integrated into your hand with only the slightest pinch. From there, you are guided out of the medbay and to your living quarters.

MERO DECK ● NOMO DECK ● MORO DECK

☄ Due to the circumstances of Caducus Primary, the captains appear abnormally absent. Unlike before, they will not be seen or heard from after processing the newest members of the crew. They can still be contacted via their MID devices for emergencies only, but otherwise, they have retreated to their rooms and clearly do not want disturbed. They are displeased with the events and will be less accommodating in regards to resources and rank privileges. In fact, they may feel less like a privilege and more like a punishment.

☄DRUM THRUM THUD

Reverberations of what has happened to Caducus Primary are still being felt despite having left the chaos behind. After the initial influx of new crew, there seems to be the occasional flicker of the power all throughout the Moira—like a pulse, a breath. Do the shadows move, or is it just a trick of the light? Several hours pass, and a message flashes across all MIDs. It is labeled urgent and comes directly from Thán; however, any responses will be automatically rejected.

Our ship has sustained minor outer damage, and the systems are fluctuating as they reboot themselves individually. Take care of darker areas, and travel with other crew if you need to leave your room.

Crew safety is severely stressed this month, especially after what's occurred, and anyone in need of medical attention is to report to the Medbay posthaste. Yet, the crew may soon realize it's not only the power that appears to be having issues as the days progress in their travels.

☄IN THE FRIDGE

From the 3rd on, things start to grow a bit chilly. With current power issues, a problem that even those in areas responsible for its function cannot seem to solve, there has been a steady decline of less vital life support systems. It soon grows cold enough that sections of the ship that house any sort of water systems may find them slowly freezing over, and even showers don't seem as warm as they should be. ( Those in Mero Deck may find their communal bathroom a rink. ) In the mess hall, late in the evening after all shifts are finished, several pipes rupture and create particles of ice (snow) and a solid slippery sheet across the entirety of the floor. Melting it may be a temporary solution, but as there is no way to keep the water in its liquid form, it might be inadvisable to try more than once.

Other areas of the ship are also open to exploration, though they may be affected by the power and temperature changes as well. Please advise the captains' warning.

( ooc; For questions, go here. Please comment to activity check to receive new ranks (if applicable)! )

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Being dead for a week means the paperwork really piles up. Miles'd barely started his new post as Personnel Officer when the whole disaster with Caducus Primary struck, and he's hardly had time to go through the personnel files now at his disposal. Not that there's much to any of them, yet. He has a fair bit of reading left from the libary still, too -- no chance to read those checked-out books while he was dead, either. Well, he doesn't think Elizabeth is going to slap him with any late fees, but even so, he'd like to return them sooner than later.

Sitting down to a good meal -- well, all right, an adequate meal -- with all this reading might help. He hasn't been eating much since he was revived, but whether that's a side effect of the cryorevival or just one of many indicators that he still isn't quite himself yet, he isn't sure. At any rate, he ought to start eating regular meals again before Gregor gets on his case about it and starts insisting on watching while Miles eats. He wonders how much he can get away with blaming things on his recent death. Best not push it.

He makes his way from his quarters on Nomo Deck with an armful of reading material -- a couple of good, old-fashioned books from Elizabeth's library with a datapad resting neatly on top of it, which Miles is reading as he walks through the main hall, obviously more absorbed in that than paying any attention to his surroundings.

Bel's breath stops.

The compact figure strolling out of a cross-corridor, the slight hunch over the pile of antique books, is the last thing the mercenary had expected to see after being kidnapped right out of the Ariel. There's no possibility of a mistake. Admiral Naismith is distinctive.

"Miles?" Catching the kit-bag that had nearly slipped to the ground, Bel sprints a few steps forward, a thousand questions clamoring for airtime. Miles Naismith had appeared out of nowhere ten years before, swept through the then-Oseran Mercenary Fleet like an ion storm, taken ship after ship before their commanders knew which way was up -- Bel's had been one of them, before Miles had granted them the captaincy. Is history repeating itself? Is this some new scam, an undercover operation more secret and impossible than any they'd taken on? Would Elena and Quinnie pop out of the next corridor, laughing at the prank's success?

Or...

Bel's step falters, even as the Admiral turns to see who shouted. A hot spike of doubt burrows into Bel's chest. At home in the uniform -- no surprise, Miles would be at home in any uniform. But there's something about the face, something about the gait... not quite enough for Bel to pin down, not even enough to be sure it isn't just imagination....

Admiral Naismith had departed only a few days ago. But it hadn't been long before Tau Ceti that the Dendarii had been infiltrated by the man's impossible clone, Jacksonian-produced, Komarran-engineered to replace... a man with Miles's exact face and name. Bel hadn't seen him face to face, but if he could fool Quinn.....

Momentarily lost for words, Bel looks the question to the one man they would have trusted implicitly only short weeks ago. Miles, is that you?

Edited 2015-12-02 21:55 (UTC)

The main hall is usually pretty vacant; most people don't spend a lot of time here, and not without good reason. There's something vaguely...unsettling about it. And not much reason to be here other than to pass through, so Miles wasn't expecting to run into anyone. But that warm alto voice -- Miles would know that anywhere.

There's a rush in his mind, a flashing, deep sense of familiarity. Miles freezes in his tracks, already pale face going paler. Brought too abruptly out of his reverie, there's a stunned delay of about a half a second before he turns sharply and jerks his head up to stare and choke out, "Bel?" He makes a valiant effort at keeping his voice from rising into a squeak, but he is not altogether successful. He doesn't even manage to slap the Betan accent on first, either, although he prays Bel won't be able to tell from that single, innocuous syllable. Oh, no. Oh god, no.

Something is definitely wrong. Halted barely a few steps away, Bel tries not to show disquiet as they study the man. Too pale, too thin, the shock on his features disturbing in itself -- even aside from the reaction, if this is the same Miles who'd left them at Tau Ceti, something very bad has happened to him in the interim.

But the recognition is there. No hesitation, no mental searching, despite apparently being taken completely by surprise. If the clone can mimic that, nothing but the real Miles will ever be able to stop him.

"Admiral--" The word is almost steady, just a slight hook at the end, a dry roughness quickly swallowed away. If this is an emergency, a disaster or a trap, Bel can't afford to freeze up on this. Surely a clone wouldn't notice the slight tremor, the wide brown eyes -- "Miles, what's wrong?"

[[DYING AT THE ICON OMG THAT IS PERFECT]]

Oh, a clone wouldn't, but Miles would. He curses himself inwardly. Damn it, he shouldn't have reacted like that. It looked wrong, and it was damned embarrassing at that. He quickly smooths the shock from his features, rearranging them into that sharp Admiral Naismith look he's been cultivating for years. He tries to quash the panic rising in his chest, too, but with little success. His mind races, tripping over itself in its haste to think of a solution, an explanation, a way out of -- whatever. God dammit. Of all things...

"Don't -- call me that here," Miles says, strained, hurriedly slipping back into his flat Betan accent. But then he relaxes slightly, letting out a breath, and gives Bel a much friendlier look, one of relief. "Sorry, Bel, you just -- surprised me. Wasn't expecting to see you here. You're the first Dendarii I've seen on this ship since I got here. Quite a shock, y'know."

Shit. What does he say? How the hell is he going to work around this? Being both Vorkosigan and Naismith had been bad enough in a single city, but on a ship? A ship with a crew of, what, less than fifty? And he'd been so strictly avoiding Admiral Naismith for the sake of his own sanity. Playing them too close together just -- it isn't sustainable. But oh, his mind murmurs, it does feel good to slip back into Naismith again...

Better, yes. A perfect recovery, if only it's real. But there's still the slight physical difference to account for. And the clone had fooled Quinn. That thought is still harrowing.

"Got it. I don't care what your name is as long as it's you," Bel says, utterly frank. "You look like there's a war on." It isn't as if they haven't thought about this; probably everybody has, staring up at the bulkhead late into the night, trying to think of what to say, how to tell.... Bel flicks a glance at the man's right arm, the opposite one from the shoulder Miles almost dislocated in the worst of the shuttle drops. "I'm surprised you've got your cast off so early." A test even the Admiral would appreciate, or so Bel has to hope; there were no broken bones at Tau Ceti.

And what if it is the wrong Miles -- what then? Bel's mind too is working frantically. My sole surviving clone-brother, Bel.... None of them were supposed to be here in the first place. Is this a break-in, or did the Ingress kidnap them all? Is it some last-ditch plot to wield the Dendarii -- how; against whom? The comm would have signaled vainly in the cabin back home, someone would have eventually come to the door -- not Murka, never again poor Murka, lost at Dagoola IV; they'd signal, override the lock, and then....

Head tilting a bit, trying to hide the roil of fears, Bel remarks more quietly, "You know, I wish we had a better code word for situations like this."

Edited 2015-12-03 01:51 (UTC)

Cast? Bel wasn't here when -- no. No, they're not talking about what had happened on the first planet the Moira docked at, when Miles and some of the other crew had been kidnapped by the locals, one of them breaking his arm in the process. Wrong arm, anyway; Bel is looking at his right shoulder, not his left. It's a test. Of course it's a test. Bel's subsequent remark confirms it.

The delay in response is fractional. Miles tilts his head right back at Bel and cocks an eyebrow, his mouth twitching into a pale smirk. "What cast?" he shoots back, and he'd cross his arms if he wasn't carrying an armful of books. "No code word is the best code word, Bel. It's me, alright? No need to worry."

Miles manages to transfer his burden to the crook of one arm so he can rub at his face, looking tired. He does look worlds better than a few days ago, but he's still pale and a little on the thinner side. Not nearly so gray-faced as when he'd been discharged, at least.

"No, no war," Miles sighs. "Not exactly." What happened on Caducus Primary wasn't war -- it was slaughter. He hadn't even been alive to see it end, but he's heard enough secondhand. He's still having a hard time stomaching the thought. "The last few weeks have just been -- well, there's been a lot going on. I'll explain later. So -- came in with the latest batch, did you?"

Stall, stall, stall. So far Bel hasn't asked him any questions about his apparent secrecy on board, and so far Miles has no idea what the hell to say that won't come back to bite him in the ass in two hours. He just needs to stall for a little more time.

Yes. Barely any hesitation, and the confident sass lifts Bel's heart. But something had happened, it can't be gainsaid; the grave tone and old familiar tics of tired frustration should have been a cue to sit the Admiral down with some hot tea and talk about anything at all for as long as he could be made to rest.

But the clone had managed well enough last time, despite only discovering the Dendarii's existence at the last minute. There's the barest possibility that his intelligence sources are somehow just that good, that somehow he could know the details of the Tau Ceti drop and bluff his way past the second test on luck and nerve alone.

No one would have put it past Miles to do the same.

Nodding without meaning to, Bel gestures helplessly with one hand. "Yes, just now. You understand, it's all been a bit hard to believe--"

The last few weeks had been bad, all right. Bel still feels the punch of loss. Even one good trooper gone is one too many. And it's been a long night, too long and too strange, and Bel can handle it all from here, for as long as it takes, if only they can be sure.....

Dropping the pretense entirely, Bel searches Miles's too-familiar eyes, voice gone low and quick. Be yourself. Please.

"What was the last thing you said to me in the shuttle hatch corridor, before you left?"

Edited 2015-12-03 03:34 (UTC)

Hard to believe indeed. Miles would be hard-pressed to take it all at face-value if he hadn't been living it for the last three damned months. Bel's concern is palpable, their lingering uncertainty made plain, and Miles' brows draw down. Well, he can hardly blame them. The whole near-fatal fiasco with Mark had been only a scant few months ago. The shuttle hatch corridor -- right. Miles searches his memory for a moment, then his eyebrows pop back up with a classically sly Naismith smirk.

"You were just wrapping up your last report before I left -- something about Private Danio's extremely ill-timed request for a raise. Apparently he'd been pushing for one since a few weeks after Earth. I suppose your testimony to his character must have given him a false sense of endearment on your part." The smirk broadens. "I told you to tell him where he could take that request and shove it -- well, the 'where' I left at your discretion."

"Ha!" A wicked grin, and the doubt flows away in a heady rush. No one else could have overheard that, though the laughter following had rung through the ship. The whole mad situation recedes, somehow, settling quietly back into its proper focus.

"There you are," Bel says softly, tired eyes finally alight. The uniform packet drops unheeded to the deck as Miles is pulled, books and all, into a long, tight hug.

Hard to keep it simple under the surge of emotion, hard not to turn against the warmth of his pulse, hold tighter, ask for more.... It's old ground between them, though: occasionally raised, always deflected, Miles shying away from any greater intimacy with a woman who is not woman only. (A common reaction back home, even on permissive Beta Colony, as ardently as one might wish otherwise.) Old ground indeed, and no fit matter for this moment, easily set aside for what they already have.

Drawing back with hands still resting on the little Admiral's shoulders, Bel stands alert and steady again. The ironic alto is still slightly plaintive, though, accompanied by a brief nod around the hall to indicate... well, everything.

"Now what the hell, sir?"

Miles is never surprised by physical affection from Bel -- he's almost come to expect it by now -- but he wasn't anticipating that soft relief being quite so deep, or that affection so unguarded, however momentarily, and it catches him off guard, eliciting only the softest of sounds of surprise from Miles as Bel gathers him up. Really, he doesn't know why he still lets Bel fluster him like this -- he ought to be used to it by now, it's there nearly from the start, Bel's always been this way with him. And yet he finds himself oddly embarrassed by it -- though that may have something to do with the fact that at his height, Miles' face is partly mashed against Bel's chest.

He just barely manages not to drop his armload of books and files, and to his credit, by the time Bel pulls back, he's managed to wipe the flustered expression off his face. The only thing that remains is the faint color in his cheeks which, frankly, just makes him look a little more properly alive.

"There's the question," Miles mutters. Now that the...uh, moment's over, his extant panic over Bel's presence here resurfaces. He puffs out a breath and looks up at Bel. "Well, for starters, don't call me sir around here. As far as anyone here knows, I'm just a lowly lieutenant back home."

The smirk that follows that is a veneer over the commotion in his head. God, what the hell is he supposed to tell Bel? The MID directory might list first name only, but just about everyone around here knows him as Miles Vorkosigan. Miles Vorkosigan of Barrayar. No one here's ever heard his Betan accent. And Ivan and Gregor -- god. This whole thing makes his head hurt. He really doesn't want to go down the clone route, not with Bel, not now. And either way, no fiction would hold up for long, the ship is too damned small...

"I can't tell you everything," he chatters, deciding instead to neatly skip past that topic altogether for now, "the captains are cagey as hell, you'd think they're allergic to giving a straight answer or something. Frankly, sometimes I wonder if they're being vague to cover their ignorance rather than their knowledge. But I've been here a few months now, pretty much from the startm, and I'd like to think I've been paying attention."

Bel's heart had given an extra thump at that tiny noise. That's how I knew you weren't Betan, Miles. Reflexes.... But this is hemmed-in ground: isolated by an enemy, or an obstructive force at the least, with no way to retreat. Not dangerous ground, not yet, but what's called for now is exactly what Miles offers -- strategy.

"So you'll want me to call you by a different name." Bel nods seriously, then grins. "Probably too late to claim you as my lieutenant, eh?" Mention of the captains makes Bel's mouth twitch -- going by the weird, evasive proceedings after the Ingress, Miles's assessment is right on the mark.

His next words, though, cut Bel's line of thought off at the pass.

"That's impossible." This is Miles, Bel has no doubt now, but -- "You only debarked yesterday. This is -- it should be early morning on the Ariel now, three days out from Tau Ceti. But I'd swear you were yourself back there too. You knew things he couldn't possibly have known."

Swiping a hand through their hair, Bel glanced around. The hall had been nearly deserted throughout their conversation; only one stranger, ambling through earlier, had looked at them incuriously and continued on into another corridor. Still, it was anything but a secure location.

"We should go somewhere. Shouldn't we--?" Nearly adding 'Miles', Bel's mouth clamped shut on the name. "Whatever you can say, we'll work with that. What should I call you?"

Edited 2015-12-04 02:57 (UTC)

"Miles is just fine. It's the 'Admiral' I want to avoid." Miles grins up at Bel, breathing out a laugh. It does feel good to do Naismith again -- it's been months now -- even more so for the fact that he's been so staunchly avoiding it. He feels like a self-imposed abstinent suddenly indulged in a drink, finding himself thirstier than he'd imagined. "Sorry, Bel, it'd never work. You can act, but you'd never be able to feign the deep and enduring frustration and ire of every commanding officer I've ever had."

Miles furrows his brow at that little conundrum, though, his lips twisting into a frown. "No, I was there. That was definitely me. I remember it all. And obviously I'm me right here -- " He stops, frowning, and blows out a breath. "Look, it's -- complicated, this whole thing with the Ingress. But I know a few people who've been through this sort of thing before. Being pulled from their own universe and deposited elsewhere. As far as I understand, that's just -- how it works. Don't ask me to explain how, but somehow I can have been pulled here and been here for three months without anyone missing me back home. It has to do with time, I think. I don't know -- thinking about the potential science of it all gives me a headache. At any rate, I'm not a clone -- I can't be."

Miles grimaces. He's edging around the idea of a cover, trying to keep himself from slowly circling too close to it -- but how long can he fend off any explanation to Bel? His options are deeply limited here, and growing narrower by the moment. He does need to take Bel somewhere and sit them down for an explanation, because he can tell Bel's a little rattled. His office seems the best choice, but it's got his name on the damn door. He jerks his chin up at Bel and nods them toward the lift at the end of the main hall. Office it is.

"Come on, we can talk about it more in my office." Miles starts to move, but he clears his throat. "There's something you ought to know about my cover here."

Oh, god.

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( december intro log )

12/1

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