trans_9 | When in rome [Semi-open]

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When in rome [Semi-open]

The mission briefing was short and sweet. Planet Epicurea, breathable air, drinkable water, food that wouldn't melt your stomach, matriarchical society unusually fond of procedure and posturing. The plan was to find an object of interest (description helpfully provided by the ship), negotiate for it, then return to the rendezvous coordinates before Stacy decided to leave without them. So simple, only three crew members would be assigned to carry out the mission.

Anwei Ayles, whose negotiation skills and extensive experience dealing with alien races (especially slightly snooty ones) would no doubt prove eminently useful for the delicate nature of the bargaining that would take place,

Howard Bassem, whose intrinsic understanding of diplomacy and unorthodox means of obtaining information would smooth over any rough edges (and maybe help grease the wheels a little behind the scenes), and last of all --

[ooc -- Anyone's free to barge in during the first subthread ("Mission Briefing") if they like, the rest of the post is only Anwei, Howard, and Zouichi :) ]

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Anwei for her part bolted her food without really tasting it and curled up in a silent self-righteous fury on the floor, facing the wall.

She had given it up, she had given it all up. Didn't that count for anything? She had worked so hard, she had arranged everything just so that she would never have to face this sort of situation again. She had her mercenaries, a schedule and a rank and a little white sleeping cubicle, and her AI, and that was all she wanted. Nothing else! She didn't want to be responsible for anything else. She shouldn't be punished for her competence by having to do things she didn't want to do!

She sulked herself to sleep.

Zouichi actually doesn't really hold Howard's cracks against him, especially since he'd essentially put a stop to them by turning the dutiful maid act up to eleven. Anwei's behavior, on the other hand, is baffling. At least he has a lot of practice essentially doing nothing aboard the ship.

Once the other two are asleep, Zouichi takes the opportunity to wander into the dressing room and see what's there. Laid out for their use are some complementary sets of sleepwear; thankfully, two outfits (for himself and Howard, no doubt) are relatively low-key.

He slides out of the maid uniform with relative ease, folding it carefully off to the side to trade it for one of the soft, sky-blue robes (sure, it's drawn closed by what appears to be a length of frilly tulle, but beggars can't be choosers) before inspecting what turns out to be the adjacent bathroom. Ah. Somehow there are two baths there, both the size of a large group hot tub (and quietly bubbling away). One is filled with some kind of fluorescent purple mud. The other appears to be water, but its surface is dusted with fragrant pink flower petals.

Zouichi stands there for a long moment, debating. Then he sheds the robe and slips into the second bath and closes his eyes.

The bathroom actually has two entrances, which was how Anwei is able to stumble in to use it without going past Zouichi. She vaguely thought that he must have gone out for a walk or something - hadn't he done that on Gondepetil? Well, Stacy hopefully chose a safe hotel for them.

She sniffs at her arm - yes, she was a bit rank. And it's not like she had a second dress to put on. So she peels out of her multiple underrobes and uses the shower (multiple nozzles, foaming soap dispenser, mirrored tiles on the walls that she could have done without), and then walks out and around a corner and finds a mud bath. Oh, lovely! It would mean another shower, but a mud bath was just what she needs to get her pores open. She hops in so fast that she doesn't even notice that the other bath is occupied.

What is that... oh. Of course. Either of the other two had decided that now was the time to wake up and leap in. Ordinarily, Zouichi would be a little more concerned with who it was and whether he should be attempting to preserve his modesty, but since the water is a rather cloudy shade of sea-green and also the perfect temperature, he merely lies in place, back resting against one of the walls of the bath, head tipped back and eyes still closed in enjoyment.

Of course, after this, he is probably going to smell like flowers. But that's a distant concern right now.

Anwei was getting herself settled just right for a few minutes before she realized that the figure she was seeing through the steam in the opposite bath was not, in fact, some sort of large ornamental statue. There were several of those statues in the bathroom, towering women holding towels like banners, or groveling men curled up as footstools.

But that was Zouichi, spikes of dark hair over his calm face and closed eyes. He looks entirely comfortable and settled, at peace with himself. She looks and wishes that she could feel that relaxed.

Well, she didn't think that he could drown - he had said he rarely breathed - so she would just be quiet and try to let him rest. She tilts her head back and lets the mud soak through to the roots of her hair - what a wonderful thing short hair was! - and tries to pretend that she is on rest leave with the Sissies; that any moment some gruff sergeant will order them to leave. Cursing, laughing, running naked over the tarmac to the shuttle - happy times.

Well, Zouichi doubted it was Howard over there -- he'd probably make more noise. And maybe not choose to bathe in bright purple mud. Which meant Anwei. And if they were going to continue with this mission, then it wouldn't do to leave her stewing in her own juices like she had been when she'd gone to sleep.

"So," he said, as if to the empty air. "Feel like telling me what that was all about?"

The fluorescent purple mud felt wonderful, but Anwei was touched cold for a moment at his words. She swallowed, audibly, and stared up at the steam-shrouded ceiling, where several chandeliers seemed to be in a battle to strangle each other.

She thought she could hear a sound in the back of her mind: the sound of whatever thread of friendship there was between them, about to be stretched thin and snap under her words. But it was either that, or never tell him. And maybe the thread was stronger than she thought. So-

"I told you that my race is called the Living People, that they considered all other species as things not quite alive, creatures without souls. And I suppose it flows pretty logically from that belief that they would be slavers. After all if other sentients are only animals, why not enslave them? And they were - not gentle, with their slaves."

She closed her eyes, the better to imagine walking through her home, where every gesture could bring some slave cringing to her feet, someone that she could do anything she wanted to - anything! That heady power, then an expected and a familiar power. Then a shocking absence, confusion, fear, rage, not understanding why the world did not obey her. Then she'd come back to her sanity.

"And this place brings back too many bad memories. I apologize for taking them out on you and Howard."

He opened his eyes, not to glance back at her in surprise, but to fix his gaze straight ahead, through the cloud of steam. His face was expressionless, his voice perfectly calm. "Including you?"

Howard wakes suddenly, breathing heavy. It's quiet, too quiet, Drake should be taunting them or Brittney should be singing hymns. He has to make sure the armoire's still in front of the basement door, has to make sure they haven't gotten out. "Orc?"

Sequins?

After a few seconds the rest of his brain catches up and he realizes he was dreaming, one of those 'catapult nightmares' or whatever you call them that leave you sitting up in bed. He glances around, surprised not to see Zouichi at the door or Anwei in the pet beds. He also realizes he's hungry.

Where are they? And furthermore, why did they leave him here alone and defenseless?

Unwilling to call up a midnight snack from room service, he digs through the trash for the remains of the dinner and finds the wax paper that had wrapped the potatoes. It still tastes good, so he tears off a strip and chews it slowly. None of the lights are on. Toothpaste is edible, isn't it? Even with glitter in it. Howard's not picky.

He's about to enter the bathroom when he hears their voices. His hand pauses a millimeter from the doorknob. He doesn't know yet what they're talking about, but he suspects he could get more by listening in than by barging in and forcing a change in their conversation. Ripping another strip of wax paper, he sits down by the door and presses his ear to it.

"It's something I have pushed away from me for years, with both hands." She raised her arms out of the purple mud and raised them in front of her as though shoving something away; the mud dripped from her arms and left little circular tear-marks on the surface of the tub. "Remembering what it was like to believe that I was the sum of all creation, that everything - everything! - existed only to delight or to serve me. Being surrounded by people who would do anything I ordered them to do, would agree with anything I said; it's as addictive as any drug, and more destructive than most.

"I did leave. I did change everything I had been raised to believe. But sometimes I see a bowed head, a dropped gaze, and the old habits wake up. And Epicurea!" She shivered hard enough that little ripples moved through the mud. "Tall rich people, opulent luxury, submissives everywhere - Stacy could not have chosen a worse place to put me. I suppose," her lips went white, "that it might be a test."

What about all those people you ordered around and mistreated? is the reply he bites back. All those people that were forced to remain behind as part of your Empire, the ones that never got a chance to escape? Think they're feeling a little uncomfortable right now?

Instead, he closes his eyes again. "I'm sorry that you're so uncomfortable here," he says -- a little dryly, but it is true. He does regret that the mission is difficult for her. But he does wonder exactly how sorry she feels for the people she stepped on in comparison to how sorry she feels for herself.

"I'm sure this mission will be over soon, and you will no longer have to deal with reminders of home."

The mud had grown too warm around her; she slipped across to sit on the other side, moving her arms idly to make waves.

"Oh no, Zouichi. I can never do that. I look at these hands," she raised them out of the mud and wiped them clean, leaving purple smears o her skin from wrist to elbow, "and I think of the damage I've done. And I try to do what I can to undo it, I do. I try to be kind, I try to help others, but I'm always afraid that it's just a learned reflex, that I'm really just pretending. And without Horanckk, there's so little that I can do..."

She looked at him, purple mud a ring around her white face. "I envy you, I think. I envy your - wholeness."

"Even if it is a learned reflex," he said, "And regardless of whether you're pretending or not, helping others is always a noble endeavor." Of course, it would be considerably more noble if the person doing the helping was a little less focused on how self-sacrificing she was.

"You are managing without Horanckk, one way or the other."

Zouichi leaned back in the bath, submerging himself a little further in the piping hot water. "But I'm afraid I'll have to disagree with your assessment of my 'wholeness'. Several of the crew members have been quite clear in their opinion that I lack some essential trait they feel nonartificial sentients should possess."

"Knowledge shared is knowledge multiplied," she said to herself: it was one of her favorite adages. And there would have been a time when she could have shown a formula of exactly how much she sacrificed, exactly how many lives she saved - to counterweight the many, many deaths she felt responsible for.

But most people found that particular calculation rather tedious to read through.

"I hope so. It would be pleasant to think that my efforts have advanced the whole mission, even if only a little."

"I met humans on Earth who felt that I could not be an intelligent person because of my gender and the color of my hair. These prejudices are baseless; I suspect that many crew members would not even realize you were synthetic if you did not tell them. But of course," she sighed, "when they did find out, they would feel you had deceived them. And that would color all their memories and opinions of you."

Without realizing it, Anwei had used a phrase that was becoming something of a theme: realize you were synthetic. He had never really taken into account before arriving here how much stock other people had put into categorizations of whether you were 'real' or artificial. Being a Synthetic Human didn't bother him, but the people who learned he was created rather than born almost invariably marveled at how 'real' he was, or insisted that he deserved to be treated as 'real'. Because they felt he was innately inferior in some way? He wasn't sure.

In any case, Anwei looked like she'd come out of her past foul mood, which would make the remaining few days here easier on all of them. He took one of the bath towels from the statue of a bowing man, used it to dry off his hair, then rose, wrapping it around his waist. He picked up the robe he'd brought in as he moved toward the door. "I am glad you're feeling better, Anwei, and I appreciate the sentiment. I think I'll go check on Howard."

If anything Anwei preferred Zouichi because he was synthetic. In some part of her mind, synthetic = person like Horanckk. She had met many synthetics and artificials and virtuals and AIs among the mercenaries, driven there by debt or fear or desperation, and she had always enjoyed working with them. For her they were if anything more real than organics.

"Thank you for talking to me." Once he was gone she rose, slicked the mud off her with both hands, and padded back to the shower stall to rinse off.

"I think I'll go check on Howard."

Even before Zouichi's finished with that sentence, Howard's quietly scrambling back to the bed. This team already has enough trust issues without Zouichi and Anwei knowing he's listening in. Besides, knowledge shared may be knowledge multiplied, but knowledge stolen can be fashioned into a backup weapon. And out of this entire team, Howard feels that he's the one most in need of a weapon.

He should be convincingly sleeping-like by the time Zouichi exits the bathroom. He's curled up, mostly obscured by the sparkly comforter in a similar position to how he fell asleep earlier. Before he shuts his eyes he thinks the room looks a bit like a disco-themed rollerblading rink at night, with all the colorful fake gems reflecting moonlight all over the ceiling.

So. Anwei's got some guilt complex going on, some deep insecurity about the earnestness of her actions, not to mention a hyper-inflated sense of importance. And Zouichi doesn't seem quite sure how to think about his physiology, reacting as he is to other people's assumptions and prejudices. Good to know. Possibly useful.

In a way Howard almost feels sorry for Zouichi. It can't be easy to be teamed up with two of the most self-centered people on the ship.

He groans a little, trying in vain to find a more comfortable position to settle in on the scratchy, bumpy bed. Though he'll have to get up at some point to spit the wad of wax paper out anyway. Maybe get that toothpaste, if he's still hungry. Waste not, want a little bit less.

Zouichi isn't really leaving to check on Howard; it's merely a reason to excuse himself from the conversation. But Howard's still in bed and nothing has exploded, which he takes as a good sign.

Time to wait for dawn.

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When in rome [Semi-open]

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