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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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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