| Logs |
2006 September 12
| Hunter |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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| Realms: Hunter Logs |
Part Twenty: A Dessert of Dust
Eavesdown Docks, Newhall
moon of Heinlein, Georgia Quadrant
The brief visit from the Colonel and the Marshals is followed up by the usual bureaucrats for docking paperwork and the like, and they are shortly on their way with their bureaucracy sated for the time being. But even on the docks the crew can see unrest raised by the belief that Wintarsen is still alive. There's no fighting per se; of the Fringe worlds in this Quadrant, Newhall tried hard to remain fairly apart from all such issues. Nevertheless there is a lot of spirited debate, a few rabble-rousers, and more than the usual soap-boxers.
Solbiort scowls, arms folded as she leans against the door and regards the docks, "Fools. They are so bored they vish to die for nothing? They vish to drag others in? Und for a man who vants nothing to do with them. Fools."
Elgyn blinks. "That's a little harsh, Solbiort. Misguided, maybe. Frustrated with their lot. Feeling hemmed in by the Alliance, perhaps. But that does not make them fools," he replies quietly, unpacking some fresh feed for his chickens.
Solbiort sighs, turning away from the hatchway, "Neh, Elgyn... not harsh enough. They do not think past the moment -- they are frustrated, violence vill solve everyzing! But they do not stop to think violence vill destroy, not solve."
Elgyn considers Solbiort's words. "That is true, I suppose. I regret that things turned out this way... although we are not responsible for the tactics of Far Thunder. And certainly not responsible for their reactions to it," he adds, gesturing to the dockhands.
Solbiort nods grimly, "This is truth. Nevertheless, though I love a good fight, I know better than to dive into bad vons. This is a very bad von, und vill only harm us all. Vish I knew how to convince them ozzervise."
Elgyn smiles a little. "Get into a bar brawl with them, and then tell them you're an Alliance officer after? That might scare them off, if they know in advance what they're in for," he suggests, his eyes alight with fond amusement.
Solbiort gives Elgyn a wryly amused glance, "Oh, ya, like that'd work!" She laughs, her usual easy humor restored, and gives Elgyn a quick, one-armed hug around the neck, "Hokay, hokay, enough griping from me, I know!"
Elgyn reaches up, hesitantly, to touch Solbiort's face in a small caress "You can gripe all you want to me, Solbiort, if you need to. I only regret I can offer no answers to this troubling situation."
Solbiort smiles, catching Elgyn's hand in her own and pressing it gently to her cheek for a second. Then she sighs, straightening, "Vell... for now answers are to find cargo, ya? Und..." she squints thoughtfully out at the docks, then grins down at Elgyn, "und maybe a good drink!"
Elgyn smirks a little. "So those dockhands are going to get a fight whether they want one or not, hmm?" Solbiort simply grins at Elgyn, her emerald gaze mischievous.
Once the marshals have departed with the Far Thunder prisoners, Solbiort heads for the Bridge. Firs she takes a moment just to stretch luxuriously, enjoying the sensation as much as she enjoys knowing her ship is finally free of crazy passengers! Then she settles down for some serious 'waving. She needs to send out messages to her mothers and to Five Dragons, letting them all know more than just that she's alive. She grins to herself, a bit pleased with the traditional kenning prose she's written of the battle. Admittedly, a true skald would doubtless smile at it, but for a valkyrie who is relatively untrained in skaldic verse she thinks it's quite nice!
Widely is flung, warning of slaughter,
the weaver's-beam's-web: 't is wet with blood;
is spread now, gray gun-ships-thing before,
the woof-of-the-warriors which valkyrior fill
with the red-warp-of- Hoth's-banesfolk.
Wild the keen wind-steed, diving to shield's din,
Flowing Hakon's mead from our word-meadow,
Language of swords dins by Glory of elves;
Moon's way thunders under, fierce comes Logi-daughter.
In this web woven and wound of entrails,
and heavy weighted with heads of slain;
are blood-bespattered railguns the treadles,
iron-bound the beams; the battens, lasers:
let us weave with our ships this web of victory!
Goes Hild to weaving, Hiorthrimul wing-sister,
Sangrith and Svipul, with swords fiercely brandished:
shields will be shattered, gun mountings splintered,
Frightful hound-of-battle the gun ships will bite.
Wind we, wind we the web-of-shells,
and follow our sister after to war!
Will men behold ships hewn and bloody
where battle's stormgulls have guarded the thane.
Wind we, wind we such web-of-shells
as the young war-worker waged afore-time!
Forth shall we fare where the fray is thickest,
where friends and fellows 'gainst traitors battle!
Wind we, wind we the web-of-shells
where float the flags of unflinching women!
Let not the liege's life be taken:
valkyrior award the weird of battle.
While space-faring women hold sway over planets,
who erstwhile dwelled on outer fringes;
Now doomed to die is a faceless coward,
lies slain brave warriors by treachery now
While peace-true patriots eke much ill abide:
't will not ever after be out of our minds.
Now the web is woven, and weapons reddened-
in all lands will be heard the heroes' fall.
Now awful is it to be without,
as blood-red rack races overhead;
is Shadow's welkin gory with warriors' blood
as we valkyrior war-songs chanted.
Well have we chanted charms full many
about Dragon's favored: may it bode her well!
Let her learn them who listens to us,
speak these spells to shipwomen after.
Start we swiftly with steeds unsaddled-
hence to battle with brandished swords!
Solbiort sends off the poetry singing of her ship's and crew's victory in battle. She wonders a little worriedly (for a few seconds) if it's too bloody and crude... then firmly reminds herself this is not a shrinking boy she's singing to! This is a hearth woman who, even with no valkyrie, avenged the unjust murder of practically her entire family! Soli takes a deep breath and smiles to herself reassuringly... then grins hopefully and checks to see what's there for her from her lady fair!
Her mail does indeed have a delivery, a message sent through the Cortex a few short weeks ago:
Dearest Brave Phoenix,I wished to send you verses in this letter, something at least a tenth as poetic as you have sent me in these past weeks. But I find myself instead filled with worry and concern for you in the fight you are surely even now embroiled in.
So much rides on this; it is not usual for me to place so much hope upon the shoulders of another. Not only is what future I might have at stake -- for it is only if you succeed that I might emerge from this chrysalis of hiding -- but a warm and wonderful future with you is at risk. I wait each night, with every beat of my heart, for some message or word from you over the vast web of the Cortex, and I wonder if you have survived.
But the thought, the worry passes quickly. In the stress of the day, of hiding like this, I might forget for but a moment, yet do I remember that you are not one who would fall easily. You are truly the most remarkable woman I have ever met, and I cannot bring myself to doubt that of all the peoples of the 'Verse, you will triumph in this fight. And so I await, and will await, word of your victory. And I will look out of this cavern, and await the plumes of fire reflected in the still azure waters within the forest, bringing light to their depths and heralding your return.
Your Faithfully Waiting Dragon
Solbiort blinks, her eyes widening as she reads the note. Hastily, she re-reads it, her heart beating a bit faster -- does it really say what she thinks it says? Is her lady truly baring her heart so lovingly? And more pragmatically -- how soon can Solbiort get back to her?!
Solbiort sighs gustily some minutes later, sitting back in her chair and grinning goofily up at the ceiling. Her lady loves her! She's waiting for her! The words almost sing through Soli's mind -- she loves her, she loves her, she said so! She sits up suddenly, hugging herself and still grinning gleefully. More messages! She's still got a bit more to send, and she can savor this lovely note later -- word by lovely, heart-stopping word. But for now... duty still calls.
Solbiort next sends an extensive and far less mythic/iconic version of events to her mothers -- as well as the doubtless-relieving information that their wayward daughter is finally courting! Solbiort includes a (not very) quick description of the brilliant, determined, resourceful, and beautiful lady in question, completely unaware of how much her enthusiasm will tell her hearth mother.
To Five Dragons, Solbiort sends a glad thank you for the lovely token carried successfully into battle. She also admits she's ruing their hours apart, and counting the days that separate them still. She includes a polite query regarding her ship and crew: first, does the formidable lady know anything of Orinel's lost ship? Secondly, does she know anything about the Tong members on Newhall? Solbiort will give the name of the Tong enforcer she knows as well, although she does not mention any other information or family members. Then she spends the next hour or so happily re-reading her 'wave-mail from Five Dragons, and contentedly trying to figure out rhymes for words like 'glorious,' 'inspiring,' and 'breath-taking.' She knows it'll be a bit before any replies can arrive, after all.
The reply from Midgaard is fairly quick in coming -- Solbiort estimates her mothers replied within minutes of receiving the message. It is quick and to the point: they are definitely glad she survived the battle, and are inordinately pleased that Solbiort is courting, though of course they're burning with curiosity as to who the person is. Veleda replies also that they are consulting with the equivalent of Midgaard's secret service, or at least the most discreet of the valkyrior, as to some of the implications of what's been going on.
Midgaard, of course, is not experiencing any sort of unrest. Tried and true allies of the Alliance in the War, they are meeting the 'return' of Wintarsen with disquiet. Of greater concern, though, is how the Alliance is going to respond. Veleda posits the idea that Far Thunder hadn't intended for this to happen, that the revealing of Wintarsen's presence would have been immediately followed with news of his destruction.
Solbiort sends back a swift note in which she agrees with her mothers' assessment, and curiously asks if she may see the results of the information search on Five Dragons. She also lets them know she'll be stopping by in the next month or so, since her ship will be the one making some deliveries to the port on Fenris. While she's on the way, is there anything else she can pick up for her family?
After a few hours, there is finally a reply from Five Dragons. She appears to be so excited that she forgot to put in a salutation:
I cannot begin to tell you how glad I am to hear from you! This was all I had hoped for since these trials began, and more. I can at last be a person again, and see you in public without being fearful of Far Thunder seeking us both harm. And I can now travel beyond Ashtoreth, if we should want to meet at a time and place more convenient to us both....As for the Newhall Tongs, I strictly avoid any of the Tongs. They are all, universally, to me organizations to avoid. The Syndicate at least is practical, and you can expect them to do the practical thing. The Tongs, on the other hand, have elaborate and painstaking codes of honor which must be adhered to; the merest slight can wreak havoc on months of negotiation. They are criminal organizations with ties to their communities that are admirable, but at the same time are incredibly vicious. I would be cautious in dealing with any of the Tongs.
As for the ones on Newhall, I do know they have all but eliminated Syndicate presence there, and are now turning on each other in a skirmish over territory that has been brewing for the better part of a year. If you are to deal with them, my love, then remember what I have come to learn through much pain: they will always keep their word if seriously and in earnest given. The enforcer you have named is one of their higher-ranked ones, and is both more dangerous and more honest than most members of his Tong -- which is saying quite a great deal.
I dread that it will be hours before you receive this message, that you know that I am filled with utmost joy to hear from you again and hear that you are safe and well. I can only hope that your travels take you to Ashtoreth again soon, or if not Ashtoreth then at least this quadrant where I might go to you and see you with my own eyes again.
Solbiort would worry about what she's read so far, but her brain is having happy fizzies currently. Five Dragons called Solbiort her love! Really, truly, she did, wheee! Soli flops back happily in her chair again and sighs deeply. Much though she'd like to dance around and whoop about this, it wouldn't be dignified for a captain to do... so she'll have to make do with whooping internally. She said it -- she really said it! She loves me! Solbiort does a happy wriggle in her seat -- after checking no one else is around -- then checks to see if her mothers have anything they want from her. She's unwittingly still beaming. Life is astonishingly nice!
Solbiort will also check their cargo list against her navigation book, plotting out their schedule for the next few months. Even if she can't be at Five Dragons' side immediately, she can at least let the lady fair know where she'll be -- and, as well, let her know Solbiort would be happy to pick up any particular presents her lovely lady might desire? There is nothing more from Midgaard other than a note saying that the company of 'discreet valkyriors' who make up Midgaard's secret service are doing their research on what more they can pass on to Solbiort.
Solbiort is quietly pleased at that -- and still quite thrilled about Ji's enthusiasm! She'll send the Chimera's projected schedule on to Five Dragons, with the caveat that it is, of course, vulnerable to sudden change if a terribly lucrative offer were suddenly dropped into their lap. Then she grins to herself a bit ruefully. Much though she'd adore seeing Ji soon, it looks like they're going to be separated yet for at least another 2 or so months. She sighs wistfully... then chuckles at herself again. Being in love is nice!
Raj once again heads out into the Docks' watering holes to scrounge up some work. For his part, Nigel begins his work in tracking down any trace of Orinel. The local Cortex is a bit hoary and dusty; it's not used too much beyond the local shipping and commercial data stores -- this is the inner part of the Fringe, after all. There isn't much, though he does come upon a brief news reference. Unfortunately, the full text of the article is in an encrypted data store.
After about an hour, Nigel's acumen pays off: the article is revealed in all its glory. Though there's precious little, there's enough for him to follow up on: it's the start of an investigative journalism piece on Orinel. It seems not long after she arrived on Newhall she boarded a transport for Ezra... which never arrived. According to the journalist's notes, the transport dropped completely off the registry of ships, as if it never existed. Orinel never arrived at Ezra. The journalist was suspicious, of course... but considering the article is unfinished, it was never published. Nigel takes notes on the reporter's information, the disappearing ship making him think very much of their own Chimera
Raj, meanwhile, is dealing with the frustration of handling unfamiliar clients. Things are a lot simpler on the Border Moons, where your ability to deal with paperwork is as important as knowing the ins and outs of trading. Out on the Fringe though it's more a matter of getting people to open up -- and being met at the docks by a pack of law compliance officers is not always good for business. Nevertheless, Raj does have a lead on a legitimate cargo, thanks to Odessa's and Oleg's suggestions: a printing press with two sets of Cyrillic typefaces. The seller is a Russian, Leonid Iosevich, who is more than willing to sell the press and typefaces at cost to the Russian community. The 'gray' contact is a little less savory: a shipment of medicines to Higgins' Moon. The ceramic 'mud' hasn't flowed as well as it could over the past few weeks, and rumor has it that Higgins is cutting down on imports until the exports start to meet the moon's costs.
With Solbiort along on the second half of Raj's cargo arrangements, the presence of a Midgaardian seems to help negotiations, both legit and illicit. There are at least half a dozen 'gray' offers, and a score of legit cargoes that seem to be available. Amongst the more interesting legitimate cargoes are Sihnon silks to the Vagner skyplex; transshipment of beef to Ezra; and several tons of palletized grain to Shornscale. The gray cargoes are basically more of the same: high-paying, low-volume cargo runs of dubious lineage. The one to Higgins's Moon stands out.
In addition, there appear to be plenty of passengers seeking passage. All but one are legitimate; the sole exception is pretty much the first thing out of a local Tong enforcer's mouth as they sit in the dive, the enforcer's two bodyguards being remarkably discreet. All three are wearing rough-and-tumble fisherman's garb rather than the gentry suits most Tong people prefer. He sits there calmly, hands folded in front of him, looking solemn and serious as he says, "I would like to broker passage aboard your ship for one person, one-way."
Solbiort silently raises an eyebrow. Raj says, "Would that passenger be yourself, then? When would you hope to be leaving? We will be docked here for several days, arranging cargoes and such."
The enforcer shakes his head once -- clearly he's into economy of movement. "No, it will not be for myself. It is for my..." He breaks off, and glances at the bodyguards, who are alertly not looking at him at all. "It is for my daughter," he says in a much lower tone. "There are... troubles between the Tongs of late. We are not as... unified as the Syndicate. Tongs war against each other, and in this case one has cast grievances upon mine. My daughter is not safe here. But because of my known affiliation I cannot legitimately book passage on a passenger ship."
Solbiort sighs softly. Tong troubles she does not want to get into... but she suspects the sins of the father are the real issue here. Raj nods, "I foresee no problem accommodating your passenger, then. Are they a an adult or a child? Also, our next stop will be Ulundi. Will they be debarking there, or did you have some other destination in mind?"
The man looks unutterably relieved, ducking his head in as meaningful a bow as he can while seated. "Thank you. She is a child. Quin Ji is twelve years of age by the standard Alliance calendar. My sister on Triumph has agree- has insisted I send her to her there, at least until this is over."
Solbiort perks up a bit, "Triumph? Spent some time traveling around there... vhat is her name, please? Your sister, I mean?"
"My sister's name is Antonia Quin. She is only recently arrived there, but has married well. She has avoided any Tong involvement herself. Because our Tongs are involved only with the worlds of Heinlein, my daughter will be safe there."
Solbiort says, "Ah. Sheh-sheh. Who did she marry, if I may ask? Somevon new or an old-timer there?"
The enforcer replies, "A low-level administrator at the Blue Sun trading post. Antonia said he and his family have lived on Triumph since its founding, and this is the first position anyone in his family has held which has not involved... agriculture in some form."
Solbiort smiles politely, realizing this guy's not going to answer her actual question. She hushes up and lets Raj negotiate. Raj frowns slightly, saying, "We really don't have much in the way of facilities to handle children, but I don't think there will be any problem transporting her. When would you like to have her aboard? Also, if you'd like to make some arrangements to have us pick her up somewhere else, that could easily be arranged as well."
The Tong enforcer nods. "Thank you; as close to your departure time as possible. I can be ready to have her at your ship with a few hours' notice. Antonia and Lyman Quin will be awaiting your arrival at Triumph, whenever that might be. I would only ask for an estimated time and date of your arrival."
Solbiort considers silently as Raj and the Tong enforcer talk. 'Lyman Quin' doesn't immediately ring a bell for her, although it is similar to the names in one of the communities she'd helped out with Elgyn. She recalls them being a reclusive group -- strongly Shephardic but not so much that they were xenophobic. Mostly they'd seemed, to her, folks who just had their own way of worshiping. Raj shrugs, "We'll be here a couple of days securing freight and passengers. As soon as we sign up for a departure slot with traffic control, we can let you know. We'll have a better idea of travel time then. If you can give us contact information for the Quins, we'll contact them as soon as we're able."
The enforcer nods. "I will have the information for you when I bring Ji. Thank you; I cannot tell you how much this means to me." He gestures to one of the bodyguards, who very discreetly puts a flat bag in his hand. The enforcer slides it across the table to Raj; it jingles quietly. "This is the first half of the payment," he says. "I will bring you the second half prior to your departure." It is a tidy sum, this half of the payment -- enough to cover the maintenance and upkeep of the ship for the journey.
Solbiort raises an eyebrow again, watching Raj check the bag's contents. She looks up at the Tong enforcer and says quietly, "Ve vill take care of her."
Raj deftly moves the money out of sight, rising to shake the man's hand and saying, "We have a reputation for discreet handling of difficult cargoes. I anticipate no problems." Solbiort grins ruefully at the comment about discretion and difficult cargoes.
The enforcer ducks his head again in a bow over the handshake. "Thank you. There is a flimsy in the wallet with information on how to contact me when you are ready to depart."
As the gentlemen make their way outside, Raj says to Solbiort, "Do you think this will become a major field for us? Transporting illicit people?"
Solbiort mutters, "Bright Lady, I hope not! Vas chust daydreaming about peace und qviet on ship vith no passengers." She chuckles, "Ah, vell! Are being paid qvite, qvite vell, though... so am thinking should vork out."
Back on the ship a while later, Solbiort updates the others, "Raj has found some good cargoes for us. Have a printing press in Cyrillic for the Russians on Boros. Have girl passenger to Triumph vhich has paid for entire trip!" She grins at Raj at that, then continues, "Also have tons of grain for Shornscale, und Sihnon silks for Midgaard's space port." She grins at Nigel, adding, "Turned down gray shipment of medication for Higgins' Moon... unless you vant to go there, di-di Nigel?"
Nigel snorts at Solbiort, a new puzzle in his hands that he's prodding at. He doesn't even look up at the captain, "Sorry, still not that much of a masochist."
Solbiort chuckles at Nigel, then considers a moment. "Hopefully that vill be only passenger, though. Vhat you think, Raj? Ve need more passengers or cargo, or this is enough?"
Elgyn spreads his hands. "No reason not to make more profit, Captain, as long as it all lines up. I'm sure everyone agrees."
Solbiort considers how much cargo space they have, mentally comparing it with the possibilities, then amends, "Actually... that is it for cargo. Think ve need more passengers or no, Raj?"
Raj says, "This is as close to as full boat we've seen yet. Frankly, the printing press doesn't seem to be too urgent, and the foodstuffs are perishable. I'd suggest either of those and the silks, and pick up the printing press next time." He scratches his head a moment, then continues, "I'm not sure how many passengers you want to take with us. We're not really set up as a liner, and we'll need to make sure we've got enough food and such for folks. Maybe some entertainments and the like, but I can look into that. I just need to know how many rooms to fill."
Solbiort says, "Ve can sqveeze printing press into cabin, am thinking, Raj. Think grain vould be best since it is deliverable only hours avay from Ulundi und Triumph. Silks definitely, ya. Passengers..." She sighs, considering, then says thoughtfully, "Are there any for moons around Eclipse or Jormungandr?"
Going over the lists shows two passengers -- two young men -- bound for Shornscale, and a middle-aged woman who is looking for passage to Alfheim. Elgyn muses. "Probably want to keep all the passengers away from Bekah, Yori, and Aiyana's room," he thinks aloud.
Solbiort looks blankly at Elgyn... then blinks, "The... you named the chickens?!" She looks like she's struggling with laughter! She hastily turns to Raj, "Ah! Right, ya, those three passengers vill be fine!"
Elgyn looks hurt. "Why not? They've certainly got their own personalities. The third one, Aiyana? In my tongue that means 'ever-blooming.' Goes with her production rate. And they're hard working girls, keeping us in eggs."
Solbiort nods slowly, trying to look sober, "Ah.. I see. Um... vell, vhat else. Oh! Nigel, you find out anything interesting about Orinel?"
Raj nods, "I'll go put those bids in right now, and have a short list of any additional 'passenger appropriate' things we should pick up." He stands and begins collecting the notes strewn on the table. He pauses a moment, then says, "Just to make sure we're all aware of this, one of our passengers is a minor traveling alone, and her getting to the ship may be a bit of cloak-and-dagger. We're not expecting any trouble, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't be ready for it." He explains Quin Ji's situation, and her father's plan to send her to relatives on Triumph. When he's done, he asks, "Any questions about this?"
Elgyn nods a little at Quin Ji's tale. "Sounds like a good thing to do. And the plat to do it certainly doesn't hurt," he comments.
Solbiort rumbles quietly, "As long as it's really his daughter. Ve should be careful und discreet vith her. Am thinking perhaps best to visit Triumph first, then Ulundi, if you do not mind, Elgyn. They are only hours apart, after all." Then she nods to Raj, "Good vork; sheh-sheh. No qvestions from me." She sighs faintly, "Although do vish ve could find decent cook."
Elgyn spreads his hands. "I agree. Sympathize with the little tot's plight and all, but makes sense not to have her on the ship longer than necessary." Solbiort nods to Elgyn, satisfied.
Nigel raises his head with a smirk, "Well, Orinel was on a ship that never arrived anywhere. Which makes me wonder if that ship might have been a whole lot like our good girl."
At Nigel's comment Solbiort looks over interestedly, "Really now? Very interesting. Vonder vhere she actually go to?"
Nigel smiles crookedly, "Seems like we might know the right people to ask, hm?"
Solbiort says, "Vould say ya, but... vouldn't it be a Boros ship, not an Ezran von, if is who ve are thinking of?" She considers, then says slowly, "Vhat... vhat if poor voman nefer know ship vas supposed to disappear?"
Nigel smiles lopsidedly at Solbiort, eyes looking a little less than happy, "What if. Not good to contemplate, eh?"
Solbiort nods slowly, but simply says, "I vill ask her if she knows anything, di-di." Nigel nods once and goes back to his puzzle, eyes serious. Solbiort nods, "Hokay. Ve have cargo, passengers... ve are ready. Now only have to vait for loading, meeting vith Colonel, und haf promised Elgyn night out to ask around about Ulundi. Anyvon else have anything they need done here?" When no one replies, she continues, "Hokay. In that case, ve are concluded here." She looks at Elgyn and grins, "Thirsty?"
Elgyn smiles. "My ears, maybe, for news. Best I stay away from the liquor, though... still can't hold it." He looks at the others. "Anyone else want to watch Solbiort beat folks up?"
Solbiort laughs, slapping Elgyn lightly on the back, then shakes her head, "Neh, neh, is not goal of bar-hopping tonight, pretty. Is to find you information on your home."
Elgyn looks amused. "But if a bar fight just happens to occur, well, that's not your fault, is it?"
Solbiort smiles quietly at Elgyn, saying simply, "Tonight is not for fighting, di-di. Is for you to find information."
Elgyn tilts his head. "As you say, Captain."
Solbiort looks at the others, "Vant to come along, und get good meal?"
Nigel doesn't even glance up at the question, "No. I've got a little more to do with the Cortex. Got some letters I've been meaning to write."
Solbiort nods to Nigel, then looks inquiringly at Raj and Molly. Raj shrugs, "I could go for food. Everyplace has some interesting specialty."
Solbiort nods to Raj, then grins at Nigel, "You sure you don't vant to come along?" She thinks a moment, then adds, "Can go someplace vith good Scotch if you vish?"
Nigel ponders that for a moment, then actually smiles at Solbiort, "Nah. I've got some advice of my own to be taking, and got some important paperwork to get filed. But if they've got anything good older than ten years, buy a bottle?"
Solbiort grins, "Be happy to, di-di." She looks at the others, "Hokay! Is qvest now -- information for Elgyn, und old Scotch for Nigel! Ve are off!"
The crew -- Nigel remains behind to tend to his letter-writing, and Molly remains as well to watch the ship and to do a proper sundries inventory -- head off into the Docks. The tension throughout the day has subsided somewhat as people crowd the pubs and bars to watch the news 'wave. To someone with a trained eye, it's hard to tell if the news is downplaying the unrest or playing it up. However, one pub they find is nice and comfortable, if a bit busy, and the news 'wave is turned down. It seems fairly popular with the Georgia shippers. Solbiort looks around, pleased, "Ah! This von smells goot. Ve eat here, ya?" She strides to a table and settles, cheerfully eying the help.
Elgyn nods. "Seems fine to me," he murmurs, looking at the news 'wave curiously to see if there's anything new in the report they should be warned of that's made public knowledge. The news doesn't focus on the unrest for overly long, speaking of it only in broad terms, and after a few Blue Sun commercials, the news goes on to local favorite sports, particularly xiangqi, rounders, and caber. Solbiort waves over one of the help and orders a meal and drinks for the three of them. She also asks if they have any good Scotch, or anyone here who's recently been to Ulundi. Elgyn rolls his eyes. "Newscast is as it always was," he grumbles before listening to Solbiort's query.
The cute young man thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. "We don't have scotch aged that long," he says, "But there's a spirits store down the street that should have aged scotch." He looks around, then points to a group of three men and one women in a corner, not unlike the Chimera's crew. "I think I overheard them saying they'd just come back from Ulundi."
Solbiort grins, thanking the young man and patting him lightly as he leaves. Then she turns to Elgyn, gesturing at the other crew, "Vant to invite them over?"
Elgyn smiles. "Well, don't want to make them move around too much, but maybe one of them will feel like being sociable." He gets up then, moving over towards the group at the other table. "Evening, neighbors," he greets them. "Been told you visited Ulundi recently?"
All four clam up immediately and look up at Elgyn with varying levels of concern, suspicion, and dubiousness. "Who's asking?" one of the crew answers -- he may or may not be the captain. Solbiort raises a curious eyebrow, watching Elgyn... and quietly shifts so she can get to him quickly if necessary. Elgyn seems confused by this answer, looking back at his Captain. "Er... me?" He moves on. "Look, I'm not trying to pry, or anything... Ulundi's my home. I've heard tell that the Alliance is keeping it under tight wraps, and...well, that's all I've heard. Looking to find out more." He adds a moment later, "I'd be willing to buy you a round if you'd like, in exchange for what you know."
Solbiort frowns thoughtfully... then murmurs to Raj, "Be right back." She rises, weaving her way deliberately through the tables, and stands behind Elgyn with a hand on his shoulder, studying the little group before them. Elgyn looks back at Solbiort with an expression that seems to say, 'is it my breath?'
The crew which (according to the waiter) might have come in from Ulundi are rather closed-lipped. "No, thanks," one says fairly warily. "Keep your money; it's fine. We're not really interested."
Elgyn's brow knits at this reaction. "Look, neighbors... I'm going there anyway, no matter what you say. Haven't been there since the war, and I've got family to look up. I'd like to not go there ill equipped. Can you at least tell me and my captain if we can, or if there's big damn gunships lurking that that will shoot at us just for having the wrong color hood ornament?" he tries again.
Solbiort squeezes Elgyn's shoulder gently, "Moment, Elgyn, ching?" Elgyn's expression is bemused at this stonewalling, but he goes where Solbiort leads him. She studies the group silently and slowly, then shrugs, "Elgyn, forget them. They vill not be talking. Ve vill ask others." She heads back to her table. The four crewers look a little relieved as Solbiort heads back to her table, one of them downing their drink in a single gulp.
Elgyn looks between his retreating captain and the stony faced crew, and sighs. This only makes him more concerned about what the matter of things is. For one irrational moment he thinks about grabbing one of them and slamming them against the table, demanding answers. But then that moment passes and he shakes his head. "[Things never go smooth]," he mutters in Lingua before going back to his table.
Solbiort settles down and eats her meal with gusto -- fresh food should be appreciated in her book! -- and ponders hitting another bar. She'd still like to find someone useful to talk with her First Mate. She asks the cute young man if there's any place else nearby where ship crews gather and talk? Elgyn stabs at his meal with his fork as if it offends him, mind filling will all sorts of ugly possibilities, each one worse than the last. Solbiort murmurs quietly to Elgyn, "Don't vorry, pretty. Ve find somevon who vill talk vith you. Is possible they chust did illegal run to Ulundi, und nozzing vorse."
The meal passes; the pub patrons clear out and refill. The four-person crew left half an hour before by the time Solbiort poses her question to the waiter. As he considers, a man in a worn duster carrying a broad brown brimmer in one hand and a drink in the other approaches. "I t'ink I c'n help answer some o' ye questions, lass," he says in a lilting brogue. "Were askin' after Ulundi afore, I t'ink?" He's not a young man, certainly, with salt-and-pepper hair and a slightly weathered face. But he has strong features and a wiry frame beneath the duster, and he doesn't seem to be drunk at all.
Solbiort grins, raising an eyebrow -- she's never been called 'lass' before! "Vell now... ya, vas. Und you are...?"
Elgyn blinks and sits up. "Sir, yes sir... please, come and sit," he replies, the man getting his complete attention. Solbiort nudges out a chair with one boot.
The waiter takes a few orders for after-dinner drinks as the man ducks his head in a bow. "Xie-xie, thank you." He sits in the chair, neither making himself too much at home nor being standoffish. "M'name's Wayland, Wayland Mackenzie. I do a few singleship runs 'round Georgia." He gestures over his shoulder. "The crew ye were talkin' to earlier -- don't pay 'em nary a thought. 'Twas a smugglin' run they'd done to Ulundi, an' were wary of ye bein' Alliance." He grins faintly. "Bein' a Midgaard lass, no offense, might not have helped 'em otherwise. Midgaard's well-regarded, but they're considered straight-and-true. The lad here being Ulundi himself wouldn't have helped, either."
Solbiort rumbles, "Figured. Go on?"
Elgyn blinks. "Wait... me being a native would have made them less likely to trust me? Why?"
Solbiort says, "Vas smuggling run outvard, Elgyn. Not to planet. From it."
Wayland nods. "Surely. I went to Ulundi m'self about a month ago; a contract to do some land surveyin' on behalf of the tribes." He looks to Elgyn. "They might've thought you were a Security recruit or a rep from the tribal council lookin' into the goods they were smugglin' offworld." He nods to Solbiort, taking a sip from his drink. "Aye, that's the chant of it."
Elgyn blinks. "Oh." And then he gets it. "Ohhh... they might have been smuggling something my people wouldn't have wanted taken..."
Solbiort curls her hands around her mug and studies the man thoughtfully, "So. Vhat is going on, on Ulundi? My First Mate here has not been home for about a decade, und vould like to know how things are. Anything you can tell him?"
Wayland nods again. "There's a number of local arts, plants, metalwork... things like that, which I imagine the Ulundi aren't too pleased to have taken out of the world." He blinks to Solbiort. "Ten years?" he says, and looks to Elgyn again. "Faith, since before Unification. I confess, you're not likely going to like it." As if for emphasis he takes a stiff belt of his drink and sets the glass down, grimacing. "Makes me wish I'd asked for some of the Russian vodka 'stead of water...."
Elgyn takes the glass. "Then we'll see about getting you the proper drink, sir," he replies, looking for the server.
Solbiort frowns, glancing worriedly at Elgyn... then sighs, waving over the help, "Vodka!" She looks back at Wayland, "Go on, ching."
Wayland nods. "Xie-xie. I appreciate it. Right, then. Well, after the Indeps capitulated, Ulundi didn't lay down arms right away. Took a coupla regiments of Alliance marines to drive the point home before the tribal council capitulated. Didn't take long after that before they started consolidating the tribes. Before, they were all over the world. It took some doing but the Alliance began to drive, lure, impound, and otherwise get the Ulundi to go to these 'urban development centers."
Solbiort isn't surprised, but still isn't happy at hearing this. She sips her drink quietly and watches Elgyn. He has a moment of fierce pride when he's told the Alliance had to come in force just to subdue his people, but that's the last good feeling he has for a while. The color drains from his face as the man keeps talking, and that's impressive considering his dark skin. " I see," he replies with unnatural calm.
"Some called them interment camps at first, but soon enough they developed into something approaching the Fringe idea of cities. And they are cities, in every sense of the word, 'cept the Alliance thought it could make the Ulundi behave. Your people are strong ones, lad, and I've nothin' but respect for 'em. They're also the last people in the 'Verse I'd want to face in a dark alley." He takes a sip of the vodka, shuddering as it goes down. "'Cept for Reavers," he whispers, "but they're not quite 'people.'" A moment later he continues, "Anyway, the Alliance herded or cajoled the Ulundi into these centers, and kept things pretty bottled up well with the marines. But they couldn't stop the tension between the tribes, try as they might, and they have been trying. Doesn't help that the Ulundi are now in spaces that are about ten thousand times smaller than they're used to roamin'."
Elgyn is quiet for a heartbeat, swallowing. "Why the trade embargo? And what is the story with travel restrictions?" he queries evenly.
"I'm sorry, lad," Wayland says with sympathy. "The Alliance is tryin' to settle things culturally -- which is to say, making the Ulundi compliant with Central laws and culture. I think the Alliance worries Ulundi'll become some bed of unrest. If it is, they figure better it be from a few easily-controlled urban centers rather than guerrillas across the world. As for the travel restrictions, the Alliance wants to keep folks like those smugglers from before from bringing stuff into the world or out of it that might make a bad situation worse. Last thing they need is for some of the hotheads in one tribe to get hold of repeaters or, Buddha help them, assault plasers. As for the other direction, cargo going off of Ulundi... it varies. Ulundi doesn't have many things to export yet, and what could be desired outside the world is usually stuff the tribal council wants to keep on Ulundi."
Solbiort scowls, "Tribal treasures, holy symbols, things like that, ya?"
Only because Solbiort knows Elgyn well does she realize the way his eyes crinkle up signals he's suddenly wanting to cause property damage. "Possibly even food and other natural resources, if there's no shipments of the same coming in," he says quietly, his lips a thin line. His hands squeeze into fists.
Solbiort studies Elgyn quietly for a moment... then pushes her mug over to him. "Have a drink, pretty. Von't hurt you. Might help." Then she waves the cute young man over and quietly, so as to not interrupt, makes sure Elgyn is kept plied with a mug of water for every drink he has. She'd like more of the same also... and if the cute young man can purchase a bottle of at-least-20 year old Scotch for her and bring it here, she's happy to tip him handsomely.
Elgyn takes the glass without looking at it, and takes a swig, grimacing at the strong taste. "You'd think the Alliance would have learned something from Earth-That-Was. But perhaps that would be giving them too much credit," he grunts. "Is it really that bad? Is there violence taking place between the old clans in a regular basis?" In his mind, Elgyn is frustrated: in the years before the War things were downright peaceful... maybe not everywhere, but on his side of the globe there were no conflicts. And after the shelling of Shadow, the tribes had actually come together as one... he had fought beside members of a half dozen different tribes. It was a big thing that had stuck in his mind. He would have hoped that that coming together would have survived the war. It wounds him that he believed that, in his child-like naiveté.
Wayland nods to Solbiort, "Aye, things some collectors would give someone else's right arm for." He looks again to Elgyn with sympathy. "Aye, well, Ulundi came through the war well; nary much land-damage. Not much orbital bombardment, an' then only tactical-level bombing. All of the world is still habitable and arable. Foodstuffs -- basic foodstuffs -- aren't a problem. They don't eat rich, but they eat. No, it's other things 'sides basic foodstuffs that need 'creative importing.' Alliance never seems to be able to get in enough medicines and the like, and the Ulundi aren't used to issues like dysentery, mono, and all of a hundred other things that crop up when you're suddenly living in closer quarters to about a ten thousand people than you've ever been to your own family."
Wayland takes another -- cautious -- sip of the vodka, wincing and shuddering. "Oogh. Xie-xie for the vodka, lass, but I'm thinkin' I shouldn't have had more than a sip of it. It's hella strong. Mmph... it's not Tong-level violence -- you're not getting the old tribes arming themselves and turning the cities into war zones. But younger ones, they're getting dissatisfied, restless, hot-headed. Tribes tend to have one or several 'gangs' or bands of youths or braves who cluster together and... cause trouble together. And for the past year they've been marking their territories in the cities. No outright fighting yet, and to their credit a lot of them are venting their frustrations in creative, non-violent ways. But there's that simmering tension."
Wayland pauses. "To the point where there's been a trickle of another type of 'contraband' that the tribal council's been trying to stamp out, but which the Alliance can't or won't stop. You have some who are indenturing themselves to get off of Ulundi and away from the pressures. And others are paying ruinous amounts to just get away. Not a lot of them; there's no sort of 'second Exodus'! But it's more than a handful and it's enough to have made the tribal council take note."
Elgyn grimaces. "Ancestors forfend! That's horrible!" He's heard of the practice of indenturing, and how often those who are put in such a situation are horribly taken advantage of. He looks clearly upset now, but at least he's not turning the table into splinters.
Wayland says, "It's not the worst fate t' befall someone, but it'd not be my first option in choosing a career, no." Solbiort rests her chin on her fist and wonders idly about cultural differences. She's seen indentured servants who did quite well for themselves. It all depends on the society they're living in, she supposes.
Elgyn rubs his forehead, sighing. "And that they choose to do it rather than stay on Ulundi only speaks to how bad it is," he murmurs... he glances towards the table where the other crew were sitting, his expression suddenly dark... but no anger materializes. He finally looks at Wayland with tired eyes. "Is there anything else I should be warned of? And... well, are they going to give us a hard time for wanting to make port?"
Wayland considers, then shakes his head. "Nothin' more than what I've told you, lad. The Alliance, they won't give you a hard time landing and taking off so long as you don't have contraband."
Solbiort smiles ruefully, "Vell, sheh-sheh for talking to us."
Elgyn nods absently. "Yes, thank you, sir," he murmurs, his expression tired and troubled.
Solbiort collects her bottle of well-aged Scotch from the cute young man, tips him generously, and pays for the meal. "Come. Ve return to ship now, ya? Sleep on news."
Wayland nods, standing. "Glad to help. If you need anything else just let me know. Wayland Mackenzie of the Mercator. I'll actually be back on Ulundi in another few weeks for another surveying op. Xie-xie for the drink, lass. And... I'm sorry I didn't have better news."
Elgyn shakes his head. "Not your fault, sir. I needed to know, the good and the bad." Or the bad and the worse, as the case may be.
Solbiort pauses, looking up at the man, "Hey, you meet any anthropologists vhile you there on Ulundi?" She politely adds, "Captain Solbiort Skialdmeyjar, Raj Daybreak, Elgyn Musere, all of Scarlet Chimera."
"Mmm? Anthropologists? One I did, last time I was there, but... truth be told, lass, he was so deep in his cups I was doubtin' he'd be able to come up for air."
Solbiort laughs, "Ah, goot enough then! Sheh-sheh."
It's later that night, after Elgyn has discovered worrisome information about his home. Solbiort has been careful to make sure he gets as much water as alcohol in him, so he won't wake up with a splitting headache -- especially since he doesn't drink ordinarily. Once she's done the evening's final walk-through on the Chimera, she comes back to their cabin and closes the hatch, observing Elgyn sympathetically. Elgyn is clearly trying hard to seem strong... during the whole time after the helpful fellow left he'd been quiet, seemingly trying to drink himself into oblivion... fortunately, Solbiort's guidance in the matter prevented him from getting too wasted. He's steady enough on his feet now, but still morose as he sits on the bed, staring dumbly at nothing. "I feel guilty," he finally murmurs. "It's foolish for me to do it... none of this would have been different if I'd gone home. And yet I still do."
Solbiort sighs, sitting down next to Elgyn on the bed, "Happens, pretty. I felt guilty about Ranaka too, truth be told. Vondered if I'd been there, vould I have prevented her mistakes? I know there vas nothing I could have done, any more than all the other folks who vere there who also loved her... but still I felt guilty." She gently hugs him, adding, "Don't torture yourself, pretty. Vasn't anything you could have done. Vere busy trying to live -- und isn't that exactly vhat your family vould have vanted for you?"
Elgyn leans into Solbiort's embrace, sighing. "That is not the worst part, though. Even as I sat there I had thoughts unworthy of a warrior... I wanted to pick a fight with that crew, on the flimsy assumption that they might have taken something from my kin... worse, I had thoughts of going back to Einsort and using Wintarsen whether he wanted it or not to kick the gorram Alliance off my home."
Solbiort smiles ruefully, resting her cheek against the crown of Elgyn's head, "Ah... ya, ve all have momentary lapses. Fortunately you are an adult, and recognized them as such. You have no reason to feel guilty there, pretty."
Elgyn closes his eyes... and though he makes no sound to suggest it, tears have welled up in his eyes and they trickle down his face. "Realistically, this changes nothing... not my return home or my goals in doing so. But... it aches, Solbiort. My heart burns at the injustice of it, at wrongs that are centuries old suddenly repeating all over. And yet I can do nothing," he whispers.
Solbiort sighs softly, aching internally herself for her poor hors- er, huskarl. She wishes there were something she could do to protect him from this; she knows there's not, and even if there were it would not be what he truly wanted. He's not a Midgaardian boy; it's much easier with them. So she does the only thing she can -- she hugs him close and tries to be there for him. Elgyn is silent for a long time, crying silently as he nestles needfully against Solbiort. His desire for closeness seems to be no more than it is, and after a time his shivering ceases. "I will need your help, Soli," he murmurs, lifting his head to look in her eyes.
Solbiort smiles, still holding Elgyn close as she gently brushes back his short, fuzzy hair, "You know you have it, pretty. Vhat you need?"
"For you to be my conscience. This will be a trial for me... there are few things I care more about than the welfare of my people. I will need you at my side to remind me that my actions might have far worse consequences than any short term benefit that might be reaped," he says simply.
Solbiort nods gravely, "This I am happy to do, pretty. But am thinking you are better than you know; should not vorry."
Elgyn sighs. "Perhaps. But recent events have taught me that there is still much unresolved anger inside me. It may yet see the light of day." He shakes his head, scowling. "Forgive me, bright star. I am a doomsayer with all this grousing. Let us just go to bed... it will not hurt as much come the morning."
Solbiort smiles, "Is nozzing wrong vith letting out anger, pretty. Is only wrong vhen you hit wrong person. But am happy to take you to bed. Sometimes good snuggle or tumble is chust vhat you need to air out frustrations."
Elgyn smiles, flushing only slightly. "I think to hold you will be enough tonight, Solbiort," he murmurs demurely.
Solbiort chuckles quietly, giving Elgyn a gentle squeeze, "You are so much like Midgaardian boys sometimes, pretty! So shy, blush so cute."
Elgyn tries not to take offense at that... he knows she did not mean it as such. And to be honest... it's not such a bad thing either, to attract her so. "It is all still new to me, Solbiort... it comes easy to me to blush," he murmurs.
Solbiort grins, rubbing her chin affectionately against Elgyn's short fuzz, "Is all right, pretty. Is nozzing wrong vith blushing; is just... vell... is sveet, you know?"
Elgyn smiles a little. "There are very definitely worse things to be," he finally replies, looking at her with those soulful eyes... and then he leans in, hesitantly, as if to kiss her...
Solbiort smiles lazily, rumbling, "Qvite agree," as she gently lays him back to give him a long, thorough, satisfying kiss.
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