rathercommon: (pensive)
Kitty Jones ([personal profile] rathercommon) wrote in [community profile] barrayar2015-05-17 08:36 pm

vorkosigan au :')

This isn't a world that really matters to anyone. It's not on any important trade routes; it's not wealthy, doesn't have any real technology of value. The terraforming took hold well, so it's prosperous enough, but not so much to make it outright wealthy. There haven't been any real great thinkers from the world. There's not much culture of note there. If there were something that distinguished New London, anything at all, anything of real worth, then maybe people would care about what happened there. But there's nothing to take note of, and so no one interferes.

Which is a bad thing indeed. Because affairs on New London are...awful, honestly. Not so awful as to really arouse the fury of some of the more enlightened planets, because again, there's nothing really sufficient to distinguish this planet, but...The planet is ruled by a circle of quasi-religious oligarchs, a group of a few hundred wealthy men and women who use technology to make themselves appear to be magicians. They're able to conjure flames, make predictions about the weather and natural disasters, communicate over long distances, heal injuries that regular folk medicine can't; they use these remarkable deeds, and strictly control travel on- and off-world, and strictly control education, to make the people believe that they're nearly gods. It's almost laughable - indeed, on other planets, New London is sort of a joke, that planet where the people in charge have managed to convince people that they're magical. But the lines of control are cruel and efficient: the people are too afraid to rise up against people with such remarkable abilities, and so they work to prop up the horrid regime. They live lives of terror and squalor, while the so-called magicians live in luxury off their labor.

But those are secrets that can't stay secrets forever. The magicians are good at concealing the source of their power, to be certain. But there are people who are resisting magician rule, and they're making some small amount of headway. One rebel group, calling itself the Resistance, in one raid on a magician office, managed to acquire some communications equipment. One of the few survivors of the raid, Kitty Jones, actually managed to make contact with someone offworld - someone who knew what was happening on New London, how the so-called magicians held onto their power. And once she heard it all, Kitty - furious - began planning how to turn this opportunity into an outright coup.

An outside force is what's needed. She figured that out early on. And so, she rooted and researched and planned, and talked with offworlders more and more to try to determine who was best to contact. In the end, she hunted down a name: the Dendarii Free Mercenary Fleet, a group of mercenaries with reasonable rates led by a man named Admiral Naismith who, someone had said, seemed to have some fondness for just causes. And finally, after some time, she contacted them, and she asked to meet.
naismith: (eidetics26)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-05-18 05:22 am (UTC)(link)
Miles certainly recognizes that voice. Well. Here's his contact, he thinks with grim amusement.

He knows that's not her real name but he can't reveal his either, and it's more to her detriment than his. She hasn't heard his voice before, and he's willing to bet she's even been insulated from the well known fact that Admiral Naismith is a short gnome of a man. He hadn't been carrying any identification at all (this isn't his first dance) and so he answers, "I'm Ivan." If he hears the name, he'll certainly react to it, anyway.

Then he's stuck in the predicament of carrying on a conversation with someone from the Time of Isolation, or near enough. She obviously knows more than her cover can allow her to betray, but how much more? Miles has no clue what her resources are like. That had been item number one on his agenda, and here he is with her, unable to ask.

It occurs to him that he's successfully made the rendezvous after all, and he brightens.

That irrepressible cheeriness carries over as he goes on, "Oh, sure. Locals took exception to my visit. That was me in the ship." That's his own well-placed clue: he's with the Dendarii. "They probably think you're involved in my nefarious plans and snatched you up along with me. Er... sorry about that."

It's a genuine apology, anyway. Although come to think of it, their knowledge of his landing could've come from tapping into Jones's communications, or just simply following her. Maybe they do know who he is. Miles's impatience for them to drag him out for interrogation sharpens. He needs data, damn it, and he's sure he can get much more from the exchange than they can get from him.
Edited 2015-05-18 05:23 (UTC)
naismith: (frakkingcylon16)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-05-18 07:44 pm (UTC)(link)
"Only a spirit of bad timing," he answers wryly, thinking rapidly. "I'm as human as you." His fingers tap restlessly against one leg even as he stands pressed back against the wall under the vent. Should he be trying to break through her apparent disinformation? To enlighten her about the wider universe? It's certainly what Miles would do normally, if this weren't at least partly a farce, and he decides it can't hurt. Lying is best done with truth and consistency; he plans to be an irreverent little shit during the interrogation and he may as well start now.

The fact that perpetuating widespread, propagandized ignorance leaves him cold doesn't hurt in his decision making, either.

"What would you say, my newly acquainted co-captive, if I said that I was willing to make a trade with you?"

Unknowing to Kitty, Miles needs no guilting at all. He's already eyeing the vent and wondering if he can squeeze through there, so as to take her with him during his inevitable escape. He didn't miss the little hint that she's likely to be useless with whatever weapon their rescuing Dendarii could provide her... Should he try to spring them both and run out to meet them? Miles isn't the type to sit and wait for his backup. But he does want to go to that interrogation. Hmmm.
naismith: (eidetics02)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-05-19 02:51 pm (UTC)(link)
Does potential for pure mayhem count as danger? Miles at least thinks of himself as dangerous.

"Oh, I'm possibly the most dangerous thing of all to your government," he says easily, like he's unconcerned, though really he's tense, standing straight as a twig. Because he knows it's the truth and so does she. He sounds confident; it's no work at all to sell this. It's no kind of test for his persuasive skills. "I'm an informed, impartial outsider. That's the trade. I'll grant you power. The best kind of power-- knowledge. Your very own extraterrestrial knowledge spirit." Okay, maybe he's babbling a bit with the stun hangover. Get it together, Miles.

"In return, you tell me about this world, and we'll each enlighten the other. A question for a question. Deal?"

No reason not to proceed with his agenda while he's here. He'll just be getting the basic context before the specific, relevant details.
naismith: (frakkingcylon13)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-05-22 02:29 am (UTC)(link)
Since he does know who she is, he reads that translation loud and clear, and smiles, dry as dust. Local support is good, but at the same time, Miles would rather not step in and engineer a civil war. At least not without clearing it with Illyan first.

Which all means he needs to get back to the Triumph and update him. Mid-mission reports are not typically Miles's style, but even he knows when he needs to ask permission instead of forgiveness, and upending an entire planetary form of government-- and a long-standing mass con, like this one-- might land him in trouble.

This part, though, this is no trouble for him to manage solo at all.

"Beta Colony," he answers promptly, with none of the hesitation of a lie. He's glad all over again, as he often is, that he'd spent enough years there with his grandmother to sell this lie well. "A technological paradise, if you can include paradise to mean badly terraformed planet-wide desert. But it is very egalitarian, passionately so. We were the first colonization effort by Earth, hence the name. As for trusting me, well, it's a determination you're free to make yourself. I'm not much invested in your opinion, given our gracious accommodations, and it wouldn't be the first time I've been called a lunatic."

Miles sounds chipper about that. Undaunted. This whole situation is new to him, but only in its entirety; piece by piece, it's very familiar, and he's confident. In his element, even. Subterfuge, resisting interrogation, daring rescues, saving a young lady with lofty, idealistic dreams-- what's not to love? Elli couldn't have kept him from this by tying his hands down.
naismith: (solpadeine42)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-05-22 03:11 am (UTC)(link)
Beta Colony is all of that and more. Miles has the sneaking, slightly depressing suspicion that Beta would overwhelm Kitty Jones entirely in its utter, unwavering commitment to all things equal, even when that pursuit was taken to the point of madness.

He also, abruptly, wants to show her it himself. Miles likes nothing more than introducing people to pure wonder, to awe, and if they can't be in awe of him then being in awe because of him is the next best thing. But her thoughts that they can't all just run away en masse in exodus are correct. No one could support that quantity of refugees. Ah, well. Perhaps the individual dream, an inspirational trip, could remain alive...

He likes hearing that smile in her voice.

"Absolute pile of crap," he assures her, unable to hold back a snort. "I've been to Earth; it's very much alive and kicking. A bit of a tourist destination now, sure, but there's nothing destructed about it." He pauses to wonder if he should be disillusioning her this much, as per their covers, and then another thought occurs, that if he starts telling her truly dangerous information, they might come drag him out for that interrogation he wants, and Miles starts talking faster.

"You realize the whole rest of the galaxy knows what's going on here, they just don't know the extent, don't you? Bit hard to make a case against someone who allows absolutely no communication contrary to their views. It's easy to sweep something under the rug when there's the latest Cetagandan conquest to worry about, or the latest Jacksonian outrage to serve as a distraction, but solid proof... That's a whole 'nother thing. Humanitarian groups would get a whole lot louder."

Now that he's thinking of it, he realizes it's true. Miles might not have to engineer a governmental collapse if he got the right parties involved. Yes, he's very threatening indeed, Miles thinks, staring intently at where he imagines the invisible bug in the room would be located. You should absolutely come haul me out for questioning.
naismith: (baobabble03)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-05-22 03:55 am (UTC)(link)
What a delightful accomplice. She did pick that up quickly, didn't she? Miles rubs his hands together.

Too bad the distance is too far through the vent to murmur, what with the way it warps sound just slightly, but Miles still sounds mild as he says, "Yes, it would be wretched, wouldn't it. --Ah, here's my company, as expected." Miles claps his hands once as he hears the unmistakable sounds of boots coming down the corridor, two sets, and hops off the bed toward the door.

His eyes gleam with the satisfaction of having gotten his way, and if this is likely to end with pain for him, well, it's not the first time and Miles has done worse for the sake of what he wants. He has a plan, or a vaguely sketched outline of a one, which makes it more solid to his way of thinking. Miles has always preferred winging it. In any case, they can't afford to kill him until they know what kind of wrath that would bring down on them; they have no way of detecting who all is out there in space laying in wait, planet-bound as they are. That's not something they'd ever traded for, he damn well knows, likely because no one would give it to them. The Dendarii hadn't received so much as a hailing contact in warning as they'd approached.

"Lizzie," he calls back, just before they're close enough to wrench the door open and drag him along, "hold tight, I have to go entertain my visitors. I'll be back, don't worry. Think about what you'd like for your birthday for me, eh?"

It's the best he can manage for reassurance without giving away the game completely, that he's expecting to be rescued, and it's half serious as well. What exactly is she looking for? One small corner of his brain is already pondering if the Dendarii is a large enough force to blockade New London from receiving weapons shipments.
naismith: (solpadeine46)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-05-29 08:06 pm (UTC)(link)
The interrogation is, as he'd expected, illuminating.

They know who he is-- well, they know who Naismith is, which is well enough-- although they hadn't at first, he thinks. Miles suspects they make a habit of jumping whatever poor sods land just as a matter of policy, but he also suspects there's not too many that do it. He's likely among the first. (He does enjoy being unprecedented, he thinks irreverently as he gets a smack across the jaw for his trouble and he spits out blood, thankful his jaw hadn't cracked. What a bastard that injury would be.) While they'd let him cool his heels, they'd searched the net for information, and eventually, two and two had equaled four.

It left them afraid. Or at least they should be afraid, by his calculations, given the sort of martial force that the Dendarii could bring to bear against theirs, rather more primitive and weaponry limited to only what they'd had to bargain for. Which would all be hard bargains; galactics aren't much interested in the kind of wares they'd have to trade. Miles rather thinks his calculations are correct, too, by the way they aim their brutality. Threatens and violence, for sure, but he's careful not to call their bluffs on threats of death -- despots are always too eager to foolishly, erroneously kill their enemies even when leaving them alive is the better recourse.

Instead, he weaves all kinds of sweet, desperate promises about what the Dendarii could trade to have him back. He's their admiral, no, really, he assures them, they'll give whatever he says over comms, all manner of weaponry, and they're used to organizing hostage exchanges, we can all get what we want. Miles isn't faking the desperation, though he is faking the intent. There's not going to be a hostage trade; if they let him on the comms with Elli, all she'll get is the code words for retrieval and resistance manageable. When they throw him back in his cell, his arm is broken-- his ulna, he thinks, damn, because it's the left again, for maybe the fourth time in his life, he's not certain. That bone hasn't been replaced yet and it's certainly a familiar feeling. His breath comes raggedly and he pushes his way up the wall to his feet with his right hand, relieved to have it to shoot with, should the need arise.

Miles coughs, more of a hack than anything, and wipes the blood on his chin away. He's pathetically grateful to sit himself on the cot and rest his head against the smooth stone wall, looking up at the grate.

"I'm back," he sings out, audibly tired but determination threaded through there, strong, fierce. He has a real plan now. "Did you think of what you wanted from me, Lizzie girl?"
Edited 2015-05-29 20:08 (UTC)
naismith: (eidetics27)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-05-31 01:47 pm (UTC)(link)
Miles had been impressed with her resourcefulness before, how quick on the uptake she was, but Miles can't truly like someone who isn't compassionate and hearing evidence of it now makes him smile. It's a weary, strained thing, but true.

"I haven't broken anything I haven't broken before," he tells her honestly, head lolling back against the stone. He winces as he jostles his arm and then settles it carefully on one upraised knee so it won't be knocked again. Miles casts for a way to reassure her that they are getting out of here without alerting their observers, but they hadn't met before and have no code words like he has with Elli. He's left instead thinking of his time on Dagoola IV, preaching a message no one understood enough to believe.

"Your sympathy is appreciated, though, believe you me. As for what I want, I believe our deal was a trade, wasn't it? Why don't you tell me about your life?" The life of an average resident of New London. "Like I said, out in the galaxy, news of what's going on here isn't being screamed from the mountain tops."
naismith: (frakkingcylon15)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-05-31 06:45 pm (UTC)(link)
Miles listens with full attentiveness. He wonders how true this story is, but it has a ring to it that he recognizes as suppressed emotion, much like his own when recounting his history. (The boot knife is from my grandfather, yes... I'm very attached to it...) She'd had an inconspicuous, downright ignoble birth, and education stopping at fifteen-- any Betan, his mother included, would be aghast.

Her description of the conditions, factory or clearing out partially terraformed land, work at horrifying him. Miles's morals are thoroughly piqued. Already he's justifying to himself that if he's instrumental in establishing a new government, he can ensure that they're positively disposed toward Barrayar; in that way, he can weasel the money out of Illyan needed to pay the Dendarii for their trouble. That'll be enough, won't it? Does he really have to check in for orders first?

He imagines reporting home and saying to Illyan's face that he'd deposed an entire planetary government while he was gone but they really like Barrayar now, sir, can I please have three million creds for back pay, and winces. Alright, alright, he'll have to get orders. In the meantime, he listens, and plans.

Deserve to be free, indeed.

Miles startles at the sound of boots, at the door wrenching open, and has to bite his good fist to muffle the cries of protest or encouragement he wants to voice. When he hears the ensuing commotion, there's no doubt in his mind what's happened. He's intimately familiar with the noises made by a hasty escape.

Kitty pushes his door open forcefully and Miles stares wide-eyed at her. What's running through his head isn't that the blood mars her, hair askew, weapon in hand like some wild woman. No, he thinks, beautiful, and blurts out, "Can I take you back with me?" Embarrassment rushes through him a beat after and he hurriedly follows it up with, "To the ship. Back to the ship. It's not safe here."

Miles jumps to his feet despite his injuries and is suddenly grinning at her, wide and unrestrained. "I can still shoot; my right arm's fine. Although I confess I am not as fearsome an opponent as you." There's nothing but graciousness in his voice, and though his left arm is tucked close to his body, he strides toward her and says, "I'm Miles, by the way. They know who I am so I might as well tell you-- Miles Naismith. I admire your initiative."
naismith: (frakkingcylon16)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-06-14 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)
It might sound like a boy asking for a puppy because that's essentially what it is. Miles can't help collecting beautiful, frightfully competent women the way some people collect coins. He values each of them deeply, of course, and on their own merits, but when he sees one, he wants it for his own. Miles at least tries to leave them better off for the association.

As for why he'd come himself, well... he'd hardly pass up something this interesting. That's the real benefit of being in charge, he often thinks gleefully to himself-- he can take the interesting assignments and delegate all the rest, and no one can say otherwise.

"Oh, that's not your birthday gift," he assures her happily, all bounce and verve now that they're getting out and he has such an attractive, er, capable accomplice. He barely notices the lingering pain and how he has to clutch his arm in close to his torso. "This is just part and parcel of the service, milady. As for how long it'll take... I suspect contact won't be necessary."

Miles follows her with alert eyes, looking out around corners before leaving cover, just as a well trained mercenary ought to.

"My troops take a dim view to holding me hostage. SOP is to send an extraction if it seems safely possible, and against these locals, well. You don't expect galactics to give them the best stuff, do you?" he asks wryly. "We're likely best off not going too far, or we'll make it difficult for my team to find us."
naismith: (frakkingcylon10)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-06-28 02:32 am (UTC)(link)
Much like they'd have had no motivation to sell them long range detection or communication equipment, they'd have no motivation to give them the best weapons or defenses, either. The entire relationship would be based off of taking advantage; no one but the shadiest of dealers would sell to a planetary government for the explicit purpose of subjugating their population, and those same amoral businessmen would have no qualms at all making sure that government stayed well in need and to heel. Jacksonians were ruthless that way.

"You're not the first planet to be kept in line by what the rest of the galaxy considers substandard tactics," he shoots back grimly, thinking of how it had been nothing more than bull-headed stubborn guerilla efforts that had kept Cetaganda out of Barrayar at the last.

Miles is then glancing at her in amusement over her prompt assertion of control over the situation. He's feeling charitable toward her, which is why being treated like dead weight doesn't grate on him; though he's not about to listen to it, either. "Don't count me out just yet. I've come back from worse situations, and of the two of us I unquestionably have more experience. Let's just face this together, what do you say?"

He's creeping his way down the hall, peering into doorways as he goes-- his own bit of presumption that she'll follow and help cover. "If we can find where they've dumped my stuff and retrieve my coms link, I can signal backup straight to our location, but I suspect we'll run into it eventually anyway."

In fact, he thinks he hears the muted thuds of a firefight dropping bodies some far distance down the corridor and around a turn...
naismith: (frakkingcylon16)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-07-01 08:41 pm (UTC)(link)
There's not too many things that could get Miles to squawk indignantly these days, in his lofty position and advancing age. (Yeah, right.) One of them is certainly being manhandled in a demeaning way by an attractive woman. So it's just as well that Kitty's distracted from it, and Miles, too, because the second he sees Taura he lights up like Yule decorations.

Taura's neatly knocking out the last of three guards attempting to assault her, slamming their helmet against the corridor wall. This is a harder trick than it looks, Miles knows, doing it without permanent brain injury or death. If they're going to die, you may as well take the finesse out of it and kill them the easy way. But where Kitty sees a terrible demon-- as Miles himself had at first-- Miles now sees a beautiful, graceful, capable soldier, a woman. One who he doesn't mind being manhandled by.

"Sergeant," he calls out jauntily down the hall. "I was starting to think you'd stood me up." Miles shoulders his way past Kitty and glances over at her, not without sympathy. "I know she's fearsome, but this is reinforcements, I swear. She's completely trustworthy."

Indeed, her fanged mouth is stretching into a grin as she steps over the bodies and advances on them. "Maybe if you didn't want to get stood up you should bring me with you in the first place, Miles." It's a subtle jab that he'd left her behind when he'd gone down to the planet, which Miles accepts in the spirit in which it was given, that of worry.

"Ah, but then who'd come to rescue me?" He makes a brief, sweeping bow before accepting a replacement com link and stunner from Taura. "Milady Sergeant, this is our employer, Kitty. Kitty, this is Sergeant Taura."
naismith: (solpadeine33)

[personal profile] naismith 2015-12-26 09:29 pm (UTC)(link)
Taura-and-Naismith as a pair is something that has confounded many before her, and they both know it. The height difference is the most superficial, but their whole demeanor with each other does puzzle outsiders. There's an assessing glint in Taura's eyes as she looks at her, but her smile is sincere and welcoming at the curtsy if Kitty can tell behind the tusk-like fangs. Taura is a forgiving soul. "Thanks," she says cheerfully. "I was just happy to have found Miles. He's slippery." That's not an exaggeration; she'd been profoundly worried, but now isn't the time to express that.

Despite Kitty's fears, Miles has brightened considerably at her attempts to be polite. He would be happy with anything short of making anti-mutant hex signs, but actually combating her own ingrained prejudices-- he can guess that New London must be like Barrayar that way, in the midst of their own Time of Isolation-- immediately ratchets up his admiration of her. Accepting him is one thing; accepting Taura makes him want to kiss her. Well, both of them. Erm. That has the potential to be awkward, doesn't it...

Miles wrenches his mind back to the problem at hand. "You can credit Kitty with our escape, actually. Very resourceful." He grins his approval at people who rescue themselves. "But we'd best be off. I trust you have an exit route picked out already?"

Taura returns to a more militaristic attention and nods sharply. "Yes, sir. Bel's waiting with the Ariel for us to board; its emergency evac shuttle is concealed a half-mile from here on a roof. The closest we could get," she apologizes.

"No mind, no mind. You did well." Miles waves her off. He glances back at Kitty. "You ready to go into space, my knowledge-hungry accomplice?"