What to Do with Jardin (Fan Fic)

[ShadowDragon8685]

Sounds interesting - though again, not an orbital port. Corvette dry-docks on the surface of the moon, where small ships can easily launch and land with their maneuvering thrusters. That is, Corvette by Loroi standards, these docks are just over 200m long and can support England-class destroyers.

But yeah, that sounds like a hell of a tale. Though it has been five years - a Loroi child would be the equivalent of like, 11 by now, right?

Oh man, I can just see Fragile Storm getting the report on that. Then she'd have an entirely blue-skinned reason to drink, too.

[sunphoenix]

Sounds interesting - though again, not an orbital port. Corvette dry-docks on the surface of the moon, where small ships can easily launch and land with their maneuvering thrusters. That is, Corvette by Loroi standards, these docks are just over 200m long and can support England-class destroyers.

But yeah, that sounds like a hell of a tale. Though it has been five years - a Loroi child would be the equivalent of like, 11 by now, right?

Oh man, I can just see Fragile Storm getting the report on that. Then she'd have an entirely blue-skinned reason to drink, too.

Opps sorry ..I meant docking bay..duh! And the tale of the Cydonia only starts about 3 years ago.. the Argent Fire only had vague references of the way to earth and was effectively searching for about two years, before running across a patrol of Umiak Frigates and getting chased into meeting the Cydonia.
Oh and I forgot to mention the ECS-096 Cydonia was a England Class - Destroyer (DD)

And who said it was a purely Loroi child?

@ Carl - I intended to address in some of her casual side comments the actions of other members of the crew.. I have not forgotten them.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Opps sorry ..I meant docking bay..duh! And the tale of the Cydonia only starts about 3 years ago.. the Argent Fire only had vague references of the way to earth and was effectively searching for about two years, before running across a patrol of Umiak Frigates and getting chased into meeting the Cydonia.
Oh and I forgot to mention the ECS-096 Cydonia was a England Class - Destroyer (DD)

Ahhhh, I thought you meant that they set off shortly after Highland-6 left Tempest, and wound up marooned for some time.

And who said it was a purely Loroi child?

Poor Fragile Storm. At this rate, Admiral Callan is going to have to introduce her to Captain Morgan. And possibly Jim, Jack and Grandad.

@ Carl - I intended to address in some of her casual side comments the actions of other members of the crew.. I have not forgotten them.

This sounds like a hell of a tale in and of itself...

[sunphoenix]

Indeed the Argent Fire was dispatched from Stillstorm's 51st Fleet shortly after the Highland-5 went its way.. but fate and fortune were not with them as they wandered trying to find the way to this elusive Earth.. hiding from Umiak as best they could while they searched. But they eventually were spotted and pursued for several weeks when they were finally caught in an uninhabited system and forced to fight... it did not go well for them. A system that the Cydonia was fortuitously surveying.

[dapple26]

Well, they've certainly become a close-nit group.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Well, they've certainly become a close-nit group.

Tends to happen when you cram a whole bunch of folks into close proximity to one another and put them through the meat-grinder.

That, or they wind up hating one another, but the close-knitting is usually more fun. Is there anywhere I can read this whole story?

[ShadowDragon8685]

"There was a young boy whose father was mighty Viking warrior," Jardin said. "He cared for his family by providing for them by any means necessary; if it meant he had to perform hard labor like an ox, he labored with the tireless strength of ten men; if it meant he had to board a longboat and sail from his home in Norway to pillage rich churches and monasteries on the coast of England, he did not hesitate; if it meant he had to take a bow and a spear into the woods and hunt deer, and wolves, to feed his family meat in the winter, he hunted with joy."

Beryl rapidly tapped on her tablet; Jardin had no doubt she was running parallel searches on 'Norway,' 'England,' 'Viking,' and 'Deer.' "One winter, when his son was old enough to begin to learn the ways of the warrior - about eleven, in human terms, or five in Loroi terms," he said, "he took his son out to teach him to hunt, that one day his son might provide for his family, as the warrior provided for his own."
Jardin could see in her eyes that despite herself, Fireblade was taking interest, and that clearly annoyed her, which amused him.
"Now the boy was young, and although he wished to be attentive to his father's lessons, he was also young, and did not cope well with being left alone for stretches at a time, and of course, his father left him to guard the camp, for the boy's first winter hunting would be only to teach him to skin and prepare the animals once they were caught and killed. On the first day, his imagination ran away with him, and he believed he saw a wolf in the woods, and he cried out, 'Wolf! Father, a wolf!' Of course, the Viking raced straight back to his camp, spear in hand, but there was no wolf to be found. He patted his son on the head and told him to be more sure next time. On the second day, the boy was left alone for hours, and grew lonely, and he recalled that his father raced straight back when he cried wolf. So he cried wolf again, though there was no wolf, simply to be with his father again."

Fireblade rolled her eyes, and Jardin smirked. "I know, you have a very dim view of deception unless deceiving an enemy. Just wait - on the third day, the same happened, and the boy's father began to suspect. On the fifth day, the boy cried wolf again, and his father knew the boy was raising a false alarm, and so he admonished the boy very hard, and told him not to cry wolf again. On the sixth day, as the Viking hunted, he heard his son cry wolf again, but he knew the boy was crying wolf to get his father's attention, so the Viking ignored the cry of wolf so as to finish his hunt, and came back into camp with a dead deer. But of course, on the sixth day, there really was a wolf, and the Viking's son had been killed by it."

Fireblade met his eyes, gazing deeply into them, and he smiled slightly, peering back into her brilliant, heart-wrenchingly beautiful emerald eyes. He liked it when he could leave her, normally so fast to find an opinion and stake her flag upon it, flummoxed. "Do you get the moral of the story," Jardin asked, and Tempo raised her head.
"It is an admonition against raising a false cry of danger, that should a real danger emerge, you will not be believed," she said, and Jardin nodded.
"Exactly so; although some particularly cynical people would take from the story the lesson 'never tell the same lie twice.'" He smirked. "But as I said; a fictional tale, but a parable, meant to impart a real lesson."

"Do you not have non-fictional examples of such," Fireblade asked archly, and Jardin shrugged. "I'm sure if we searched the historical record long enough, we could find an example; but real stories are often, if not always, considerably more complicated, mired in nuance and details in which the moral of the story may be lost. If you excise enough of the real details in the retelling that only the key points remain, you have a story that is all but unverifiable in any event..." He looked to Beryl. "Like... Tempest - not the ship named after her, but the figure. How much do you really know about her, how much can be proven, that on this day, at this place, the hero Tempest did such-and-such deeds?"

"Very little," Beryl admitted. "Though her historicity is not broadly disputed as her name appears in the archaeological record, most of our legends about her are largely unverifiable; many of the deeds ascribed to her are believed by some scholars to have been committed by her and an army instead of her alone, or by other figures of the same period who performed fewer great deeds and who were forgotten in endless generations of retelling, their deeds ascribed to the most famous hero of that time. If all of the tales told about her were literally true, she would have had to have lived at least six hundred years, bedded a statistically-significant fraction of the male population of Loroi such that it would be difficult to find a Loroi not descended from her, personally ended the lives of a statistically-significant fraction of the female population, erected monuments from one side of a continent to another, founded no fewer than five cities and razed twenty, and could exercise telekinetic force with the raw power of Fireblade - in an age before psionic amplifiers - and the control of Tempo; sufficient to fly under her own power. A very hard-line faction of Loroi scholars insist that all such tales must be literally true, or else the person claiming they are not is accusing all the tellers of the tales of lying, but most agree that the real Tempest was an incredibly important historical figure, whose legends have become distorted through generations, and she has been conflated with other historical figures and they with her."

"So, in effect, you have no way of knowing if you recount, say, any given story of Tempest's deeds, whether or not that deed actually happened, or if it happened exactly as told, or if it was Tempest at all? So that it might as well all be treated as a fabrication?"
Beryl nodded. "Another hard-line faction of scholars sees things exactly that way, and advocates that telling the tales of Tempest and of other heroes of similar stature should be banned, or at least severely regulated; such that only stories experts agree both happened as told, and which were done by parties known through historical record both to have exist and unambiguously to have done the deed in question, should be told. Both factions are generally ignored by the majority of scholars."

Fireblade shook her head, as Beryl gave her elaboration. "The difference, however, is that the teller of a tale of Tempest at least believes the tale to be true, or else is presenting the story as probably either a time-distorted version of factual events; or as the folkloric account that has survived to the present day that was at some point probably inspired by the heroic deeds of a real Loroi who may or may not have been the real Tempest... Anyway, I see other lessons that might be derived from your tale, I think its utility at imparting lessons is suspect."

"Oh?" Kelly turned, to look at Fireblade. "What other lessons do you see in it," she asked, and Fireblade turned, to meet her eyes.
They stared together for a few seconds, and Alex bit his lip. He was about to say something, but Fireblade spoke up first; "Are you being sarcastic, or serious," she asked, and Kelly shook her head.
"Serious; I'm genuinely interested to know what lessons you see that might be derived from Alex's retelling of that fable. I can see that a few other lessons might be derived too, but... Well, I'm interested to see what you might see in it."

Alex thought, if anything, Fireblade was more annoyed at the genuine interest than in sarcasm, and Fireblade nodded. "Very well. One might well draw the conclusion Tempo drew, and I will admit it is the primary conclusion intended to be drawn. I find irony in a fabricated tale being used as a vehicle for the lesson of the importance of not deceiving others," she said, with a smirk. "And indeed, as Alex has suggested, a true cynic might use it as a tale which is preparatory for deception, by teaching the would-be liar to never use the same lie twice, but between the obvious and the cynical, I see that one might also argue that the Viking was irresponsible; after he had admonished his son most harshly against lying, he should have presumed that the child was no longer lying until proven otherwise, and his lapse in vigilance led to his son's death. It might also be taken as a lesson on the unsuitability of young humans to be given duty of any responsibility, that a human child of eleven Earth years is too young to be posted as a sentry. It seems to dilute the purpose of the tale," she said, and Kelly snorted, grinning.

"I agree with everything except your conclusion," Kelly said, and Fireblade turned to look at her, with a quizzical look, and nodded in her direction. Kelly continued, "It seems to me the parable worked perfectly. The purpose of it, besides simply to spin a tale of bearded men and longboats, is, I believe fundamentally to engender philosophical debate, to cause the listeners and the readers to think upon and discus the meaning and morals of the tale... Here we are; drawing conclusions, debating them, discussing the matter philosophically."

Fireblade sucked in a breath, and then closed her mouth again, a clearly annoyed look on her face, sitting back in her chair and thinking deeply, scowling slightly. Jardin grinned at her, and looked forward, turning half around in his seat again. "What about you, Beryl, Talon? Any conclusions you'd draw from it?"
Beryl glanced up. "The main conclusion and Fireblade's alternate lesson about entrusting children too young with a matter of life-or-death importance were what came to my mind," she said, looking back to her tablet, clearly reading intently.
"Alright; Talon?"

Talon laughed. "Yeah: I learned that when you're going to be left alone on sentry duty in the woods and there's dangerous animals around, you should do your lookout from up a tree," the pilot said with a rough laugh, and Alex snickered.
"Yeah; I drove my High School philosophy professor to fits of frustration -"
"You? Driving your grown elders to frustration? Surely you jest, Alexander," Fireblade said, and Alex laughed, warmly, looking back at her, meeting Fireblade's eyes; mirthful from the sarcastic dig at him, and he grinned.
"I know, who would think it, right? But it's true," Alex said. "With things like that - they would pose a philosophical question presented in narrative form, like the Trolley Problem, and I'd always be thinking, well, why can't I enact a practical solution to the practical problem presented as being at hand, and bypass the philosophical problem altogether."

"Of course, you're not going to leave it as merely alluding to that philosophical problem, are you, Alexander," Tempo asked, and Fireblade's eyes rolled up as he looked back at Tempo.
"Not now that you've given me an open invitation." He pulled his tablet out, and said "Search: San Fransisco Trolley Car images." The tablet after a few moments gave him a list, and he chose one of one of the historical trollies operating along level ground, filling the screen with it and showing it around. "A trolley," he said by way of providing context, "is a wheeled ground conveyance which travels exclusively on pre-laid tracks. It cannot steer, although the track upon which it travels on may be changed at a junction by way of a switch. Anyway, the Trolley Problem," he said, "postulates that a trolley has lost control, and is rolling unattended down a track, upon which five people are tied up and helpless. You can, by throwing the switch on the track, divert the trolley down a second track, on which one person is tied up and helpless. The trolley will roll over and crush anyone on the track which it is sent down."

Fireblade snorted in derision. "It does not look truly massive; I could arrest its momentum, or shove it off its track," she said, and Jardin nodded.
"I know you could, and obviously, you would. I told my professor I'd leap aboard the trolley and activate the emergency break. She kept rephrasing the question to prevent whatever solution I invented; when I suggested moving a groundcar into its path to allow it to collide to cause property damage but not loss of life, she changed it from a streetcar to a full-sized North American railway freight train like out of the 19th or 20th or early 21st centuries. When I suggested tampering with the tracks or manipulating the switch so as to cause the train to derail well in advance of the tied up persons, she would shorten the length of track I had or place me not on the scene, but watching through a remote camera with a remote control that would not afford the fine control I required to do so. In your case, we could also thwart you by either positing that in this scenario, you are not Unsheathed, or you are viewing the scene remotely and unable to act except to choose whether or not to switch the rail car to the other track."

Fireblade snorted. "What, then, is the purpose of the hypothetical, if the person positing it continually changes the scenario, mmh?" She raised her eyebrow. "It seems to me the only purpose is to frustrate the listener by forcing them to choose between one of two solutions the poser has already permitted."
"That is exactly the point, Fireblade," Tempo said, with a smirk. "This is a philosophical question; the test is not one of practical capability; we all know that in this shuttle, there are at least five and I suspect six individuals whom, if faced with the scenario in the flesh, are all resourceful enough to resolve the situation without loss of life at all; its purpose is to force one to think about the matter philosophically, as a matter of ethics. In this case, the posed question would be; do you take action and thus allow one person to die to save the five, or do you do nothing?"

Fireblade snorted, but Talon spoke up first, saying "That seems stupid. They obviously want you to say you throw the switch, don't they? I mean, obviously five people outweigh one, right?"
"That would indeed be the obvious Utilitarian answer," Tempo said, glancing to Jardin. "I did use that word and understand the ethical implications behind it correctly, yes?" Alex nodded at her.
Fireblade scowled, but nodded. "It would seem to be the case that the obvious answer is to send the trolley down the track containing only one person, if the scenario and the listener's ability to act are artificially restrained to force only those options."
"Ah, indeed, that is the 'obvious' answer, and when posed to most humans, that is, by far, the majority answer," Alex nodded. "In a vacuum of other details, anyway. Now change a variable; what if the one is someone you love -" he looked forward, at Talon's profile. "Not just a random Loroi or human, but Spiral."
Talon's face snapped to look at him, a haunted look in her eyes. He heard Beryl suck in a hiss of breath, and Talon's lips opened to answer, but she didn't say anything. He looked back to Fireblade, saying "Or Reed. Or any of us being told to choose between one of the others, and five Loroi and/or humans unknown to us."
He glanced around the shuttle, saw the expected conflict on each individual's face; Beryl of course looked morose, but so did Tempo. Fireblade looked annoyed, and Talon looked upset, as if pondering being forced to consider choosing to kill the last of her 'sisters' made her feel betrayed. Kelly's face was no different, and she looked down, fidgeting in her seat.

"There are also ways to rephrase the question to ask different ethical questions; for instance, instead of sending the trolley down another track, you send it along a loop that reconnects to the original track anyway, but on the loop is a very heavy person - say, a big Barsam - who is massive enough that impact with them will derail the trolley car."

"I fail to see the difference between that hypothetical and the previous," Fireblade said, and Beryl looked up.
"The difference is that this time," she said, swallowing and speaking slowly, "the death of the one is integral to saving the lives of the five. In the previous scenario, it is incidental; you are saving the five by sending the conveyance down another path altogether, and the fact that this other path has one person who will be crushed is incidental; you would obviously choose to send the trolley down this path if there was no life at risk. In the second question, if the Barsam was not present, the trolley car would inevitably strike the five, whether or not you sent it down the loop."

"It took me a while to figure that out," Alex admitted, nodding at Beryl. "There's other variants, too; suppose the trolley is runaway down a track, and there's a very heavy person near to the track whom you could shove into the way to stop the trolley, but it would mean murdering the very heavy person. Can you murder one innocent to save five? Should you? Or can suppose that the very heavy individual is a shell -"
He paused a beat, watching as the four Loroi all looked at him, incredulously, and he grinned. "Yeah, I thought that one wouldn't be a hard call for anyone in this shuttle. That's called the 'fat villain' scenario, and posits that the heavy person needed to be murdered to save the five is responsible for the five being in peril in the first place. Almost everyone agrees it's justified to push that guy under the trolley."

"So, what was your answer, Alexander Jardin," Fireblade asked, causing Alex to look over and meet her eyes.
Alex shrugged. "Well, in the case of the fat villain, I obviously pushed the villain under the trolley. In every other case, my professor kept changing things to thwart my answers until eventually, I told her I refused to answer."
Fireblade raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. You are not, that I know of, given to indecisiveness," she said, and Alex shrugged, as Fireblade said "Perhaps, then, you require a practical test to show your true mettle? I know you to be a man of action, not of hesitation."
"Not indecisiveness; I decided - not to answer, since she kept changing the parameters to prevent me from even attempting to resolve the situation without loss of life, or even from sacrificing myself in place of choosing between others. I found that intolerable."

Fireblade nodded, then. "Ah - I see the distinction now, yes. Insubordination - that I believe of you," she said, and Alex grinned back at her. "And I agree; I too find the artificial restrictions intolerable. I would be easily capable of arresting the movement of or derailing the smaller trolley by myself. I assume that a 'freight train' is a similar but much heavier version of the same vehicle used to transport cargo in bulk, sufficiently large that not even I would be able to meaningfully arrest its momentum in the space allotted, but in that case, I would be capable of destroying or damaging the track upon which it travels to derail it anyway. The rest of you, I am sure, would attempt to board the conveyance while it is in motion or to manipulate the switch to derail it, or ram it with another vehicle to bring it to a halt, all options which you yourself considered, yes?"

Jardin nodded, and Tempo looked to him. "So, which answer was your instructor looking for?"
He tilted his head at her. "What do you mean, Tempo?"
"You were posed this question in a formal classroom environment, yes?" He nodded. "Which answer was expected, and would have been marked down as correct?"

"Ah - this is a question of philosophy, not a practical problem," Alex said. "The point of the question was to make the student think, not to make them choose a prescribed answer," he explained. Tempo nodded at him.
"I see. The specialized training Listel and Mizol receive is often like that; for us, being able to think critically about abstract, non-immediate problems is a critical skill. Most other castes do not receive much training along those lines," she said, looking between Fireblade and Talon. "Their training tends to be more... Practical in nature. Were you punished for your refusal to answer?"

Jardin shook his head. "Some teachers might mark refusal to answer as being incorrect, but not the one I had. She decided that 'in that situation, I will risk everything attempting to take a third option which saves everyone' was a valid answer."
Talon snorted at that. "Yeah; like attempting to double-jump star systems and leave the bugs wondering in all the hells we vanished with an entire fleet," she said from the cockpit of the shuttle, laughing roughly. "That could have killed us all... But it saved most of us," she said. Kelly, on the other hand, boggled.

"You... You did what?"
Jardin sucked in a breath, but Talon turned around. "Jardin, you have the stick," she said, and he used his breath to confirm it, turning around to take the control of the shuttle, glancing over the situation; they were well inside the Moon's sphere of influence, finishing their deceleration capture burn. Man, time flies when you're talking with friends, he thought.

"Okay, so, the shells had us hemmed in," he heard Talon say. "We were on the edge of the basically-empty, uncharted space between the Charred Steppes and Earth. They were closing in with a big fleet from all the other jump points, leaving us with only the jump into what was to everyone here with blue skin, the complete unknown," she said, and Jardin grinned. He loved hearing the pilot talk when she got excited; she had a slightly-husky, gravelly voice that made telling thrilling tales of insane, death-defying piloting all the better. "Now, we're all corvettes, a mix of Scout and Courier Corvettes, the best speed the whole fleet can sustain is 34g of acceleration. Nothing the shells have bigger than a gunboat can catch us - but they had deployed their jump-capable gunboats and were chasing us down. Turning to fight was suicide, the gunboats had an awful lot of missiles, and the fleets coming up behind them, even more missiles. We could jump to the next system, but they'd sent those gunboats out on a suicide run against us. Even if we jumped, the shells would catch us. Even if we tried lurking at the capture point of the next system to get the gunboats while their crews were all fucked up by the drugs the shells have to take to cope with jumping, it would have been a slaughter, there wouldn't have been enough of us left to make it to safety before our fuel ran out, because we needed to continually shed ships and top off the rest of the fleet's tanks from theirs."
Jardin grinned; he was kind of proud of having infected the pilot's speech, at least in English, with English vulgarities, and he listened as Talon continued. "So basically, as Jardin explained it, we were dead women flying. We could turn and fight and do a lot of damage the shells wouldn't even notice in their accounting books compared to killing all of us. We could run and be chased down and picked off... Or we could do the impossible, probably all die in the attempt, but if it worked, we'd make history and leave the shells thinking we were all... What was that word, Alex?"
"Sorcerers," he supplied, and she nodded.

"Right," Talon said. "So he ran some numbers, and he gave them to me, and they were insane. So I ran them, and they just - just - might have worked; if we took all of our basic assumptions and rules-of-thumb about hyperspace as laws engraved in stone, if there were absolutely no complicating factors, unforeseen gravitational anomalies, rogue planets - if everything, and I mean everything, went absolutely, completely, and unconditionally according to plan... We could, in theory, ramp up our hyperdrives, skip over the star we should have jumped to, and jump to the next in line. It was crazy. Literally, I though he had gone insane when he proposed it, but the numbers added up - if you took wildly simplistic approximations as natural law, it could work, and we could make a sixteen-light jump. Even so, it looked like suicide... But we were dead women anyway."

Kelly didn't speak, but Jardin heard a sound that made him think she kept opening and closing her mouth. "So," Talon continued, "In Jardin's words... 'Fuck it, what do we have to lose?' The shells would never notice the damage a bunch of corvettes could make in their fleet anyway, standing and dying gloriously would have been vainglorious at best. So he put it to the vote; stand and fight, run and hope we get lucky and the shells slow their pursuit for reasons unforeseeable, or take a huge gamble with all of our lives and do the impossible. We voted for the one that let us try to remain amongst the living, ran some numbers, charged up the hyperdrives... Well, here we are. Most of us, anyway," Talon said, her voice a little more subdued. "But it worked. We made a sixteen-light double-jump, and as far as the bugs could possibly know, we just vanished altogether, as if by magic. Or possibly they know exactly what we did and assumed we killed ourselves doing it, but either way, here we are."

Jardin let out a quiet sigh. It was a bittersweet success story at best; a lot of girls hadn't made it, and that weighed at him... But hearing Talon get excited about it made him feel good. He glanced at the timer on his screen, and nodded, keying his headset, making contact with Lunar STC, giving them his shuttle's callsign and intention to land at the Luna-9 TCA small craft drydocks. Upon getting confirmation and a course, Alex punched in the numbers, set his course, and went to a full burn on the shuttle's main drives. The Highland-class VIP shuttle was blazing fast - it could accelerate harder than many Loroi warships, which were head and shoulders harder-burning than most Umiak vessels.
Behind him, he heard Beryl and Kelly quietly conversing with Talon, and the sound of Fireblade and Tempo being silent; he presumed they were either conversing via sanzai, or just luxuriating in some time not speaking while Kelly, Beryl and Talon conversed. He didn't dare close his eyes, though he wanted to - to just close them and enjoy the sound of his friends, both old and fire-forged, and new, conversing, slipping smoothly (for the most part,) between English and Trade to express concepts that were easier or harder in either of them.

Hrm. Kelly's really good at Trade, actually. I wonder if she was thinking of going Scout Corps before she wound up in Fleet? Jardin shrugged, watching his screens as the shuttle flitted over the moon in the flight path he'd been given, coming up on his deceleration burn. It was a hard burn on main drives, a hundred kilometers above the Luna 9 drydocks to kill his orbital momentum, and then dropping down on maneuver thrusters, lighting at a shuttle hangar.
Alex grinned as he realized that nobody was paying attention. Let's see if they notice this he thought, as the shuttle went through the programmed hard burn, dropping its orbital momentum to drop it onto the moon. He took the control stick - and while the particulars of Loroi flight instrumentation might have been wholly different, small craft were controlled in exactly the same way human craft were with a flight stick - and pulled back on it, hard, twisting to roll.

The bright glow of moonshine filled and vanished from the window as he spun the shuttle, then stabilized with the nose pointing directly down. As he'd expected, Talon noticed after a moment, whirling around and looking down to her controls, then she looked over, and laughed, elbowing him hard, as STC was calling in a slightly panicked voice, "Highland-Twelve, Highland-twelve, this is Luna STC! Have you lost attitude control? SAR is on standby, do you need assistance, over?"
"I have the stick," Talon said, smirking, and Jardin confirmed it, as she keyed her mic. "This is Highland-Twelve, we were just performing some thruster diagnostics, there's no cause for alarm. All of our systems are operating at full capacity."

Jardin rubbed his arm where Talon's armored elbow had impacted it, grinning at her, and she smirked at him. "Showoff," Talon said, and he grinned.
"You earned that one, flygirl," he said, and Talon blinked, then laughed.
"It's been five years, and you still remember that?" She grinned, and Jardin nodded.

"Yeah. The first time I was on one of these Highland-class shuttles, Kelly, Fishtail here," he said, pointing at Talon and invoking the name she'd gotten when she'd brought the TCA shuttle in to the landing bay too hot, "took me into the cockpit to show me star-charts. We were at the back console there," he said, jerking his thumb at the back wall, "and she gets this mischievous idea in her head, and telepathically tells Spiral to keep the dampeners on full but to do some crazy spins to see how long it'd take me to notice."

Kelly snickered, and Jardin shook his head, taking a deep breath and sighing as they dropped towards the moon, but his eyebrow raised as he looked down towards the shuttle hangars they were dropping towards. He and Talon both brought up magnified views at the same time. Sitting in the bay was a Loroi Standard-class shuttle, and he frowned.
"Beryl? Did any crew transfers take place while we were away?"
"Oh! Yes," Beryl said. "My apologies; we began talking and it became less of a priority. Our excess crew have been retrieved by Commodore Fragile Storm's command cruiser; they used shuttles from both to do so, apparently. Sleeping space should no longer be at a premium," she said. "Also, we have been resupplied."

Jardin nodded. "That's... That's good to hear, I suppose," he said, taking a deep breath as he dropped towards the drydocks. The ships he had escaped with and made it all the way to Earth with constituted just nine corvettes, four of them Couriers and the balance Scouts, sitting in adjusting drydocks at the Luna-9 center, supported by the drydock superstructure and attached by way of boarding gantries with universal docking collars. Several of the corvettes had been in rough shape when they'd gotten here, but with the supplies and personnel provided by Fragile Storm, he supposed, things had been turned around quickly, and he could see the flashes of cutters and welders on the hulls of the vessels.

He wondered why he was so concerned now; Fragile Storm had expressed her intention to decorate him formally following by relieving him of his impromptu command. He couldn't blame her; after all, the flotilla had been nothing but a series of times when persons including himself choose to do something crazy and likely to kill them all in the hopes of preserving the most of them, rather than cold-mindedly choosing who dies so the VIPs could live. It had been bonkers from start to finish, and he'd known it couldn't really last, though he had expected he'd need somehow to get the flotilla back to Loroi space with human ambassadors aboard.

Still, he kept eyeing that Standard-class shuttle, feeling that something was off about its presence, even as Talon closed her zoom-window and took the stick, applying some forward thrust. The shuttle accelerated rapidly towards the lunar surface, then Talon braked hard, flipping the shuttle to put the greatest thrust from its combined attitude thrusters down, and dropped it smoothly into the illuminated bay, with the vacsuited figure waving glowsticks to bring her in and adjust her in the dock. They alit smoothly on the designated pad, which receded into the floor of the bay, and a transparent hangar roof shut over them. The bay would be pressurizing, Jardin knew, but the side of the hangar deployed a gantry with universal docking collar.

Alex took the headset off, setting it in its designated receptacle. "We're here," he said, and Talon nodded. "A very successful flight, Captain," she said, as they turned around in their seats. Alex stood up, and rolled his shoulders. "Alright, everybody, let's disembark the craft," he said, heading to the back of the cockpit, passing from it through the tiny, cramped accessway and amenities between the cockpit and the main cabin, and found the two pilots that belonged to the shuttle sitting at a table, eating some kind of ration bar; one of them was gesticulating as if gossiping, though of course they weren't speaking aloud. Both of them froze the moment he stepped through the door, giving him a deer-in-headlights stare.
Ah right, that silly taboo. "At easy, ladies. I'll be out of your sight in a moment and you can finish your meal." He turned to the side of the shuttle; stepping up onto the first step to the hatch. Not an airlock, but it nevertheless registered a firm atmosphere on the far side, and the exterior camera showed that the universal docking collar had made a good seal, and the gantry was in place. Opening the door, he climbed up, and up the boarding gantry; turning to wave at the vacsuited crewman who had waved the shuttle in with glowsticks. From this distance, with the figure in a heavy suit with polarized visor, he couldn't tell anything about it - male, female, young, old; hell, it could have been a Loroi in the suit and he wouldn't have known. They did wave back, however, and he climbed up the gantry, rolling his shoulders.

The Luna-9 base was kept at a standard comfort temperature of 25 degrees, but after spending so long aboard Loroi vessels - to say nothing of New York City in January - it felt oddly hot, though not discomfortingly so. The moon-base was rather larger and more comfortable than Bellarmine or another human ship would have been - wide, tall corridors afforded plenty of room to move around, moreso than even a Loroi capital vessel, with colored lines on the floor and ceiling to guide one to sections of the base, should they be unfamiliar with the base and become lost, along with wall signage and the odd piece of decoration and wall-screens showing various broadcast programs. He smiled as he saw that one of the screens had the BBC reporting on formal first contact with the Loroi; one of Fragile Storm's diplomats was speaking with TCA and world leaders at the historic United Nations headquarters in New York, intercut with an orbital camera view; a rather nicely-composed image of ECS Victory and ECS America flying in formation with Retribution. He smiled slightly, pausing to admire the view, and felt a hand on his shoulder; he glanced down; blue skin and a yellow cuff meant Beryl.
"They are pleasing vessels to look at, Alexander," she said, and he smirked.
"Yeah, but I wish they weren't so goddamn helpless against the shells," he said, and he heard her chuckle.

"They are not entirely helpless, my friend. Under the right circumstances, your heavy cruisers would tear practically any Hierarchy vessel apart with their mass drivers," she said, and he knew she was trying to be supportive.
"Sure. And when we invent an FTL jump-drive that can let us warp our position with pinpoint accuracy on a moment's notice and can jump from behind a screen of Loroi warships to docking range with a big bug to let them have it with those mass drivers, then we'll be cooking with antimatter."
"I would not put such an innovation past your race," Beryl said, and he was forced to laugh, reaching up and laying his hand atop hers. He felt the familiar snap in his mind, as he turned to walk on towards the vessel docks.
"You're just trying to make me feel better," he said, and Beryl squeezed his shoulder.
"I am. Is it working?"
"Yes," Alex said with a grin, and let go. For a few moments he did feel better, but as they walked along the corridor, getting looks from the civcons and TCA staff present; appraising looks, and he noted rather a few appreciative gazes directed at his comrades - and one at himself - he started to feel his mood sink into his stomach. Not because of the looks, he couldn't place the source of his worry.
"Talon," he said, quietly. "You know that feeling when you feel certain something is off, but you can't point to anything and say 'this is wrong?'" He directed the question at the pilot, as she had, by far, the most keen danger sense instincts of the Loroi in his circle. This, he expected, was the key to her survival when so many of her peers had not.

"Yeah. Usually that means you've noticed something but not strongly enough to recognize it consciously," Talon agreed. "I tend to listen to that feeling, why?"
"Because I'm getting that feeling right now," Jardin said, picking his pace up, pulling ahead. In a moment, Fireblade jogged out in front of him, making ready to protect the group; Talon, Beryl and Tempo were looking around nervously, and Jardin clarified, "I don't think it's physical danger, but something's... Wrong."
"Then we find it and we rectify it," Fireblade said, hustling forward, reaching the huge hallway with the gantries into the starship docks. The nearest dock to the shuttlebay was empty, the second contained the England-class destroyer ECS-088 Norway being retrofit with upgraded main drives, and the third contained Swiftwind - his ship. She was one of the newer upgraded ship models the Loroi were producing and retrofitting; incremental rather than revolutionary changes, a CT+ Traveler-class Courier Corvette, with upgraded shields, armor, ECM, and a larger weapon array; retaining the twin triple-turret laser cannons on the sides, it featured a twin-barreled light blaser cannon turret on the dorsal hull, and a single-barreled medium blaster cannon turret on the ventral hull. Naturally there was an upgraded reactor to power the additional/upgraded systems.

She was a damn good-looking ship, he thought, resplendent in green and white, but there was something off about her on his return. He couldn't quite place it, so he turned to the marine stationed at the top of the gantry; a human soldier in combat armor and with slung rifle, he was there to ensure that nobody who shouldn't have went down the gantry and caused a potential incident.
The soldier snapped to attention, saluted smartly, and Alex saluted him in turn. "At ease," he said, and the Marine relaxed. "Have you seen anything unusual?"

"Sir, yessir," the Marine answered; not a shaved-headed rookie, she had Sergeant's bars. "A bunch of Loroi blew through all this morning, going to each ship, then coming out with a pack of Loroi from them, hauling them up to the shuttlebay."

Jardin nodded. "I got that part, anything else?"
"Yeah," she said, with a shrug. About half an hour ago, another, smaller bunch of Loroi came through here. They looked like brass - but not big brass, little-dick brass," she explained. "They mostly went past me down to your other ships, but one of them - I think she was in charge - turned and went down there with another littler Loroi like your friend Beryl there tagging along at her heels like a dog that's been whipped a few times," she said, with a nod to Beryl.
Jardin felt that sinking feeling, and then he felt a telekinetic flick on the back of his head. Tempo. He held a finger up to the Marine, and looked to her. "Jardin," she said, quietly, "Our Marines aren't guarding the airlock," she elaborated, pointing down the gantry. Suddenly it hit him; what was off with the ship; no Loroi guards at the bottom of the gantry. He turned back to the human Marine.

"What happened," he asked, and she shrugged.
"I snapped to attention - didn't salute 'cause they told us it might be interpreted as a rude gesture by the Loroi you didn't bring with you, but I snapped to and greeted her. She kind of looked at me like I'd just spit in her face and ignored me, stalked down that gantry. Your two girls snapped to attention and saluted as smart as I've ever drilled into some rookies, and the girl in the red and silver..."

The Marine shook her head. "She just lost it, Captain. Didn't say a word, naturally, but she was gesturing with her hands like a pissed-off Italian bitch from the Bronx, and your girls looked like they were stoicing their way through the mother of all chewing-outs. Then she just stormed into the ship, and your two marines gave each other the biggest 'oh shit' look I've ever seen since the time I caught Privates Johnson and Ericssen... Well, nevermind, that ain't a fit story for polite company; point is, they gave each other this huge 'oh shit' look and turned and went back inside. It's been all quiet out here since."

"This bodes ill," Fireblade said, and Jardin nodded, turning.
"Stay here and tag Ensign Kelly by text if you see anything else amiss, Marine," he said to her, and she snapped to again, smartly acknowledged the order, and went back to standing at her post as Jardin hurried down the ramp. The gantry was quite long, and able to adjust quite a lot; it was also kept under full gravity, letting him run along it to the airlock.
When the airlock was cycling the group in, Beryl asked, "What did she mean by 'small-dick brass,'" and Jardin shook his head.
"I'll explain later, but for now it means trouble," he said, as the airlock cycled in, and let them pass into the ship.

The entry area was lined with about thirty Loroi out of the ship's compliment of fifty - all from Swiftwind, all known to him, his eyes matching names to faces. They all looked in bad spirits; some of them looked sullen, some of them defiant, some shocked, some forelorn, some of them outright furious. The first Loroi he saw met his eyes; A Soroin Pideir, roboticist, slender but tall, with short silvery-blue hair kept in a razor-straight bob. Her name was Icewand, and she went from looking downtrodden to looking hopeful the moment he stepped into the hallway. She snapped smartly to attention. "Captain on deck," she cried out as she'd been taught; as the rest of them had been taught, they all snapped to attention and turned to face him.

Jardin was angry; no, he was furious. Someone was abusing the morale of a crew whom he'd taken through the impossible and back. He snapped off a smart salute back to Icewand. "At ease," he said, sharply. "Where are they," he demanded, and everyone in the entry hall turned to look to the fore, towards the hallway leading to the bridge.

Alex nodded, turning and stalking forward, his hackles up. He sensed, more than felt, Fireblade fall in at his left, Tempo at his right; Talon and Beryl would be behind them, and he expected Kelly was swift enough to bring up the rear, as he hurried forward. The fore hallway was lined with ten more Loroi. Whomever it was had ordered his ship to turn out for inspection, and from the looks on their faces, they had been very roughly used. One of them - Doranzer Jade Disk, with green hair worn buzz-cut close to her skin, built like tempo, looked to be on the very verge of tears.

He did not like that, and he could only imagine what kind of mental abuse could, in half an hour, reduce to the verge of tears a girl who had kept one of her buddies from bleeding out from a stump left of her leg by pinching off her arteries manually while yelling at a couple of traumatized Soroin to get her tools. This group looked even more extreme in ther emotional state than the last, and Fireblade raised her voice.

"Captain on deck! Company, attention!"
Damn, she's good. Jardin thought, as the Unsheathed snapped the crew out of their state, turning to face him, and saluted. "Company, stand fast," he ordered, walking swiftly to the door to the bridge, ire building.

The door the bridge opened with the chiming sound he'd had the ship's mechanics implement on all of the doors, overtonally set over the doors' own subtle shrak sound that for some reason, the smaller Loroi vessel's doors made, but the larger ones didn't.

The bridge crew were standing at their posts, beside their chairs. Each of them had very much the demeanor of a dog which has been whipped, while two unfamilar Loroi occupied the middle of the bridge; much more cramped and less capacious than that on Tempest, but still reasonably roomy for the size of the vessel.
One of them was tall, strongly built, with a shocked mane of spiky purple hair and a sharp, hawkish face, wearing a red-and-silver armored uniform with silver insignia. He couldn't hear her telepathic tirade, for which he was grateful, but he didn't need to be to recognize a rampaging Napoleon complex. Little-dick brass indeed, he thought, as he glanced to the other. She looked very much like she could be Beryl's sister - a possibility he couldn't entirely discount. She was of the same build, with the same snow-white hair pulled back in a tight bun at the bottom of the back of her hair, with a couple of long pins through the bun, red-eyed and with a not-dissimilar face. Unlike his chipper, cheerful, bubbly companion, though, she had very much the long-suffering, suffused look of an adjutant whose superior is abusive.

His bridge crew had looks on their faces ranged from angry, to defiant, to borderline-mutinous: they had been picked from among the most skilled, and strongest-willed, members of his crew, after all, and wouldn't tolerate such an invasion lightly. The one who looked the most furious was Pulsar - a Nedeil gunnery officer, with blazing orange hair worn in a tight Viking braid down her back, who was frequently charged with being officer of the watch and consequently carried a sidearm at all times. She looked as if only good sense and loyalty were keeping her from drawing the sidearm on the intruder, and she saw Jardin enter.

"Captain on deck!" Pulsar called, before Fireblade could, standing smartly to attention, turning away from the interloper and saluting him. The rest of the bridge crew followed suit a second later - this seemingly interrupted the Torrai Sorimi who was on a telepathic tirade, and if anything, infuriated her even further. She turned to gaze at Jardin, and he forced himself to stand his ground in the face of blazing anger. Then to advance.
Generally speaking, he didn't like personal confrontations, but seeing what appeared to be the vast majority of his remaining crew looking varyingly abused to the verge of tears and bloodshed put him in the mood, and he stepped up the single step to the commander's center in the middle of the bridge, taking a deep breath and switching back to trade. "Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing on my ship," he demanded, angrily.

She held her ground too, staring into her eyes, and the Listel flanking her cringed, sucking in a breath to speak. "This is -"
"The captain did not speak to you, Listel," Fireblade cut her off, stepping up with Jardin. The observer cringed back, looking on the verge of quivering, as Fireblade turned to the low-ranking Command officer. "The captain spoke to you. Answer his question!"

The silver-armored woman turned to take in Fireblade's mustard-and-green armored duty uniform, looking her up and down. Jardin saw a venomous look in her eyes, as if she were afraid to attempt to bully Fireblade the way she had been bullying the other members of her crew, and looked up to meet Fireblade's gaze. This, however, outraged Fireblade, who raised her voice. "You will speak aloud on this vessel in the presence of the Captain, or you will not speak at all! Who. Are. You?!"

Damn she's good, Jardin thought, taking a deep breath. He resisted the urge to clench his fists, but he did cross his arms, folding his hands into the inside of his elbows, gazing into the interloper's eyes. "I asked you a question," he said.
Finally, she opened her mouth, and spoke. "I," she said, emphasizing it slowly, "Am Torrai Sorimi Opalstorm. I am inspecting this miserable excuse for a vessel before I am regrettably obliged to take command of it. I have inspected the crew, and found them sorely wanting for discipline, and have been correcting that deficiency."

Sorely wanting for discipline? Alex instinctively felt like throwing her off his ship immediately, but felt like some tact might be called for. He stared into her eyes. "If you have a problem with my crew, you have a problem with me. If you have a problem with me, you don't take it out on my crew, you bring it up, with me." He gestured over his shoulder, at the door to his office - what human vessels would recognize as the Captain's ready-room. "Let's discuss this like officers and civilized sapient beings who have a problem with one another, in private."

It was perfectly reasonable, he thought. If she had a problem, he'd hear it. If it was legitimate - which he knew damn well it wasn't, but if it was - he'd correct it. Instead, fury flared in her eyes.
"My tolerance for hypocrisy is very limited, and you are not fit to command an escape pod, Outsider!"

Jardin felt anger boiling up within him - it had been a long time since anyone had used the word 'Outsider' as a slur against him. "Get off my ship," he hissed. It was the first thing that came to mind, and it seemed entirely appropriate, as he was no longer in any mood to entertain her, let alone in front of the crew.

"Your ship?" She broke into raucous, cold laughter; and it hit him; he'd heard that laugh before, when Stillstorm had rejected the Umiak commander's offer of a peaceful withdraw in exchange for the wreck of Bellarmine. "You have made a mockery of a vessel, teaching your crew to insult their betters and claim it respect. If not for your diplomatically-favored status, I should have you shot for such contempt."

That's it, he thought, feeling a headache begin. "Out of respect for Commodore Fragile Storm, I will give you one final opportunity to disembark this vessel immediately, under your own power."
She sneered at him. "Make me, Outsider" was her answer.

Okay. You asked for it. "Fireblade! Pulsar!" The both of them snapped smartly to attention, turning to face him, and belted out a smart,
"Sir!"
"Draw your sidearms, and place this mutineer in the brig," he said. "If she resists detention, shoot her." He was far, far past the point of diplomacy. He heard Beryl and Kelly both suck in a hiss of breath, and the Torrai's eyes; first they went wide, incredulous, then they got a haughty, superior look on her face, that was wiped away after an instant, fading to shock when she realized that both Pulsar and Fireblade had unholstered their sidearms.

"You - You wouldn't - you couldn't - how dare you," she demanded, as Pulsar pulled a pair of restraints from her hip pocket, and threw them to Tempo, who snatched them deftly from the air. The Listel behind her looked terrified, and, he thought sickeningly, slightly hopeful, as Tempo walked behind Opalstorm.
She jerked her hands away as Tempo grabbed for her to place her in restraints, but Pulsar leveled her sidearm at her face, and Alex saw her swallow, hard. "Y-You won't get away with this. Do you know who I am?"

"I have a sick feeling I know exactly who you are," Alex said. "And Stillstorm never had to resort to bullying and abusing her crew. Discipline, by the way, is standing with a straight back and listening to a petty, self-righteous tyrant abuse you, whilst you are armed." He stepped out of the way. "Throw her in the brig," he said, his mood thoroughly fouled, as Fireblade propelled her telekinetically forward, and began marching her to the brig with Pulsar.

They had sufficient self-restraint to avoid cheering, he knew, but seeing Opalstorm frog-marched past them in irons would go a long way towards restoring the morale of the crew. He then looked to the Listel who was with her; she looked completely lost without Opalstorm, and he pointed to his office. "Let's talk."

She nodded, and he turned to Beryl. "Beryl, get the crew back to their posts and inform everyone I want a written report on this intrusion within the hour." Beryl looked nearly as horrified by the near-bloodshed as the other Listel was, but to her credit, she snapped to attention and saluted.
"Aye, Captain!" Beryl said, brightly, turning to the rest of the bridge crew. "I have the bridge; as you were, as you were!" she called, moving to the command chair and sitting in it.

"Tempo, Kelly, on my six," he said quietly, turning and walking to the door to his ready room, looking to Talon. "Talon, you're off-duty and you've been awake for too long. Find a bunk and catch some rack time." Talon snapped to attention and saluted, then turned to walk off the bridge, as he went into the office, walking around to sit at his desk. It was a tiny ready room, not remotely comparable to Fragile Storm's office aboard Retribution, let alone the hangar-sized office she'd had aboard the heavy carrier Glory, but to its credit it had everything he could need for an office; a tiny cubicle of a head with shower off to the starboard behind a frosted door, a closet which currently held one fresh change of uniform for him and two for Talon, next to the shower a bedroll tucked under the desk, a desk with a computer terminal, with a reasonably status-affirming, perfectly-comfortable chair behind it, and two smaller, slightly-less-comfortable chairs in front of it, as well as a sofa along the front wall and shelves on the wall behind him, while the ceiling and port wall. The port wall and ceiling showed the exterior view of the vessel uninterrupted as the command center walls did; the fore, aft, and starboard walls showed the exterior view, but interrupted with the affectations of windows, allowing for the doors, shelves, and sofa.

He sat at his desk. "Ensign Kelly, please sit and observe," he said. Kelly had a slightly shell-shocked look on his face, and sat on the sofa, as he gestured to the chairs. "Tempo, and... I never got your name," he said, mastering her ire from before, as Tempo smoothly turned the chair to his left, sitting in and turning to face him, putting her left leg up on her right knee.
The shocked-looking Listel sat in the other chair, fidgeting nervously, as if frightened. "I am Listel New Moon, c-Captain," she said, and Jardin nodded at her.

"I assume you're Opalstorm's adjutant?" She nodded, and he nodded at her. "I see. And I assume that she was not grossly mischaracterizing the nature of her reason for being here?"
The Listel fidgeted slightly, and looked over to Tempo, who held her hand up. "We do not communicate by sanzai when in the presence of our friends, comrades, or superior officers who are deaf to it, New Moon." Her voice was sharp, but not overly so; a mild admonishment at best, but New Moon cringed.
She really is like a dog who's been whipped, Jardin thought, and he was half-tempted to have her taken into protective custody. She reminded him all too much of Beryl, and the thought of Opalstorm tearing into Beryl the way she'd torn into most of the crew made Jardin feel he might have been moved to violence. "New Moon, noone here is going to hurt you, or shout at you, or hurl abuse at you," he said, quietly, trying his best to channel the 'reasonable, experienced soft-spoken diplomat captain' vibe. "Just answer my questions."

New Moon looked down, a haunted look on her face, and she swallowed, licking her lips. "Opalstorm was sent, along with other adjutants, to take account of your flotilla, Captain Jardin, to check the crew's morale and discipline after a long, difficult journey. She believes that if she can find cause to have you removed from command, she will receive command of the vessel, and that it will be the first step to further advancement."

"I see." He was not well pleased by that, and he nodded. She even sounded similar to Beryl, if Beryl was a cringing girl frightened of her own shadow. "And has she found any real cause?"
"I... Do not know," New Moon admitted. "She believes she has found cause, in the way your crew stood stiffly and gestured at her as soon as they saw her, calling aloud to her. She believes, or perhaps chooses to believe, that this is a rude human gesture which you taught the crew to mock her with."
Jardin stared levelly at New Moon, and sighed, heavily. "And what is your analysis of the situation, observer?"

New Moon swallowed heavily, looking fearful. "O-Opalstorm does not lightly tolerate dissent," she said, and Jardin shook his head.
"Opalstorm's not here, Listel, I am. What do you think?"
"I..." She hesitated, and sucked in a breath, glancing at Tempo, but glancing away before she needed to be admonished. "I think it is unlikely you would teach your crew to mock yourself, and I have seen humans giving the same gesture and cry to other humans who are presumably of higher rank."
Jardin nodded. "Very well. We'll be returning Opalstorm, formally, as a prisoner to Retribution, in our own time. Please return without her and make a report to Commodore Fragile Storm."
The Listel blinked at him, uncertainly, and he nodded. "That's all. Dismissed." Uncertainly, New Moon got out of her chair, and walked backwards to the door, then retreated from his office.

[Hālian]

I'ma go get the buns and barbecue sauce, because I feel a proper smokin' coming on.

[sunphoenix]

I'd say it is indicative of sort of what I was getting at as well.. the Crew of the Cydonia ...specifically the Loroi Envoys were going to be in a similiar situation as Torrai Command is not pleased that Loroi were forced by circumstance to be 'rescued' by a Terran Vessel and 'examined'.. read that as 'potentially interrogated and compromised' for a period of 3 solar years.
Questions of competency of their discipline and command are brought to the fore and a serous inquisition into any vital or strategic Intel they may have compromized to the Terrans is high on the list of pointed investigations.. the Torrai Command has for the 'refugees' of the Argent Fire. Then there is the case of this Umiak tech and of the 'Snow White' blank, that was allowed to live... and of course not the least of which the birth "Yellow Sun's" male Loroi child "Amber Eyes".. not being properly inducted and 'forced' to fraternize with female Loroi that is 'culturally Unseemly'... untold developmental 'damage' may have been do to him by such contact and indoctrination. And finally .. the Un-Teidar 'activities' of Stormrage... unbefiting the actions of a Loroi soldier...!

Yeah.. going home is going to be 'Trouble' for all involved with the Cydonia.

So I'll ask again~ Shadowdragon.. can I put in my "little" story now... I have just the intro from your last post perfectly in mind?

[ShadowDragon8685]

Though, do bear in mind that Opalstorm is very definitively a very unreasonable officer.
She's Stillstorm's daughter, so she's trying to live up to the legend of a living legend. She's quite young for her rank, too; she's been over-promoted because of her mother. She's been raised in the same ultra-hardass, ultra-hardline tradition Stillstorm was, but lacks the experience and seasoning required to know the difference between discipline and abuse.

She's always been a morale problem, because she's a bully, and the discipline of her subordinates suffers because of it - this leads to her being more and more harsh and abusive, which generally does not get spectacular results, and leads to her being disciplined, which she takes in stride because she genuinely believes she's a model of an iron disciplinarian and that maintaining good discipline is just that difficult, and requires her subordinates to endure all of her discipline, so she in turn endures when her superiors chastise her.

She's also a xenophobic bitch who may or may not have heard about Jardin previously from her mother.

[ShadowDragon8685]

So I'll ask again~ Shadowdragon.. can I put in my "little" story now... I have just the intro from your last post perfectly in mind?

Sure, just, can I have a read-over first before you toss it up?

Actually, would you like me to share the text file I've been using in my Dropbox so you can write and format yours in the same doc?

[sunphoenix]

Sure... that could work... though I'd like to avoid any spoilers for your story!

[ShadowDragon8685]

Sure... that could work... though I'd like to avoid any spoilers for your story!

Well, what's the email address I should share this folder with?

[Sweforce]

I have this nagging feeling that Opalstorm just succeeded in her mission, that is her real mission, not the one she was ordered to do. Stillstorm is hard but fair but Opalstorm is just an ass that probably should never have been promoted. How do you stop an undeserving rank climber without a proper cause to do so? Set them up for failure and let them crash and burn! If Fragile Storm is behind this with the intention for Opal to fail then she is indeed a screwed sceamer, something that would explain Fragile's success despite essentially being a desk jockey herself.

Or something else entirely.

[Krulle]

What a show of "we are Humans, and we do things differently. This is simply how we Humans do it, as you already observed yourself. I made sure you understood that before I send you back to write a report that will make Opalstorm look very much like an Elephant in a china shop where restrictive diplomacy would have been necessary. And once your report has been read and acknowledged, evaluated and archived, only then will we send Opalstorm as a prisoner back, so that her side of the story will have it very difficult to fall on open ears.
This is your chance to find a new superior - use it.
Dismissed."

Very diplomatic, without ever using the direct words.
Wonderful, I am sure Tempo will approve.


Thank You, again.

[raistlin34]

I have this nagging feeling that Opalstorm just succeeded in her mission, that is her real mission, not the one she was ordered to do. Stillstorm is hard but fair but Opalstorm is just an ass that probably should never have been promoted. How do you stop an undeserving rank climber without a proper cause to do so? Set them up for failure and let them crash and burn! If Fragile Storm is behind this with the intention for Opal to fail then she is indeed a screwed sceamer, something that would explain Fragile's success despite essentially being a desk jockey herself.

Or something else entirely.

I suspect this was the case. Otherwise, they would had put an independent diplomat Mizol like Tempo in charge of the mission, rather than Torrai Sorimi Shitstorm.

[ShadowDragon8685]

I have this nagging feeling that Opalstorm just succeeded in her mission, that is her real mission, not the one she was ordered to do. Stillstorm is hard but fair but Opalstorm is just an ass that probably should never have been promoted. How do you stop an undeserving rank climber without a proper cause to do so? Set them up for failure and let them crash and burn! If Fragile Storm is behind this with the intention for Opal to fail then she is indeed a screwed sceamer, something that would explain Fragile's success despite essentially being a desk jockey herself.

Or something else entirely.

Ironically, if she had been plotting "how can I get this pain in my ass out of my hair with a clear-cut case of insubordination bordering on mutiny," this is exactly what she would have done, but this one is gonna blindside Fragile Storm, because she's not, generally, in the habit of plotting against her own subordinates. She saves her plotting for the shells and occasionally Jardin. (She's never acted on those plots. But she's come up with a few.)

She sent Opalstorm in charge of this mission because Opalstorm is a genuine walking regulation dictionary - cast from the same mold as Arnold Judas Rimmer, only actually competent and knows the regs. She also wouldn't know tact if it crept up behind her and goosed her: therefore, if there were any flaws with Jardin's ships, serious or otherwise, she figured that Opalstorm would compile them into a huge list, annotated and sorted by severity and with a list of exactly whom to blame for them.

She wasn't actually counting on Jardin having taught his crew to snap-to attention and salute superior officers. Even if she had been, that's perfectly permissible by the Loroi standards of a commander being able to impose some of their native customs on their command; she's certainly done some of that, which her crew no doubt found weird because she and Fragile Spear are from one of the archaic clan holdout traditions.
It would be seen as weird on first blush, like someone doing the Full Rimmer, but on second reflection, most Loroi who don't have a tungsten rod rammed right up their ass would get that, obviously, a human commander would not be able to perceive a standard Loroi telepathic salute and thus, would be unable to tell the difference between a subordinate officer showing proper deference to a superior, and a crewman who was being insubordinate and slouching off.

As she hadn't foreseen that Jardin's crews would have been taught to snap-to and salute - let alone that they'd have been taught it so well, and morale would be so high, that the breveted Loroi superior officers in the flotilla would be expecting that form of salute in lieu of the standard telepathic one - she certainly couldn't have predicted Opalstorm's apologetically furious response. Which she would have, if she had seen it coming, because Opalstorm is as generic as a Loroi officer gets: except for being a complete and total failure at inspiring anything except fear, misery and outright hatred in her subordinates, she's a model of a "fleet officer." Unfortunately, because of her famous, living-legend mother, nobody's properly taken her to task for her failings, figuring that she just needs some rough edges ground off - though in fairness, she's also never lost it to this degree of magnitude before. This may well be the turning point that sets her on the path to competency... Assuming she doesn't get shot for mutiny, anyway.

To be clear, the others sent to take accounts of the other vessels aren't going to be nearly this freaked out by it.

What a show of "we are Humans, and we do things differently. This is simply how we Humans do it, as you already observed yourself. I made sure you understood that before I send you back to write a report that will make Opalstorm look very much like an Elephant in a china shop where restrictive diplomacy would have been necessary. And once your report has been read and acknowledged, evaluated and archived, only then will we send Opalstorm as a prisoner back, so that her side of the story will have it very difficult to fall on open ears.
This is your chance to find a new superior - use it.
Dismissed."

Very diplomatic, without ever using the direct words.
Wonderful, I am sure Tempo will approve.

Thank You, again.

He was very much attempting to channel Jean-Luc Picard during that exchange, I'll grant. (Or more likely, some actor from the 2150s who was channeling an actor from the 2110s who was channeling some actor from the 2060s who was channeling Sir Patrick Stewart.)

So yes, Tempo would approve. And upon learning that he was inspired to do by a human actor rather than any superior officer (Captain Hamilton struck me as more of the "sit up straight! Stand up for yourself, girl!" type) she would probably be highly amused, her amusement growing in proportion with Fireblade's annoyance.

I suspect this was the case. Otherwise, they would had put an independent diplomat Mizol like Tempo in charge of the mission, rather than Torrai Sorimi Shitstorm.

It wasn't actually, but bear in mind that this wasn't seen as a diplomatic mission, but a fleet audit, so a juniormost staff officer like Opalstorm was, in theory, the appropriate tool to send for the job. It's just a shame that she is such a tool.

[Sweforce]

Thinking about it, it would probably be fun seeing a bit from Opal's perspective. Sitting there in the brig trying to figure out what the heck just happened to her.

[ShadowDragon8685]

Thinking about it, it would probably be fun seeing a bit from Opal's perspective. Sitting there in the brig trying to figure out what the heck just happened to her.

Hrn... Yeah, I could swing that.

I set that up basically to show that five years of war amongst the Loroi have turned Jardin into someone who can be a proper commander when he needs to be. I'll grant that being Captain at 25 is probably a case of him having been over-promoted because of exceptional associations, much like Opalstorm, but the difference is that Opalstorm doesn't have a nanogram of humility in her body and fully believes she deserves her rank, whereas Jardin knows damn well he's a jackass cut-up and relies heavily on more experienced and knowledgeable officers - to wit, Fireblade, Tempo, Beryl and Talon - to get things right.

[ShadowDragon8685]

As requested, a bit of Opalstorm simmering in the tiny brig aboard Swiftwind.



======

Torrai Sormimi Risot-Soni, whose spoken name was properly rendered as Opalstorm, was in a state approximating shock.
She had not had a good day. Indeed, this was, quite possibly, the worst day of her life. She rubbed her wrists where the restraints had bit into them, shaking her head. She felt out, with her mind, and sensed the mind of a Loroi on the other side of the bulkhead containing her door - she hadn't moved since she had been placed there. Opalstorm didn't understand this; she was, to her outrage, securely confined. She saw no purpose to posting an armed guard outside the door. She tried to probe the other Loroi's mood, but could sense nothing, save that the guard had hardened her mind against intrusion, a clear and egregious act of hostility.

This is an absurdity and an outrage which brings shame to your crew and ancestors, she sent to the guard. No response was forthcoming, and Opalstorm gritted her teeth, sitting on the thin cot provided, pondering her options. Briefly she toyed with the possibility of affecting an escape. She was not entirely helpless; she had some telekinetic ability of no small power, but she had been rejected as an Unsheathed for her lack of focus at range. She could crush a small robot at about twice arm's distance, and that was about it... But it would have let her reach through the wall and incapacitate the guard, and... Then what?

Would she be able to telekinetically fumble the door open, take the guard's weapon? Possibly. But then what? If that Unsheathed who seemed to have been completely corrupted by his bizarre, alien masculine wiles caught up with her, she'd be a smear on the walls. If he had returned the armed guards to their posts, and they remained loyal to the pink freak, it would be unlikely she would be able to shoot her way out, even with the element of surprise, and the human naval base on which the corvettes were docked was a great unknown factor. Would they stand aside and let her pass? Bar her passage? Would they actively attempt to subdue or kill her?

No - though it infuriated her and left her boiling over with outrage, she would not be affecting her own departure any time soon. He was out of line, she thought, angrily. Just some alien freak. He had no right to order me off his vessel. All of this crew are deficient - perhaps they're deficient in the head? Should I consider them all traitors? She fumed, angrily, leaning back; she wasn't going any where, so she might as well attempt to eke some comfort out of the situation. Standing up, she pushed the cot to the far wall, folded it over on itself, sat upon it crosslegged and removed her boots. So arranged, she clenched her fists and toes, and relaxed them, rythmically, breathing deeply, seething with anger and resentment, but forcing herself to become calm.

She had, perhaps, become over-enthused in attempting to discipline the crew. One or two of them mocking her with that obscene alien gesture, failing to salute her and acknowledge her rank telepathically; she would be right to discipline them for, but the entire crew? On second thought, it was unlikely that fifty Loroi would all have become so lax.
Clearly, their judgment was impaired. Being confined with the alien for so long had affected them - perhaps something pheremonal, something the ship's environmental filters had failed to isolate and filtrate, or perhaps the human race was able, somehow, to exert some form of subtle will-influence on Loroi, related to their inability to read sanzai?

Either possibility was equally likely. No, she had erred in attempting to discipline every member of the crew individually and as a group. A few of them would have been justified, but clearly they were impaired somehow, through no fault of their own. Well, perhaps there was some fault to go around; if the impairment were pheremonal, then the crew responsible for environment control needed to be punished, but the rest had no culpability. They would all need a lot of time retraining, however.

Clearly, though, discipline had broken down aboard the Swiftwind, to an alarming degree. Only a few of the crew had seemed properly cowed when she attempted to put them in their place; even when she became harsher and harsher, only a few of them adopted a proper mien of respect for her authority. The amount of doubt and questioning of her authority had been enraging - was her uniform not sufficient proof?! - and an alarmingly large fraction of them had grown alarmingly hostile and defiant of her. Outrageous - and then that alien freak had returned.

She could see why he was so dangerous - he had an exotic, alien allure that she herself couldn't deny; hardly a beautiful face, but one oddly attractive in its ruggedness, but he was tall, built like a woman, an exotic alien so unlike Loroi menfolk. Yes, she could see the danger. No doubt so long in proximity to him would have corroded any warrior's self-control, if she had not approached him already hardened for confrontation. She wondered, with a start, if that was the secret to the strange loyalty he commanded; if he used sexual access to himself as a means of rewarding whatever he deemed good behavior. It would explain why his crew seemed so sickeningly loyal to him that not only that Unsheathed bodyguard but the gunner's mate had seemed positively joyful when he ordered them to draw their sidearms and take her prisoner.

She knew damn well just how difficult it was to engender loyalty. Subordinates were a pack of impossible hooligans, always shirking their duties, or thinking venomous thoughts about their superiors, it was frankly a wonder the shells hadn't overrun the Union already. It was an exhausting occupation, maintaining discipline among her own subordinates. Still, she had to persevere. She had to - she was burdened not only with command, but with a legacy to live up to; she could not be a failure. If it meant that ceaseless vigilance against the slightest laxity and remorseless swift fury when it was found was the price, then she would pay them; after all, all great commanders had to bear such burdens. Captain Fragile Spear certainly had to have an exhausting time disciplining those below her, such as Opalstorm, who was no stranger to the harsh edge of the Captain's mind, and rightly so. After all, the embarrassing disciplinary failures on the parts of her subordinates not only reflected poorly on her, through her they reflected poorly on Fragile Spear, and through her, on Fragile Storm.

Although this morning's chastisement was, in Opalstorm's opinion, unwarranted. An officer of her rank had every right to unilaterally order the termination of anyone who posed a clear and present danger to the vessel, and that... Freak the shells had experimented upon certainly qualified - after all, they had somehow induced a great many Unsheathed to turn upon and assassinate their senior staff, how could anyone who had been so tampered with be allowed to live? Opalstorm began reviewing regulations in her head - as a prisoner, she had a nominal right to demand access to the books of regulations, but she doubted that a crew which had fallen so far under an alien witch's charm could be counted upon to acknowledge that. Fortunately, she didn't need it - although her tablet and comlink had been confiscated, she had very nearly the impeccable memory for rules and regulations of a Listel. She could challenge Fragile Spear's decision to overrule her orders to have that... Creature dubbed Sisto-liper; "Snow White," executed...

But it would be fruitless, she knew, at least as long as the fleet was out of contact. Fragile Storm was Fragile Spear's sibling, and they were raised in the clan-ways of old. Their loyalty to one another was certainly greater than that to abstract rules. In a way, she couldn't fault them for it; if her exalted mother ordered her to violate a regulation, Opalstorm knew that she would do it, and if necessary, would bear any appropriate punishment meted out.
The difference, of course, being that if her exalted, legendary mother were ordering her to act in violation of the rules, then it would be because some unforeseen situation had emerged in which the rules were prescribing incorrect actions, and Stillstorm had the experience and vision necessary to discern such situations. Clearly, Fragile Storm did not, or she would certainly have overruled her sister and had the tampered-with Loroi destroyed as the threat to security she was.

No longer boiling over with explosive indignation, Opalstorm felt herself calmer, her course clearer. Not even the human sex-appeal-witch would be able to hold her indefinitely; at the very least, her absence would be missed, and inquiries launched. She would stoically bear the all-but-insufferable indignity of this farce arrest and charge, and be returned to Retribution. Once there, justice would, she was certain, swiftly prevail. She would be freed, and the crew of Jardin's vessels recalled for rehabilitation. Jardin himself...

It was entirely too much to hope that he would be executed. In a way, she supposed, notwithstanding his popularity among the Emperor's circle, his actions might be considered justified in extremis; if she found Loroi subordinates so hard to control, an alien must have found them impossible, unless he had some kind of unique leverage over them; even if it meant something that was surely distasteful. Or perhaps he had enjoyed it; she neither knew, nor considered it relevant. He would simply be returned to his own people, and surely Fragile Storm would instruct them to keep him away from Loroi. Perhaps, if it were biochemical, a pharmaceutical solution would be found; even if not... Well, she had received a frank and appalling briefing on just how badly the Union required aid, any and all aid; they would simply have to work with the bewitching alien menfolk kept at arm's length, and prepare for the inevitable conflict with them once the shells were dealt with. Perhaps they could subjugate the humans.

She twisted her lips up in a smirk; indeed, if human menfolk were so irresistible to Loroi warriors, once the race was properly vassalized, perhaps Loroi vessels could keep one or two aboard for morale purposes. It would greatly simplify her task of keeping discipline if she had some sort of apparently-irresistible alien reward to dangle for good behavior. Then the need to constantly discipline her subordinates would be alleviated, as they would, surely, to some degree reign in their own unruly and wild impulses in the hope of pleasing her and by so doing, gain access...

Opalstorm reached up, stroking her ear thoughtfully. This possibility bore some... Consideration. Still, Jardin's treatment of her was unacceptable. It was not the alien's place to presume that he had a proper right to command a Loroi warship, and his being granted command was an extreme circumstance. She would have to lodge a complaint most severe. He wouldn't be executed; likely, he would not even receive harsh punishment, which grated on her, but she was certain that he would likely be pushed away, where he could no longer seek any glory. It would have to suffice. She would have to exercise patience, which galled her, but until then there was nothing she could do, save, perhaps, sleeping. As she was not tired, she rearranged herself on the cot, placed her feet together, heel-to-heel, and began to go through breathing regimens, her mind calling up regulation numbers and reviewing them for utility in her situation. There would be a reckoning; not immediate, perhaps not soon, but she was sure the rules were on her side. And if Jardin was, for political reasons, beyond the reach of her reckoning, perhaps the reckless commander who had placed him in charge of Swiftwind, or Fragile Storm, would not be.