jeriendhal (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jeriendhal) wrote2010-04-20 10:20 am
jeriendhal) wrote2010-04-20 10:20 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Altered Trajectory (cont.)
Hope to hell I'm regaining momentum on this. I hate it when my muse wanders off.
As succinctly as he could, given the number of soldiers Not Pointing their guns at them, Rufus summarized the reasons for their journey to Bolt Hole and their encounter with Drisden, his murder, and Mac’s deciphering of the chip plus the price he paid. “…and so we came here on our own, while the Red Vixen transports our colleague to a proper medical facility.”
“You have the chip now?”
“Of course,” Rufus took it from his pocket and handed it over. “His final entry does detail our encounter.”
“Which means exactly nothing if your cyber glider broke through the code walls guarding it,” she noted, slipping the chip into the pocket of her tunic.
“A point,” Rufus said carefully. “But if we go down that road you may as well just place us in the brig and be done with it. Admiral, we mean you no harm. As a representative of the Vulpine government, I can unequivocally state that we only wish peaceful contact, in hopes of preventing the Human Federation from taking action that might be deemed… er, unfortunate.”
“Murder us, you mean.”
“Er, yes, essentially.”
Admiral Gisko stared at them for a long time, her pupil-less golden eyes unreadable. Finally, she let a long sigh. “I had hoped for a better beginning, when we revealed ourselves to the universe. It appears that little has changed among the humans.”
“They are not all so hopeless,” Rufus said. “And forgive me, but much of their paranoia was well earned.”
“Truth,” she admitted. “Very well. Lord Ru Ofanius, Ms. Swiftfoot, you may consider yourselves… guests of the Varn Dominion. Quarters will be provided for you aboard this ship, and we will transport you to Varn Prime to meet with my Wise Master.”
“May I be permitted to contact my home government to apprise them of our situation?” he asked.
Admiral Gisko paused, then answered carefully, “Not currently. The proper time will be our Wise Master’s decision.”
It was, Rufus realized, too gently worded to be seen as an outright refusal, or a threat. It would be imprudent at that moment to point out that it was both. Be careful, Admiral Gisko. You have the makings of a diplomat. “Thank you, Admiral Gisko,” he said aloud. “We shall enjoy your hospitality.”
And with that they were escorted down the gleaming, pearl white corridors of the cruiser to their quarters, its arched halls built for a race nearly twice Rufus’ height, honor guard both leading the way and keeping pace from behind. But at least now the guns were slung across their backs.
“We’re prisoners again, aren’t we?” Hazel asked softly.
“Yes.”
“But we’re not supposed to act like we are.”
“No.”
“I hate diplomacy.”
“Yes.”
TBC
As succinctly as he could, given the number of soldiers Not Pointing their guns at them, Rufus summarized the reasons for their journey to Bolt Hole and their encounter with Drisden, his murder, and Mac’s deciphering of the chip plus the price he paid. “…and so we came here on our own, while the Red Vixen transports our colleague to a proper medical facility.”
“You have the chip now?”
“Of course,” Rufus took it from his pocket and handed it over. “His final entry does detail our encounter.”
“Which means exactly nothing if your cyber glider broke through the code walls guarding it,” she noted, slipping the chip into the pocket of her tunic.
“A point,” Rufus said carefully. “But if we go down that road you may as well just place us in the brig and be done with it. Admiral, we mean you no harm. As a representative of the Vulpine government, I can unequivocally state that we only wish peaceful contact, in hopes of preventing the Human Federation from taking action that might be deemed… er, unfortunate.”
“Murder us, you mean.”
“Er, yes, essentially.”
Admiral Gisko stared at them for a long time, her pupil-less golden eyes unreadable. Finally, she let a long sigh. “I had hoped for a better beginning, when we revealed ourselves to the universe. It appears that little has changed among the humans.”
“They are not all so hopeless,” Rufus said. “And forgive me, but much of their paranoia was well earned.”
“Truth,” she admitted. “Very well. Lord Ru Ofanius, Ms. Swiftfoot, you may consider yourselves… guests of the Varn Dominion. Quarters will be provided for you aboard this ship, and we will transport you to Varn Prime to meet with my Wise Master.”
“May I be permitted to contact my home government to apprise them of our situation?” he asked.
Admiral Gisko paused, then answered carefully, “Not currently. The proper time will be our Wise Master’s decision.”
It was, Rufus realized, too gently worded to be seen as an outright refusal, or a threat. It would be imprudent at that moment to point out that it was both. Be careful, Admiral Gisko. You have the makings of a diplomat. “Thank you, Admiral Gisko,” he said aloud. “We shall enjoy your hospitality.”
And with that they were escorted down the gleaming, pearl white corridors of the cruiser to their quarters, its arched halls built for a race nearly twice Rufus’ height, honor guard both leading the way and keeping pace from behind. But at least now the guns were slung across their backs.
“We’re prisoners again, aren’t we?” Hazel asked softly.
“Yes.”
“But we’re not supposed to act like we are.”
“No.”
“I hate diplomacy.”
“Yes.”
TBC