Conflation —Part 9
Jun. 1st, 2006 06:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
secret_historyWelcome back, dear readers! Here is another eagerly-awaited instalment of Conflation.
It occurred to me, while writing this, that if I knew Vanya in real life, I would probably find him far too annoying to ever want to spend time with him.
*****
9- Limbo
Nasim.
It was a start. Not a great one, but a start. The name had surfaced in his mind while he slept. He wasn't sure if it his, but it didn't sound altogether alien, and so he decided it was as good as any with which to identify himself. He couldn't keep going without some sort of identifier, and "Hey, you" wasn't an appealing option. No last name came with it, but he wasn't certain he even had a last name. He wouldn't be the first, nor the last person, to have only one name. There were any number of reasons to have only the one. It hardly seemed to matter: identity was a flighty beast anyway.
He tested the name, speaking it out loud, tentatively, tasting the syllables on his tongue. He wondered if he should write it down, whether it would do any good.
There was nothing to do for the moment except pace back and forth in his new quarters and try to stem his mounting frustration. He'd managed to get a fair bit of sleep, the first real hours of rest he'd had in what was probably a very long time. The quarters he'd been assigned were bare, unfurnished except for a narrow bunk and a table that had been bolted to the floor in a corner, and a tiny lavatory compartment, but they were more than adequate as far as he was concerned. He needed very little to sustain himself, and creature comforts were superfluous at present. They might even be a distraction he couldn't afford. He needed to keep his thoughts focussed on the present, on this odd collection of people with whom he'd fallen in.
He suspected that whoever "Soraya" was, she had died rather than left the ship. The room was pristine: every surface gleamed as though it had been scoured and polished repeatedly. There was a strong smell of disinfectant in the place, which suggested to him that someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to erase any trace of Soraya's presence. No one, in his experience, did that for a crewmate who had left for a different post. The only reason to eradicate a memory was if it was too painful to bear. Probability indicated that she was dead.
The ship was safe as far as he knew, and had sustained no damage from the few shots the station had managed to fire at them before they were out of range. They had not been followed, if the crew were to be believed, and he had no reason thus far not to believe them. They had treated him much better than he had any right to expect, given the circumstances. He didn't know who they were, didn't know who he himself was, and thus had no way of knowing whether or not they were friends or foes. The reverse was true as well, and there was no denying that his first act toward them had been to try and kill their tactical officer. They seemed to have taken this in stride, mostly at the behest of their captain, the one called Vanya. Therefore, it was expedient to consider them friendly. For the moment.
He continued to pace, limping a bit as his feet protested, unable to stay still in spite of the discomfort, which had lessened considerably after the medical attention he'd received. The burns were gone, leaving behind only a residual tenderness, though that was still unpleasant enough if he didn't actively push it aside. The wrenching pain in his whole body that he'd felt on board the station, whatever had gone wrong when he'd tried to get by the group of then-unknown people, was gone. He still had no idea what had caused it, or if it would come again, and he had no way of communicating this to anyone. It might not be a good idea to communicate it, in any case: a display of weakness could be exploited by an enemy. Best to keep it hidden for now and hope that it was a one-time fluke.
He supposed he ought to be grateful for small mercies, considering the worse problems with which he was faced. The physical discomfort he'd experienced thus far was minimal, all things considered. It was the rest that truly troubled him. His mind was locked down, that much was certain, and the medic, Xiao Mei, had indicated to him that there might be more at work than a simple compartmentalization or even an excision, not that she had phrased it that way. "Scrambled like an omelette," had been her words, and he didn't like the sound of that at all. His interrogators had been able to understand him, and that meant that they had done something to him, with drugs and possibly surgery. Xiao Mei hadn't been able to identify the drugs in his system, no more than he had, except to tell him that it looked like a combination of stimulants and neural inhibitors, which meant that it was a new compound, and one seemingly specifically designed to damage the neural tissue, wreaking havoc with cognitive functions.
His head hurt just thinking about it. At least he still appeared to be able to think straight. That much was a mercy. Or perhaps a curse, depending on how long this lasted. He sat down on the regulation-issue bunk to ease the pressure off his feet for a few moments, and wondered why his captors had been so determined to prevent him from communicating with anyone else. What did they think he knew that they so desperately wanted to keep secret? There had to be a way of breaking down the barriers in his mind, but he was damned if he knew how. Xiao Mei seemed certain that there were barriers in place, which gave him hope that his mind wasn't permanently crushed. Or that there might be a possibility of retrieval. There might be a way to repair the damage, even if it wasn't possible here on this ship, with the equipment at hand. Once he could get to the proper facilities, he might be able to get help.
Which brought him back to his current predicament. He was alone, with no real allies, no money, no idea who he was, and up until recently no idea where he was. Hell, he didn't even have a pair of shoes to call his own. The tactical officer named Jarod had told him which sector they were in, but it had meant very little to him and hadn't jogged any kind of memory which would tell him why he was there to begin with. Even finding out his location had been a long and frustrating process, since there was no good way of acting out the word "where" that he could think of. For all his training, no one had ever bothered to teach him to communicate complex concepts using only his hands and whatever objects might be around. Effectively, he was stranded on this ship until the crew decided to offload him on the nearest outpost or another station. What happened after that was anyone's guess.
A sharp beeping interrupted his thoughts, announcing that someone was outside his new quarters. The door opened a moment later, revealing a cheerful-looking Vanya with a bulky parcel under one arm. He was quite pale, and his hair was wet from where he'd only recently washed off the gel from the trank, but he was grinning and otherwise looked to be in fine form.
"And how is our very special guest doing?" Vanya bounced on his toes into the room, then hoisted himself up onto the corner of the table, his feet dangling, dropping the parcel unceremoniously on the floor. "Have you at least thought of a name for yourself?"
"I have. It's Nasim, I think."
Vanya shook his head. "You'll have to do better than that. I can't make out your words, so you'll have to eschew the extra verbiage. Just your name, if that's what you were saying."
He sighed. "Nasim." He wasn't even sure that what he was saying sounded like 'Nasim.' For all he knew he was spouting random syllables.
"Nasim?" Vanya repeated, looking at him. He nodded, feeling a grin spread over his features. It was absurd that he should feel so pleased that he'd managed to communicate one word, but it seemed a huge step forward right then. Vanya returned the grin. "All right, now we're getting somewhere. That's your name?" He nodded again. "Good. Fantastic. What else can you tell me?"
"I don't know. What else would you like to know?"
"Damn." Vanya looked disappointed. "I was hoping that had broken the communication barrier. Oh well, no matter, we'll just have to work around it." Vanya propped the heel of one foot under him on the table, looking to Nasim as though he might fall over at any moment, although he didn't seem to be concerned. "Okay, Nasim, here's the deal: my crew and I were in the middle of a job when you very rudely interrupted us."
"I'm sorry about that, but I had no way of knowing."
"That's neither here nor there," Vanya waved a deprecating hand in his direction. "The point is, our job isn't quite finished. I have to meet our, erm, client in less than two hours in order to deliver a parcel, completing our end of the bargain, and I'm taking you with me."
"What? Why?" This was unexpected, and not altogether reassuring. He would much rather have stayed behind on the ship, which at least for now was a known quantity. Venturing into the unknown with a man with whom he could barely communicate seemed like a poor idea at best.
"Here's the way I see it, Nasim," Vanya seemed to take a particular pleasure in using the name. "I don't know you. That means I can't trust you farther than I can throw you, and given my upper body strength, that's not very far," his grin widened and his eyes sparkled with merriment. "I need all my crew to be focussed on their tasks, and they can't do that if they've got someone they don't know and trust prowling around on the ship. I've seen what you can do, and I know that means you're a potential threat to my crew. You're stronger and faster than they are, even injured, and you know your way around electronics and weapons."
"What's your point?"
"Don't interrupt, Nasim, it's not polite. Besides, I have no idea what you just said, so you may as well save your breath. My point, Nasim, is that I'm taking you with me because I want to keep an eye on you. I have no illusions that you could probably overpower me, but I'd rather have that happen off my ship, where there's a possibility my crew can get us all out alive and not have to worry about you. Xiao Mei tells me you're in good enough physical shape to go, and so that means you're coming with me. Any questions?"
"Plenty, but I can't ask them." In spite of himself, Nasim found himself liking this bossy little man. He wasn't entirely sure that he agreed with his reasoning, or even understood it, but he was beginning to suspect that Vanya's mind didn't work quite like the minds of other people. He was also curious about this job to which the crew kept referring; this would be an opportunity to see what it was first-hand.
"I'm very glad we understand each other. I brought you a set of clothes. They might not be an exact fit, but I think the boots are your size, and that's the main thing. Nothing worse than ill-fitting footwear." Vanya jerked his head toward the parcel he'd dropped on the floor. "More wars have been lost due to poorly-made boots than for any other reason," he intoned sententiously.
"Now get dressed, and let's go."
*****
It occurred to me, while writing this, that if I knew Vanya in real life, I would probably find him far too annoying to ever want to spend time with him.
9- Limbo
Nasim.
It was a start. Not a great one, but a start. The name had surfaced in his mind while he slept. He wasn't sure if it his, but it didn't sound altogether alien, and so he decided it was as good as any with which to identify himself. He couldn't keep going without some sort of identifier, and "Hey, you" wasn't an appealing option. No last name came with it, but he wasn't certain he even had a last name. He wouldn't be the first, nor the last person, to have only one name. There were any number of reasons to have only the one. It hardly seemed to matter: identity was a flighty beast anyway.
He tested the name, speaking it out loud, tentatively, tasting the syllables on his tongue. He wondered if he should write it down, whether it would do any good.
There was nothing to do for the moment except pace back and forth in his new quarters and try to stem his mounting frustration. He'd managed to get a fair bit of sleep, the first real hours of rest he'd had in what was probably a very long time. The quarters he'd been assigned were bare, unfurnished except for a narrow bunk and a table that had been bolted to the floor in a corner, and a tiny lavatory compartment, but they were more than adequate as far as he was concerned. He needed very little to sustain himself, and creature comforts were superfluous at present. They might even be a distraction he couldn't afford. He needed to keep his thoughts focussed on the present, on this odd collection of people with whom he'd fallen in.
He suspected that whoever "Soraya" was, she had died rather than left the ship. The room was pristine: every surface gleamed as though it had been scoured and polished repeatedly. There was a strong smell of disinfectant in the place, which suggested to him that someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to erase any trace of Soraya's presence. No one, in his experience, did that for a crewmate who had left for a different post. The only reason to eradicate a memory was if it was too painful to bear. Probability indicated that she was dead.
The ship was safe as far as he knew, and had sustained no damage from the few shots the station had managed to fire at them before they were out of range. They had not been followed, if the crew were to be believed, and he had no reason thus far not to believe them. They had treated him much better than he had any right to expect, given the circumstances. He didn't know who they were, didn't know who he himself was, and thus had no way of knowing whether or not they were friends or foes. The reverse was true as well, and there was no denying that his first act toward them had been to try and kill their tactical officer. They seemed to have taken this in stride, mostly at the behest of their captain, the one called Vanya. Therefore, it was expedient to consider them friendly. For the moment.
He continued to pace, limping a bit as his feet protested, unable to stay still in spite of the discomfort, which had lessened considerably after the medical attention he'd received. The burns were gone, leaving behind only a residual tenderness, though that was still unpleasant enough if he didn't actively push it aside. The wrenching pain in his whole body that he'd felt on board the station, whatever had gone wrong when he'd tried to get by the group of then-unknown people, was gone. He still had no idea what had caused it, or if it would come again, and he had no way of communicating this to anyone. It might not be a good idea to communicate it, in any case: a display of weakness could be exploited by an enemy. Best to keep it hidden for now and hope that it was a one-time fluke.
He supposed he ought to be grateful for small mercies, considering the worse problems with which he was faced. The physical discomfort he'd experienced thus far was minimal, all things considered. It was the rest that truly troubled him. His mind was locked down, that much was certain, and the medic, Xiao Mei, had indicated to him that there might be more at work than a simple compartmentalization or even an excision, not that she had phrased it that way. "Scrambled like an omelette," had been her words, and he didn't like the sound of that at all. His interrogators had been able to understand him, and that meant that they had done something to him, with drugs and possibly surgery. Xiao Mei hadn't been able to identify the drugs in his system, no more than he had, except to tell him that it looked like a combination of stimulants and neural inhibitors, which meant that it was a new compound, and one seemingly specifically designed to damage the neural tissue, wreaking havoc with cognitive functions.
His head hurt just thinking about it. At least he still appeared to be able to think straight. That much was a mercy. Or perhaps a curse, depending on how long this lasted. He sat down on the regulation-issue bunk to ease the pressure off his feet for a few moments, and wondered why his captors had been so determined to prevent him from communicating with anyone else. What did they think he knew that they so desperately wanted to keep secret? There had to be a way of breaking down the barriers in his mind, but he was damned if he knew how. Xiao Mei seemed certain that there were barriers in place, which gave him hope that his mind wasn't permanently crushed. Or that there might be a possibility of retrieval. There might be a way to repair the damage, even if it wasn't possible here on this ship, with the equipment at hand. Once he could get to the proper facilities, he might be able to get help.
Which brought him back to his current predicament. He was alone, with no real allies, no money, no idea who he was, and up until recently no idea where he was. Hell, he didn't even have a pair of shoes to call his own. The tactical officer named Jarod had told him which sector they were in, but it had meant very little to him and hadn't jogged any kind of memory which would tell him why he was there to begin with. Even finding out his location had been a long and frustrating process, since there was no good way of acting out the word "where" that he could think of. For all his training, no one had ever bothered to teach him to communicate complex concepts using only his hands and whatever objects might be around. Effectively, he was stranded on this ship until the crew decided to offload him on the nearest outpost or another station. What happened after that was anyone's guess.
A sharp beeping interrupted his thoughts, announcing that someone was outside his new quarters. The door opened a moment later, revealing a cheerful-looking Vanya with a bulky parcel under one arm. He was quite pale, and his hair was wet from where he'd only recently washed off the gel from the trank, but he was grinning and otherwise looked to be in fine form.
"And how is our very special guest doing?" Vanya bounced on his toes into the room, then hoisted himself up onto the corner of the table, his feet dangling, dropping the parcel unceremoniously on the floor. "Have you at least thought of a name for yourself?"
"I have. It's Nasim, I think."
Vanya shook his head. "You'll have to do better than that. I can't make out your words, so you'll have to eschew the extra verbiage. Just your name, if that's what you were saying."
He sighed. "Nasim." He wasn't even sure that what he was saying sounded like 'Nasim.' For all he knew he was spouting random syllables.
"Nasim?" Vanya repeated, looking at him. He nodded, feeling a grin spread over his features. It was absurd that he should feel so pleased that he'd managed to communicate one word, but it seemed a huge step forward right then. Vanya returned the grin. "All right, now we're getting somewhere. That's your name?" He nodded again. "Good. Fantastic. What else can you tell me?"
"I don't know. What else would you like to know?"
"Damn." Vanya looked disappointed. "I was hoping that had broken the communication barrier. Oh well, no matter, we'll just have to work around it." Vanya propped the heel of one foot under him on the table, looking to Nasim as though he might fall over at any moment, although he didn't seem to be concerned. "Okay, Nasim, here's the deal: my crew and I were in the middle of a job when you very rudely interrupted us."
"I'm sorry about that, but I had no way of knowing."
"That's neither here nor there," Vanya waved a deprecating hand in his direction. "The point is, our job isn't quite finished. I have to meet our, erm, client in less than two hours in order to deliver a parcel, completing our end of the bargain, and I'm taking you with me."
"What? Why?" This was unexpected, and not altogether reassuring. He would much rather have stayed behind on the ship, which at least for now was a known quantity. Venturing into the unknown with a man with whom he could barely communicate seemed like a poor idea at best.
"Here's the way I see it, Nasim," Vanya seemed to take a particular pleasure in using the name. "I don't know you. That means I can't trust you farther than I can throw you, and given my upper body strength, that's not very far," his grin widened and his eyes sparkled with merriment. "I need all my crew to be focussed on their tasks, and they can't do that if they've got someone they don't know and trust prowling around on the ship. I've seen what you can do, and I know that means you're a potential threat to my crew. You're stronger and faster than they are, even injured, and you know your way around electronics and weapons."
"What's your point?"
"Don't interrupt, Nasim, it's not polite. Besides, I have no idea what you just said, so you may as well save your breath. My point, Nasim, is that I'm taking you with me because I want to keep an eye on you. I have no illusions that you could probably overpower me, but I'd rather have that happen off my ship, where there's a possibility my crew can get us all out alive and not have to worry about you. Xiao Mei tells me you're in good enough physical shape to go, and so that means you're coming with me. Any questions?"
"Plenty, but I can't ask them." In spite of himself, Nasim found himself liking this bossy little man. He wasn't entirely sure that he agreed with his reasoning, or even understood it, but he was beginning to suspect that Vanya's mind didn't work quite like the minds of other people. He was also curious about this job to which the crew kept referring; this would be an opportunity to see what it was first-hand.
"I'm very glad we understand each other. I brought you a set of clothes. They might not be an exact fit, but I think the boots are your size, and that's the main thing. Nothing worse than ill-fitting footwear." Vanya jerked his head toward the parcel he'd dropped on the floor. "More wars have been lost due to poorly-made boots than for any other reason," he intoned sententiously.
"Now get dressed, and let's go."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-06-02 03:07 pm (UTC)I *am* curious how 'Nasim' was able to say his own name but not Xiao Mei's.... It tells me that maybe it is not really his name.
also, do you ever read the Order of the Stick? Because I would like to present an alternate theory for why Nasi can't speak properly.... ;)
no subject
Date: 2006-06-02 03:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-02 10:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-03 05:10 pm (UTC)I'll bet many people have underestimated him because of it.
t!