1. video

[rickitikitarr]

[Ricki Tarr, latest inmate arrival, is still getting his feet under him. He's been on board for a little while now, but let's face it, he's a field agent from the 1970s, getting used to graphical user interfaces of his messenger has put up a bit of a roadblock in terms of his making contact.

By the time he's confident enough with the flimsy, cheeping little device to make a video post, his stomach is growling, so the very first message is a simple video shot.

It's poorly framed, he has no real idea of how to centre himself in the lens, and the light in his room is dark and low and terrible for any sort of filming. But from the dark, what's visible of his half-in-the-frame expression is still and steady;]


The first living creature to orbit the earth was a little Russian mongrel named Laika. She was a pretty thing, with a clever cast to her eyes and pricked up, pointed ears. On the fourtieth anniversary of the Bolshevik revolution they flung the little thing into the sky.

In fact, the Russians had been launching dogs into suborbital flights for a few years before, but none attained the notoriety or captured the imaginations of the world like little Laika. I was rather young when she was sent to space, but recall thinking the entire proceedings terribly inhumane.

The Soviets say that she was euthanized before her oxygen ran out. The British and Americans question whether that is true. The Russians question whether that questioning is deliberately spread propaganda meant to make them seem monstrous. In the time since, I think both sides have lost track of the original truth of the matter. But the question of her ultimate cause of death aside, I wondered whether she might be hungry, thirsty or afraid, uncomprehending of how it was possible to see stars all around her... I actually can't recall reading whether Sputnik 2 was like this ship, with windows or not. Laika may not have seen stars spinning in the sky, but I'm sure the sounds and sudden lack of gravity must have been rather frightening for such a little dog.

[His voice is low and steady, the pictures his paints are matter-of-fact and vivid. He accent is an odd, old one, London tempered by a childhood racing through Penang streets and other colonial holds. He takes his time with the story before concluding;]

Which is all to say, given the apparent flexibility of space and time on this vessel, if we see her while we're out here, I must simply insist that we make a stop.

Comments

spam;

[rickitikitarr]

[He holds it very safely, and moves to sit. Checks it, and then disassembles it so fast you can tell he did this for years by moonlight on Bornean junks in the lamplit half dark.]

Oh, yes, this is lovely. I'm not wild about an external extractor, as a rule, but if anyone's done it it's Sig. Mind you, when I owned mine the ejection was rather erratic.

Re: spam;

[anewlanguage]

[Maybe his profession should have given Cain the habit of viewing anyone who can handle a gun as a rival, but if it did, the Barge stripped that away. Now he's just glad whenever he finds someone who can be useful and deadly if they hit another bad port.]

Yeah I carry this on the Barge more for show. The handful of times I've had to break up a fight I didn't bring any weapons into it. I've got a pair of M16's if things get real hairy. I'm guessing guns aren't your weakest area though.

[rickitikitarr]

I was lying.

[Reassembling the gun, deftly.]

But I could really, really use a good fight, or I'm going to break some nice young helpful person's teeth.

[anewlanguage]

Fair enough.

[He puts the knife aside, motions Ricki to set the gun beside it]

How much contact are you comfortable with? split lips, or d'you want to pull punches more than that?

[rickitikitarr]

Pull punches. I shouldn't wander around with a black eye my first week, I'll look frightfully violent.

[Setting the gun aside, before standing.]

[anewlanguage]

[In that case he leads him to the ring where most training and sparring goes on. It's not a soft place to be thrown or fall, but it beats the metal floor.]

You'd be surprised how many people like the violent look around here.

[rickitikitarr]

[He nods, and tags along after him.]

I believe that, oddly enough.

[anewlanguage]

You've probably seen it back home. Certain people go for the competent-and-mean look.

[But the second Ricki is in the ring Cain throws a punch]

[rickitikitarr]

[He ducks it on pure reflex, liquid and lovely and very well trained, before catching himself and coming at him instead with a deliberately undisciplined flurry, blowing off steam, not showing all his cards.]

[anewlanguage]

[This had ostensibly been a test of skill but now that they're there, Cain is happy to let it just be a release. He dodges, blocks, counters, parries, strikes--right now it's all about working up a sweat.]

[rickitikitarr]

[Thank Christ thank Christ, he even ends up muttering a few times under his breath, he's been wanting to hit something all day, and this is just consuming enough for him to stop thinking for five, six, seven seconds at a time.]

[anewlanguage]

[Ricki is no stranger to this, that much is clear, so Cain steps it up a little more, makes it harder. He's still pulling punches but there are more of them, more kicks, more grappling.]

[rickitikitarr]

[He chuckles, and meets him in it. He's not much for kicking, but has mean knees, fights inherently dirty- he's cleaning himself up now, but it's easy to read that his training is all whatever works fastest and hurts most. He's disciplined enough not to hit, at least, but in the end, goes in for the tackle, unable to resist the lure of the thud of impact.]

[anewlanguage]

[Cain goes down; if you're looking for a real way to blow off steam and you aren't much for the pain of being hit full force, grappling is hands down the best way. When he'd been younger, Cain had been just as comfortable on the ground as he was standing, but that's not much the case anymore. Ricki will have a distinct advantage, even with Cain's extensive training.

So he starts to fight dirty, too, more along the lines of what he's seen Ricki do.]

[rickitikitarr]

[He gives Cain the first pin, surrendering when he probably could have broken out of it, if his life had actually depended on it- an easy fold. Pride isn't actually that big of a thing with Ricki.]

You know all about me, but I don't know anything about you.

[Actually, of course, Cain knows nothing about Ricki, but most people will believe it reflexively if you tell them they do.]

[anewlanguage]

Sure you do. You know I like guns and-

[He lets Ricki up, resets their 'round' by backing off a step or two]

-wrestling.

[rickitikitarr]

And?

[And again, he jumps into it with him, a little more lucid this time, letting himself be a little more controlled, a little more skilled.]

[anewlanguage]

And I used to use 'em to kill people.

[He's studying him as they trade blows. This time, he works to take them back to the ground]

[rickitikitarr]

Professional?

[He asks, then puts his shoulder into it, tries to get him down this time.]

[anewlanguage]

Yeah. But retired-

[He goes down with a grunt, but this time goes fast and mean for the pressure point inside Ricki's thigh. Go for a man's inner legs and they tend to flail a bit, he's found, because it's unexpected in a fight.]

[rickitikitarr]

[It's there- but it only last a split second and then he's rallied and got Cain's wrist, twisting it away and up, because that's a little fucking friendly, isn't it?

He's laughing, though.]

[anewlanguage]

[He twists with his wrist--no sense getting it fractured or sprained--and follows it with pushing his weight onto Ricki, hoping to use one leg to pin him]

You're a hoot, kid--you sure didn't learn this exporting tiles.

[rickitikitarr]

There were tiles.

[He gives, once more, panting now, settling down, feeling a lot better.]

There were just some other things as well, and anyways, Malaysia back then- a prison camp here, an occupation there, you harden up fast.

[anewlanguage]

I know. I lived there for-

[Gritting his teeth, grabbing Ricki's hair to better expose another pressure point, this one under his jaw]

-a couple of years. Still my favorite cuisine.

[rickitikitarr]

[He drives an elbow up, a knee, tries to shove his hand back, choking at the pressure point, unable to get words out through the position, and the pain.]