audio; jan 18th

[backsassin]

[On the afternoon of the 18th, crewmembers will receive an audio message on their MIDs, the speaker on the other end sounding more than a little tense.]

Hey, uh, I’ve got some news for you if you live on Moro Deck. And it's... not really the good kind. [There’s the distinct pause of someone trying to think of a tactful way to put something that doesn’t easily lend itself to tact.] Long story short, there is probably a saberdart somewhere on the floor. And that saberdart might be loaded with, um... deadly neurotoxin. [At the very least, Zam seems to sound contrite about this state of affairs, and she rarely sounds contrite about anything.] It also might not be, though if you find it, I wouldn’t take any chances.

I'm looking for it now, but in the meantime, if you’re hanging around Mero Deck, you might want to keep your shoes on. And look out for something small, silver, and sharp. If you do find it, just don’t let it break the skin and you’ll be fine. [A pause.] Probably.

Comments

[backsassin]

Nothing that formal. I had clients who employed my services on multiple occasions, but it’s not like I was contractually attached. [It’s been awhile since Zam has talked shop with anybody and she finds there’s a strange relief in the return to the familiar.]

Why? Were you in the business too?

[forwardmomentum]

Huh. So -- never served with a crew, then? I suppose being a bounty hunter rather than a mercenary would afford you a good deal more freedom.

[ miles gives her a brilliant grin, eyebrows raised slightly, and gestures toward himself with a shake of his head. ]

Me? No, nothing that exciting, I'm afraid. I'm a soldier back home -- Lieutenant Lord Miles Vorkosigan of the Barrayaran Imperial Service. [ he gives her a lazy analyst's salute, a wave of two fingers in the general direction of his forehead. ] Imperial Security courier. I see a lot of ship duty, but courier work isn't all that exciting, I'm afraid.

[ which is why he's not a courier, but he can't exactly go around parading as a covert ops agent back home, either. everyone's got a cover, and miles has several. his supposedly boring and uneventful career doesn't quite mesh with the miles vorkosigan who had been down at ground zero on caducus primary, directing rescue ops, seeing to evacuations, performing field amputations, for instance...

he just thinks well on his feet, is all. ]

[backsassin]

Can’t say I have. [She did have a partner who she worked with on more than a few occasions, but well -- let’s say she’s not exactly keen to talk about him.]

Lieutenant Lord Miles Vorkosigan. [Despite previous events, she can’t help but smile at the title. Soldiers can be so extravagant with their honorifics.] Do all couriers get such fancy words in front of their names, or only the especially distinguished ones?

[Given his actions back on Cadacus Primary, she wouldn’t be all that surprised if it turned out that he was rather overqualified for such a simple sounding position.]

[forwardmomentum]

[ miles actually laughs at that, although there's a touch of bitterness under it. ]

Lieutenant's just a rank above ensign. I wouldn't count that as fancy.

[ he's itching for a promotion to captain. sure, he's a little young for it, statistically speaking, but dammit, he's the frigging admiral of the dendarii, and he's sweated blood and tears for barrayar. just make him captain already, illyan, come on. ]

The 'lord' has nothing to do with the military; it's my title. I'm high Vor -- a Count's heir. I'll inherit the countship of Vorkosigan's District one day.

[backsassin]

Wait, you’re a noble? [She should’ve guessed from how much his cousin talked about their lineage, but somehow the thought never entered her mind. Probably because she met Miles before she did Ivan and she doesn’t tend to associate death-defying rescues with the gentry.]

I never would’ve guessed. [It could be construed as an insult, but Zam doesn’t mean it like that. Quite the opposite really.] You’re probably the first I’ve met who isn’t hiring me to kill someone. [Or who Zam has been hired to kill, though she conveniently leaves that part out.]

[forwardmomentum]

Ah -- not quite as such, no. It's a little more nuanced than that -- the Vor are a military caste, not an aristocracy.

[ not that that distinction tends to mean much to people here, let alone to galactics. he grins up at zam. ]

Hire you? Good God, no. We do that ourselves on Barrayar. [ adopting a dramatically lordly air, miles puffs out his chest. ] We take personal responsibility very seriously where I'm from, you know.