Lt Jania Nis - Prime Directive? WHAT Prime Directive?
Jania Nis
((Gates of Æstin, Valaria III))
The opulence inside Æstin hardly matched with the despair outside the city; it was clear some major wealth disparity was at play in this famine. That said, at least a few of the people who passed them in the bustling metropolis had yellow eyes instead of black--a trait Jania was beginning to associate with the worst victims of the famine.
The noblewoman who had led them in gave Jania a calling card with some sort of address printed on it, although even the universal translator couldn’t make sense of it. It was probably where she expected them to meet her for this “favor” they were supposed to provide, but now that they were inside it appeared the woman wanted little to do with them.
Katsim: None of these buildings look like places people like those we saw outside would live in.
Riley: Doesn’t make any sense to me either.
Nis: Clear and heavy social stratification, though some of these people still have symptoms of starvation. :: gesturing around :: You think one of these buildings is the lord’s hall or something?
Richards: Response
Katsim: Perhaps there’s a side of town we can’t see from here.
As they walked clean and polished streets, the people around them passed by with neat dress and glass jewelry. It was extravagantly colorful, and Jania wished she was allowed to buy one. Ah well, the replicator could probably make a decent simulacrum. If only she could sneak her tricorder out and get a good scan of one…
Richards: Response
Nis: It sure is beautiful though.
Katsim: (quietly) We can’t get distracted from our mission. We need to find out more about this famine and what possibly could have caused it.
Katsim: We need to find out more about this famine and what possibly could have caused it.
Richards gave a nod. Jania felt she could get a good handle on the situation if they were just able to scan someone’s body; once she understood their nutrient profiles, the rest should click into place.
Richards: I suppose we could ask around.
Riley: (Quietly) It would make sense for us to do so, I suppose. Especially if our “interests” are to aid in the mission objective.
Nis: :: whispering, somewhat spitefully :: Assuming our interests and the robo-boss’s are the same. …
Richards: There might be a reason, beyond what we suspect for the gates.
Katsim: But is that reason related to the famine?
Riley: Very good question.
Nis: Hard to say?
Richards: Did anyone happen to see where that woman went off to?
Katsim: She left the town.
Riley: (quietly) Perhaps she expects that the guild will be able to just pull up her file based on her name and title.
Nis: Sounds like we’re in the big-leagues.
Richards: I’m not sure everyone is a big fan of our little guild.
Katsim: Hm.
Riley: (quietly) Do we even know what the guild is, exactly?
Nis: Based on the way she talked about us, something powerful but kinda gross.
The streets narrowed as they walked but never became what one might consider slums. That said, there were other signs of inequality. Most people walked, but at one point men carrying another palanquin marched down the street. This one was less closed than the one they’d seen outside, and a man rode in it, with rich fabrics like the noblewoman. He, too, lacked shoes. Deesru Nis had studied cultures where the nobility did strange things like this: always wore shawls to prevent poor people from even seeing them, or discarded lavish ceramic vases after a single use. Jania wondered if the nobility here ever set foot on the ground, at least outside.
As they walked, two men passed them. They held cylindrical drinking cups with long glass straws, and seemed to be inebriated. One slapped the other on the shoulder and pointed to them, then whispered to his friend.
Intoxicated man 1: Hey, who died?
Intoxicated man 2: :: through gritted teeth :: Shush, man, what are you trying to do, get us cursed?
Jania watched them hurry away, glancing over their shoulders at the four Starfleet officers in their sashes. But she had no time to explore. The others had seen something else -- a building with the same symbol they wore on their sashes.
Richards: Oh. I think this might be our stop.
Katsim: Yes.
Katsim: (softly) It does seem to belong to the guild.
Nis: Should we go inside?
Richards: Response
Katsim: How will this help us reach our goal?
Riley: (quietly) It probably won’t, although I suspect if we inquired of residents we may wind up being a bit too conspicuous about our belonging here.
Nis / Richards: Response
Riley: (quietly) How would we proceed with finding things out without betraying the fact we don’t actually know what the guild is supposed to do?
Nis: Did you hear what those people said back there? Something to do with death and curses.
Richards / Katsim: Response
Riley: (quietly) Good question. I don’t know either. Maybe asking the residents might be the way to go.
They knocked on the door, then waited. So much was cultural, Jania wondered if knocking was even the right approach. Maybe guild members should just walk right into their own building …
But the door did open, to reveal a tiny man with an unexpected amount of pure white hair. Most of these people had little facial hair that she’d noticed, but this man had a long mustache stretching almost to his belly.
Then, with a moment of horror, she realized this was not a mustache but styled nose hair.
Old man: Oh! Guilders. Come in, of course. :: with a big ceremonial bow:: All hospitality and glorious welcomes to the cleaners of the dead.
Inside the building, the space was dark. It was one of the first places that lacked lights, glass, and color. There was a desk for visitors to sit at, doors leading deeper into the structure, and great books that looked like the spellbooks from some fantasy story on the bookshelves. Scattered among them were icons of death and rebirth, such as a clay figurine of a person whose face was half-skull and half-flesh or kneeling sculptures of people covering their eyes.
So the guild members were … undertakers, perhaps? That was less horrifying than she thought. It suddenly dawned on Jania that perhaps she should have been more sympathetic to the noblewoman’s requests for favors, if she was trying to get someone buried. But how many deaths were there on this world that not even a noblewoman could get an appointment with them? Or was there some special duty or theological trick the guild performed, like mummification?
Richards / Katsim / Riley: Response
Old man: You must not be from around here. From where do you hail? Neereen?
Richards / Katsim / Riley: Response
Old man: Well, get settled in. Glimmerwood tea? Or something stronger?
Richards / Katsim / Riley: Response
At that delicate moment, Jania’s commbadge suddenly beeped. It was under her robes, but the beep was clear and distinct. Her eyes widened. There were systems in place to prevent that sort of thing. She glanced at the others, embarrassed. The old man had clearly heard it, too. It was not a natural sound in this environment.
Nis: Whoops, we … I … uh … burped.
The commbadge beeped again; then the voice of the ship’s computer came over the line. But she knew from the tone and word choice it wasn’t -really- their computer…
Kevara Continuance: Response
Gritting her teeth, Jania desperately slapped her chest to turn it off.
Nis: :: hissing :: You’re violating the Prime Directive! Get off this channel!
Richards / Katsim / Riley: Response
Old man: Response
Kevara Continuance: Response
TAGS/TBC
(OOC: I was in touch with the KC’s player about adding him to our scene.)
Lieutenant Jania Nis
Chief Medical Officer of Physical Health
USS Octavia E. Butler NCC-82850
O240108JN2