Lt JG Alyndra Syrex - Flip This Town
Alyndra Syrex
((Just outside the city near the crash site, Noh’ath))
O’Connor: I think he liked your nose flaps.
Alyndra frowned at Ian before checking that the natives were certainly gone. She was thankful he intervened, but wasn’t sure that comment was entirely helpful. Shooting a look between Ian and the cloud of smog their could-have-been attackers disappeared into, she discreetly hit her combadge.
Syrex: =/\= Syrex to Odreen =/\=
Odreen: =/\= Odreen here, Lieutenant =/\=
Syrex: Can you pull whatever you can from that language session to find out what vingy vingy means?
Odreen: =/\= Working =/\=
O’Connor: Are you sure you really want…
There was a momentary pause.
Odreen: =/\= Vingy Vingy appears to ask for a trade of some sort =/\=
O’Connor: ::mumbles to self:: I guess that’s one interpretation. ::rolls eyes::
Alyndra paused for a moment, scratching her chin thoughtfully.
Syrex: =/\= Thanks Odreen =/\= ::Turns to O’Connor:: I have a theory, Lieutenant.
O’Connor: Do tell, doctor
Syrex: They only said to trade after they saw me, it’s quite possible that women are seen as commodities here. Given that the only workers we’ve seen so far are men, is it possible that the men do physical grunt work, whilst women administrate and birth more workers? It seems quite similar to 19th-century Earth, only women are given more responsibilities, with no rights.
O’Connor: Maybe. A lot of cultures have gone through or even still have similar views.:: frowns:: It wasn’t that long ago that the Ferengi had their women’s movement.
Syrex: I’m not sure I like this planet… The sooner we get that nacelle, the better.
O’Connor: Agree wholeheartedly. Still, like it or not the prime directive is in play so we need to be careful with our viewpoints around the natives. ::looks back over his shoulder at where the two natives disappear into the smog:: No matter how much I’d like to pummel some enlightenment into them.
Syrex: Agreed
O’Connor: I think we need to figure out what passes for currency or whatever our inebriated jerk friend back there wanted to trade you for …uh… you know… ::blushes a bit, turning his purple cheeks more of a violet color:: uh, favors.
Syrex: Well, it could be for labour?
O’Connor: If you’re right about it being a trading culture, we are going to need something of value to get information or pay for whatever we ‘ll need.
Alyndra didn’t know what she could say that would devalue herself. Simply nodding, she and Lieutenant O’Connor turned away from the alley towards a larger building. However, the city they’d found themselves in was proving to be a labyrinth, as several smaller structures paved the streets tightly, almost to the extent that Alyndra and Ian had to go single file. How this city hadn’t burned down was a mystery to her.
After a notable amount of time had passed, the duo found themselves in what looked like a replomat, only with merchants rather than replicators. Similar to Deep Space Nine’s Promenade, but sprawled out and ill-planned.
.
O’Connor: Let’s see what we can figure out observing
Alyndra nodded again as she and Ian strafed through the crowded market. Alyndra clung close to Ian, wrapping herself around his arm as local males snarled at her, a look of immense pleasure sparkling in their eyes, like sunlight reflecting over an acid lake.
Alyndra resented the idea that she was anyone’s property. Although she was a doctor who vowed to do no harm, she’d never been so close to punching someone as she had with the locals in the alleyway. Ian appeared to have more focus on the vendors, but he was male and free. Alyndra simmered in the slowcooker of fear, but how long would it take before she was cooked?
O’Connor: ::whispering to Alyndra:: Seems pretty straight forward.
Syrex: Yeah… Sure…. What- Whatever you say Ian.
Ian pulled slightly, walking over to a woman who tended a small, yet seemingly humble stall. A wide assortment of what looked like slightly deflated basketballs, only the smell of rotting vegetables make Alyndra only assume that they were, or USED to be food.
oO If this is what passes for food hygiene on this planet, I’m glad I don’t work here, I’d never do anything else other than heal stomach illnesses Oo
Ian seemed more curious to touch the alien object than she ever would be; however, Alyndra seemed not to have much choice in the matter. For as soon as Ian’s fingernail pierced the membrane of the fruit, a brown tar-like liquid spurted around the area. The first thing Alyndra noticed was that she struggled to breathe. Sticky brown syrup clung to her nose, forcing her to snort in disgust, holding back the temptation to gag.
Syrex: Eww
The old woman behind the market stall got up, staring angrily at Ian, waving her hands in the air with extreme prejudice.
Merchant: schmOOzle bistol vizznok! F’jonk your fleebers off my melons!
Ian seemed not to know what he was doing, flailing his arms around, the crushed vegetable slurping down through his hands like an unset jam.
O’Connor: Sorry, sorry I just…
As much as Alyndra tried to hold Ian back, he seemed to dig his hole even deeper by swishing a multitude more melons, causing more syrup to squirt over the once clean (well… Clean-ish) stall.
Merchant: Help, Help. Pollinvix. Help. He fleebered my melons!
This minor scuffle now seemed to turn into a wannabe brawl; other merchants seemed to grab brooms, as the old woman did. Thwacking their handles against their palms like baseball bats. The crowd began to surround Ian, Alyndra only by association. They weren’t interested in her, not really. It was her man, her owner they were after. Ian stepped backwards, stepping straight onto Alyndra’s feet. She lost her balance for a moment, before falling to her butt on the sooty concrete floor.
Syrex: Oh, Sweet, horrible, horrible Melons, they’re unionised.
Ian looked to Alyndra in panic, wiping off his hand, and reaching it down to her.
O’Connor: Run
Syrex: YEAH, NO S***
Alyndra grabbed his hand as if it were an assurance of all her anxieties. As the pair darted from the warehouse, the angry mob slowly dissipated as merchants returned to their trade. BUT, just as Alyndra thought they were free, a siren blared in the distance, a cloud of great smog burst into an already saturated sky. A beam of light shone down on them. It was an airship.
Noh’ath Airship: STOP! Pteal, thau, Hollawow!
Alyndra paused her running, turning to look at the sky ship. Its voice didn’t sound inherently hostile. It was almost as panicked as they were.
O’Connor: Response
Syrex: What else are we going to do? We can’t outrun that, not without the knowledge of how to get through these streets!
A basket fell from the sky, landing only inches away from Ian, but at a perfect distance for Alyndra to board. She looked at the distant mob, who, whilst still seeming passionate about catching the pair, had started to choke on the smog of their own making.
Alyndra used her initiative and chose the better of two evils, boarding the basket and holding out her hand for Ian to join her, as the basket slowly started to rise without him.
Syrex: Quickly, Lieutenant!
O’Connor: Response
The basket shot into the sky with increasing speed, shooting like a rocket through the cloud of smog, until Alyndra saw the truth.
Syrex: It’s, it’s so different up here…
O’Connor: Response
It was no joke, the sky-world was a complete contrast to the land far below. Gliding above the black sky was a fleet of golden yellow blimps. All of which as clean as a Starfleet bridge, and as intricately detailed as the finest artworks.
As the pair continued to rise. They eventually came to a small airlock, and a group of women waved inside. They were unlike the people on the surface; they looked friendly, as civilised as the dwellers below were savage. As the glass door separating them slid away, the scent of flowers filled the air.
Noh’ath: My dear woman, how did you get down there?
Alyndra looked at them, confused.
Syrex: I… err.
Noh’ath: ::Slightly giggles:: It’s no matter, please let’s get you cleaned. You may bring your… labourer with you ::gestures to O’Connor::
O’Connor: Response
The woman passed Alyndra a towel. Gently taking it from them, she realised it was warm and damp; perfect for cleaning anything from your face and leaving it feeling better than before. But she noticed nothing was given to Ian.
Syrex: Can my… err.. Labourer have a cleaning towel too?
The women paused, turning as one, eyebrows all raised.
Noh’ath: You want him… clean? It won’t last, dear.
Syrex: Yeah… I don’t want to ruin your carpets
The women giggled.
Noh’ath: So thoughtful!
They indecently chucked a slightly used, dirty cloth to Ian without so much as a second glance at him, leaving Alyndra to only wonder what could have caused a separation this large in the species that inhabited this planet.
O’Connor: Response
TAG/TBC
Lieutenant JG Dr Alyndra Syrex MD
Medical Officer
USS Ronin (NCC-34523)
R240107AS3