nexus_sages | (no subject)

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James T. Kirk absolutely loves marketplaces.

It's not necessarily because he's looking for anything, per se, although he does often keep an eye out for interesting books to add to his collection, or maybe a bottle of some kind of exotic alcohol, or some kind of pointless alien gizmo with which to annoy Spock with its purposeless existence. No, he just loves the sheer diversity each bazaar brings to the table.

No two markets have ever been alike, in his experience. Sure, it's not quite as exciting and mysterious as exploring deep space, but it's something of a microcosm of the same, all sorts of goods and cultures thrown into close quarters, and one never knows what one might find just down the street.

His shipboard gold uniform may stand out a bit in the crowd as he meanders along, a faint smile on his face as he leans in to examine someone's wares on display, just enjoying being out and about in the fresh air.

[OOC: Retconning Jim eating bacon in this thread. Hadn't fully considered some of the elements in his backstory at the time.]

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He leans slightly on his cue stick as he listens, frowning. He's seen some crazy shit since he's been here already, and though he's already gotten the obvious impression that she's a walking weapon, he hadn't thought that he'd been sparring with a sentient tactical nuke. "Yeah, I guess I can see how that'd scare the pants off people."

Oh, it isn't like I can just wave my hand and redecorate a solar system, but even my missions that don't end with the galaxy a planet poorer tend to have high rates of collateral damage and no other survivors.

*Her tone is light, almost glib, but there's an undercurrent of shadow, there. She's gone into more than one mission with allies at her side and come out alone, and she hides how deeply that hurts her.*

Jim may not be able to pick up on all the subtleties, but he knows enough to tell that it isn't the sort of life she wanted. Not the way it's played out, anyway. He's familiar enough with the feeling, though probably not to the same magnitude. "I'm sorry."

*She gives a wan smile, letting the weariness show for a just a moment.*

Thank you.

He's not really sure what else he can say, what more he could possibly do. So he just inclines his head a little, thinking back on what else she's said.

There is one thing that stands out, and he hopes it isn't something that'll lead to a similar sensitive spot. "You mentioned a threat index?"

*Oh, thank the stars, the moment has passed. She can talk about the minutia of her Facet for ages.*

I did. The Galactic Federation has a rating system for measuring how dangerous something might be--whether it's an animal, a weapon, a natural disaster, whatever. It starts with null, then runs A through H. Broadly, it measures how much property damage something could do and how many people it could kill.

He can tell from her body language that he's made a good choice of topic to transition into, steering away from uncomfortable personal shit. Even if it is personal shit she voluntarily talked about, he's still the one who asked the questions in the first place, and he's more than content taking it back to relatively neutral territory.

As neutral as you can get when talking about disaster scaling, anyway.

"That's a hell of a scale," he says.

*She could easily have directed the conversation away from the sore parts of her past, but she places a great deal of stock (when she can) in the ethic of reciprocity. Kirk let her pound him like a nail and pry open some of his festering emotional wounds on a first meeting, it was only fair that she share a few of her emotional scars in turn.*

It has its uses. It can help to determine whether something should be restricted or banned by the definitions set out in existing laws, rather than needing to write new laws to account for every new vehicle, weapon, and form of recreation that somebeing dreams up.

Jim nods a little, both in understanding and in agreement. "That makes sense. Wonder why we don't have anything like that; it'd save a hell of a lot of time."

Now that the more awkward moment has passed, he remembers about the game again too, and the fact that it's still his turn. He has to take a moment to remind himself where he left off, turning part of his attention back towards the pool table, even as the bulk of his awareness stays with the conversation at hand.

*Has she been drawing out this conversation to challenge his ability to multitask when recovering from exertion? As a test, or yet another lesson of some kind? Would she do that?*

Perhaps you can take the idea back with you--one of the perks of this place.

*At least she doesn't do the thing where someone coughs or makes a sudden noise just as he's making a shot.*

He doesn't think too much on his next move, removing one of her stripes from blocking a pocket in the most straightforward way he can think of, one of his solids following it into the hole. Jim may not be as fond of mindgames and nuance as Samus is, but there's probably something subconscious there, too. Something that could be about misguided fairness, but is more likely related to a willingness to hurt himself if it means taking a step closer to victory.

"I just might," he agrees, glancing back over at her again. "I gotta admit, I wasn't planning on trying to change Federation policy, but I didn't plan on a lot of this either."

*If she were called on it, Samus would probably have something to say about engaging an opponent on multiple fields, claiming favorable ground, strategic so-on-and-so-forth. It is worth noting that Jim is willing to suffer a setback if he also makes progress, but that's hardly surprising given the personality he's shown thus far.*

The plan is usually the first casualty. Flexibility is healthy, and contact with the Nexus inevitably leads to change. Better to make it consciously, and get the kind you want.

"Fair point," Jim agrees, as he studies the table. "It pays to be proactive, anyway. The Federation's spent a bit too long just being reactive, if you ask me."

Oh? What would you have them do?

"Well for one thing, emergency prep could be way better. You can't predict everything, but the Federation's been caught flat-footed a couple times in my own lifetime by stuff that would've been a hell of a lot smoother if someone had stockpiled resources in case of a disaster." His experience with such a thing is more personal than he'd like, but having the game to focus on - and the effects of the drink - help him keep his voice and hands steady as he lines up another shot. This one goes a little wild, knocking balls around and rearranging their distribution on the table, but accomplishing little else. "Diplomacy's a big one, too. We've been in a kind of cold war with the Romulans and the Klingons for decades now, and rather than try to settle things, it's all just posturing and trying to counter whatever new tech the other side's developed. No one wants to make any real progress."

*She gives a thoughtful nod; she's very much in favor of preparing for foreseeable mishap.*

Diplomacy is the best way to wage war. Where should the emergency stockpiles come from? What should be stockpiled? Where?

This is something he's given a lot of thought to, over the years. So his answer isn't long coming. "Even just the basics would be a good start. Non perishable food, water, weapons, basic medical supplies. Earth is a powerhouse at production, but it doesn't do any good if nothing gets sent anywhere ahead of time. A lot of colonies don't have enough set aside in case something goes wrong. Every colony should have enough to keep everyone going, but everyone thinks it'll never happen to them, so what's the point prepping for an emergency that probably won't happen?"

*That gets a raised brow, and an unimpressed expression. Her disapproval isn't directed at Jim, but at the mindset he's just described.*

You're serious? Your colonies don't have basic emergency supplies? Whose teeth do I need to slap down their throat to make that happen, that's pure idiocy.

"Or just not enough, anyway." He's glad it's not his turn anymore, because he is kicking himself about even suggesting they talk about this. But Jim is a stubborn son of a bitch, so he keeps going, as steady as he can. "There's this famous case from several years back. Agricultural colony got hit with a fungus, wiped out all the crops. There was food, but not enough for everyone before relief ships could get there. Half the colonists were killed to... make the math work."

He takes a moment to make sure his voice doesn't shake, that his grip on the cue stick isn't as white-knuckled as it feels. "People still talk about it, but all of it's about debating if killing four thousand people was justified instead of the part where it never should've been an option." Of all the things that came out of Tarsus IV, that's the part that sickens him the most.

*Samus nods grimly, her expression set in a frown as she steps up to the table, circling it at a stalk.*

Cold equations. I can understand the necessity, but they should be behind dozens of tiers of fallback options. The kind of option that doesn't get considered until you're deep in a siege. In the situation you've described, killing anyone is a mark of woeful incompetence and complete failure to prepare. If whoever ordered it wasn't first to die, I'd start examining the situation to see if other motives came into play.

*She leans down, striking quick and hard to send the cue ball ricocheting around the table. She sinks a ball, circling as the cue trundles on, and takes her next shot the very instant it stops (arguably, perhaps a little before), sinking another (along with one of Jim's), and a third time--this time, nothing sinks, but she's put her last ball where the starship captain should find it least convenient.*

Could the shortage have been deliberate?

He's not really paying attention to the game, so he doesn't say anything about the potential foul in play, especially once she asks that question. The one he's wondered for years, and still has no answer for. "Maybe. There was... He made a list. Of people. Those he called less valued." It's been thirteen years and he's still never forgotten the speech Kodos gave, explaining with brutal conciseness that he'd ordered their execution.

Mm. A list of expendables.

*Her eyes narrow slightly.*

The plot thins. What did these expendables have in common? I'm assuming that the list wasn't "people who can't in any way contribute to getting an agricultural colony running again," since there's always use for more hands on a farm?

Expendables. What a cold, calculating term to apply to four thousand people. But it's no doubt what Kodos thought of them.

He shakes his head in response to her question, trying to find the words. "Eugenics. The old, the sick, the... 'inferior.'" He can't quite help giving that word a bitter twist, despising what it means. "Most of the kids. Nonhumans."

Children?

*That sharp crack? Nothing worth worrying about, just give her a moment to get a fresh cue.*

How far away was this place, in terms of time, from resupply? And does your Facet have faster-than-light communication?

It's probably a testament to how much he's managed to numb himself to this conversation that he doesn't even flinch at the sound of her breaking the cue. He might not even notice, avoiding making eye contact entirely. Pretending this all happened to someone else.

"We do. Wasn't as widespread back then though, outside the 'fleet. The colony was supposed to be self-sufficient, so ships would only stop by every four months. Didn't have another one due for three. Would've been all of four or five days' travel from Earth, if somebody had known."