Hmmm. I have a Galactica idea in mind for this, but it's actually a story kernel I'm working on for a I-really-mean-to-write-this-one 'fic...
But, I do want to get something in. So...
---
Mark Pierre Vorkosigan was not amused to find the strange man sitting in his office chair. "Excuse me," he growled, "Just who are you, and why didn't the guards at the gate shoot you or something? That's supposed to be their job, keeping strange people from bothering me while I'm supposed to be working on classified documents and shit like that."
"Oh, I'm nobody important. I was just asked to deliver this." And he left a package on the desk, and simply... vanished.
Two hours later, the box had been scanned, sniffed, X-rayed, checked, re-checked, and gone over by about three dozen other instruments in one of ImpSec's labs, and delivered back to Mark's office with a note indicating that there wasn't anything dangerous in it.
The first item was a simple strip of blue cloth, about half a meter long and five centimeters wide. Attached at the middle of its length was a steel plate, no wider than the cloth and about a palm's length. Engraved on it was an abstract design, a spiralling form with a point on the lower left and a hook of sorts on the upper right.
The second was a letter.
Dear Mark; it read,
I've heard a great deal about your rather unpleasant background and the circumstances that lead up to your having the job you're currently in. I know how hard it is to be the one sending people in harm's way, and how hard you're resisting your employers' attempts to promote you because of that. Your one experience at real fieldwork was a total disaster, and you know exactly how many things can go wrong when someone is on a mission like that.
That said, though, you do have a talent, and you've put it to use. Not just in killing a disgusting specimen of humanity, but in keeping your family sane and functioning in difficult times. Your world needs you, Mark Pierre, and it needs you able to make those hard decisions.
So I'm sharing this little tidbit with you. It's called a hitae-ate, an antique, from... well, from Earth, let's say, for now. It belonged to a man much like you, a smart man who went through hard times and lived in a hard world. He was trained from his youth to be a killer, and he understood that sometimes, mistakes get made and bad things happen... and he was determined not to make those mistakes, nor to let his fear of the possibilities get in the way of doing what had to be done.
Like you, he was a good planner and analyst. Like you, he worked best when he had time to think things through. Sometimes in the field, he didn't, and that's when he had the most problems. I thought it would be of use to you, to have this relic of someone who overcame the same problems you're facing now... overcame, and persevered, and went on to become an advisor to one of the greatest leaders his people had ever known.
Enjoy the gift, Lord Mark, and I hope that it brings you some comfort in your work.
The note was unsigned, of course.
Mark went back to examining the oddity - the 'hitae-ate', whatever that meant. He punched the term into his computer and called for a linguistic analysis.
Pulling the cloth back from the metal plate and peeking between them, he saw some more engraving on the inner surface of the steel. It was definitely odd, but looked somewhat familiar, and he took a quick photograph of it and sent it off to Linguistics to add to his earlier query.
Finding no further clues, he set it aside and went back to the stack of Cetagandan budget reports he'd been going through, to see what he could make of them.
An hour later, his inbox pinged with a reply from Linguistics. Briefly surprised, he glanced over at the mysterious package, and then opened the message.
A hitae-ate, it seemed, was a primitive form of makeshift armor, used in ancient Japan, on Earth. The cloth strip would be tied around the head with the steel plate positioned to protect against sword strikes to the head. Well, the letter did say it was old... just not how old! The other inscription seemed to be words in Japanese, which he supposed made a certain degree of sense. The actual translation, on the other hand, didn't; something about an Earth animal called a deer, and a county in that same ancient Japan. The Linguistics analyst who'd signed off on the report said it was probably the original owner's name - 'Nara Shikamaru'.
--- Owari.
--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.
But, I do want to get something in. So...
---
Mark Pierre Vorkosigan was not amused to find the strange man sitting in his office chair. "Excuse me," he growled, "Just who are you, and why didn't the guards at the gate shoot you or something? That's supposed to be their job, keeping strange people from bothering me while I'm supposed to be working on classified documents and shit like that."
"Oh, I'm nobody important. I was just asked to deliver this." And he left a package on the desk, and simply... vanished.
Two hours later, the box had been scanned, sniffed, X-rayed, checked, re-checked, and gone over by about three dozen other instruments in one of ImpSec's labs, and delivered back to Mark's office with a note indicating that there wasn't anything dangerous in it.
The first item was a simple strip of blue cloth, about half a meter long and five centimeters wide. Attached at the middle of its length was a steel plate, no wider than the cloth and about a palm's length. Engraved on it was an abstract design, a spiralling form with a point on the lower left and a hook of sorts on the upper right.
The second was a letter.
Dear Mark; it read,
I've heard a great deal about your rather unpleasant background and the circumstances that lead up to your having the job you're currently in. I know how hard it is to be the one sending people in harm's way, and how hard you're resisting your employers' attempts to promote you because of that. Your one experience at real fieldwork was a total disaster, and you know exactly how many things can go wrong when someone is on a mission like that.
That said, though, you do have a talent, and you've put it to use. Not just in killing a disgusting specimen of humanity, but in keeping your family sane and functioning in difficult times. Your world needs you, Mark Pierre, and it needs you able to make those hard decisions.
So I'm sharing this little tidbit with you. It's called a hitae-ate, an antique, from... well, from Earth, let's say, for now. It belonged to a man much like you, a smart man who went through hard times and lived in a hard world. He was trained from his youth to be a killer, and he understood that sometimes, mistakes get made and bad things happen... and he was determined not to make those mistakes, nor to let his fear of the possibilities get in the way of doing what had to be done.
Like you, he was a good planner and analyst. Like you, he worked best when he had time to think things through. Sometimes in the field, he didn't, and that's when he had the most problems. I thought it would be of use to you, to have this relic of someone who overcame the same problems you're facing now... overcame, and persevered, and went on to become an advisor to one of the greatest leaders his people had ever known.
Enjoy the gift, Lord Mark, and I hope that it brings you some comfort in your work.
The note was unsigned, of course.
Mark went back to examining the oddity - the 'hitae-ate', whatever that meant. He punched the term into his computer and called for a linguistic analysis.
Pulling the cloth back from the metal plate and peeking between them, he saw some more engraving on the inner surface of the steel. It was definitely odd, but looked somewhat familiar, and he took a quick photograph of it and sent it off to Linguistics to add to his earlier query.
Finding no further clues, he set it aside and went back to the stack of Cetagandan budget reports he'd been going through, to see what he could make of them.
An hour later, his inbox pinged with a reply from Linguistics. Briefly surprised, he glanced over at the mysterious package, and then opened the message.
A hitae-ate, it seemed, was a primitive form of makeshift armor, used in ancient Japan, on Earth. The cloth strip would be tied around the head with the steel plate positioned to protect against sword strikes to the head. Well, the letter did say it was old... just not how old! The other inscription seemed to be words in Japanese, which he supposed made a certain degree of sense. The actual translation, on the other hand, didn't; something about an Earth animal called a deer, and a county in that same ancient Japan. The Linguistics analyst who'd signed off on the report said it was probably the original owner's name - 'Nara Shikamaru'.
--- Owari.
--
Sucrose Octanitrate.
Proof positive that with sufficient motivation, you can make anything explode.