Allanea
22-12-2006, 18:22
The carrier – the USS Alisa Zinovievna Rozenbaum – proceeds leisurely home towards Allanea. There’s nowhere to hurry to – the war is over. The ship moves on at a safe twenty knots, it’s goal being a Strategic Fort on the mainland. The ship would not be special at all – hundreds of ships are moving in the same direction – but this one carries a special cargo – a small group of prisoners from Endless Crimes.
These people are kept in solitary confinement – comfortable solitary confinement, but solitary confinement nonetheless – in cells that used to house Allanean pilots. Nobody mentions anything as to what happened to the pilots – most of them have been killed in the naval battle off the Reich shore.
Of course, actually mentioning it is hard – the prisoners do not know any English, and while Latin is taught at many Allanean establishments, few people can actually speak it fluently. However, with some effort it’s possible to ask and answer basic questions – enough to provide them with food – equivalent to the food the sailors themselves are getting, clothes, and even some basic entertainment.
Well, there’s not much Latin-language entertainment that one can provide aboard an Allanean warship. The entertainment boils down to radios that can tune in to Radio Vatican and transmissions from Doomingsland, and a Latin bible per person.
Security – actually, two sailors for every prisoner – watch intently from outside the rooms to ensure the prisoners do not commit suicide. For the first few days, the Allaneans allow the troops to keep their uniforms – until a communications flight from the continent brings in special ‘anti-suicide’ clothes and room equipment. It takes several hours to install, and then the prisoners are restored to their rooms again. The captain apologizes profusely for – and apparently looks extremely embarrassed by – this treatment.
New entertainment is brought in – bland Latin stuff normally read by Latin students – Tacitus, Terentius, Horatius. Some people – those who appear to the guards to look smartest - even get sample Catullus poetry. Ovid is ruled straight out.
Eventually – when the ship begins to be nearing Allanea – some new supply craft lands on the plane.
A woman, clad in ceremonial armor – something like a mix between a light battlesuit and a religious livery - stamps rapidly down the steel stairs, into the steel underbelly of the ship. She walk, upright, calm and stern, down past several levels of ship, unerring like a guided missile – as if she had studied the plans of the ship aforehand. Which she had.
She ponders the names written on the doors of the chambers for only a few seconds, then turns her face to one of the sailors guarding them, and says one word. “Yehiel.”
“But…”
“I have full presidential authority.” The woman displays a stamped peace of paper of some point.
“But…”
She has no interest in arguing. With a swift motion, she rips the keys right off the guard’s belt, and opens the door. The guard tries to intervene, and she moves again. What she does, the prisoner inside can’t see, but the guard falls flat on his rear. She walks in, and locks the door behind her.
Good day, Yehiel.
She salutes the man, first. A tinge of a sympathethic smile appears on her face.
My name is Felicia. I belong to a monastic order in my nation. Because of this, it was believed I would be best suited to speak to you. Can I sit down?
After sitting down (or not, if the man doesn’t allow it), she continues.
It is normally customary that a prisoner is asked questions. Fortunately, I have no such instruction. So, the first thing I would like to do is apologize for the horrible clothes you’ve been made to wear. This is because some of your… comrades have committed suicide to avoid capture. We were forced to take precautions. I apologize.
Now… as I said, I have no orders to ask you anything so far. So instead… I will answer your questions. What would you like to know, Yehiel?
These people are kept in solitary confinement – comfortable solitary confinement, but solitary confinement nonetheless – in cells that used to house Allanean pilots. Nobody mentions anything as to what happened to the pilots – most of them have been killed in the naval battle off the Reich shore.
Of course, actually mentioning it is hard – the prisoners do not know any English, and while Latin is taught at many Allanean establishments, few people can actually speak it fluently. However, with some effort it’s possible to ask and answer basic questions – enough to provide them with food – equivalent to the food the sailors themselves are getting, clothes, and even some basic entertainment.
Well, there’s not much Latin-language entertainment that one can provide aboard an Allanean warship. The entertainment boils down to radios that can tune in to Radio Vatican and transmissions from Doomingsland, and a Latin bible per person.
Security – actually, two sailors for every prisoner – watch intently from outside the rooms to ensure the prisoners do not commit suicide. For the first few days, the Allaneans allow the troops to keep their uniforms – until a communications flight from the continent brings in special ‘anti-suicide’ clothes and room equipment. It takes several hours to install, and then the prisoners are restored to their rooms again. The captain apologizes profusely for – and apparently looks extremely embarrassed by – this treatment.
New entertainment is brought in – bland Latin stuff normally read by Latin students – Tacitus, Terentius, Horatius. Some people – those who appear to the guards to look smartest - even get sample Catullus poetry. Ovid is ruled straight out.
Eventually – when the ship begins to be nearing Allanea – some new supply craft lands on the plane.
A woman, clad in ceremonial armor – something like a mix between a light battlesuit and a religious livery - stamps rapidly down the steel stairs, into the steel underbelly of the ship. She walk, upright, calm and stern, down past several levels of ship, unerring like a guided missile – as if she had studied the plans of the ship aforehand. Which she had.
She ponders the names written on the doors of the chambers for only a few seconds, then turns her face to one of the sailors guarding them, and says one word. “Yehiel.”
“But…”
“I have full presidential authority.” The woman displays a stamped peace of paper of some point.
“But…”
She has no interest in arguing. With a swift motion, she rips the keys right off the guard’s belt, and opens the door. The guard tries to intervene, and she moves again. What she does, the prisoner inside can’t see, but the guard falls flat on his rear. She walks in, and locks the door behind her.
Good day, Yehiel.
She salutes the man, first. A tinge of a sympathethic smile appears on her face.
My name is Felicia. I belong to a monastic order in my nation. Because of this, it was believed I would be best suited to speak to you. Can I sit down?
After sitting down (or not, if the man doesn’t allow it), she continues.
It is normally customary that a prisoner is asked questions. Fortunately, I have no such instruction. So, the first thing I would like to do is apologize for the horrible clothes you’ve been made to wear. This is because some of your… comrades have committed suicide to avoid capture. We were forced to take precautions. I apologize.
Now… as I said, I have no orders to ask you anything so far. So instead… I will answer your questions. What would you like to know, Yehiel?