Otares
19-06-2007, 23:21
Katryne Hassildor sat on the plane with her legs curled under her as she committed the last few details of the report on her lap to memory. It was at this point a wasted effort – as the Otariet transport plane and its two fighter escorts descended onto the cleared runway. If she didn’t know it now she simply wouldn’t know it – yet the act of ‘cramming’ was familiar and in an odd way more reassuring.
Looking up she took in the cabin – trying to assess the mood of her team. The security team was easy enough – their jobs were simpler. Every Otariet was required to serve five years in the military and those who decided to stay on as career solidiers were some of the best trained you could find. They were doing last checks of their gear and checking the subdermal radios.
The diplomats were slightly more varied in their mannerisms. In standard Otariet fashion some had gotten into the drink – while others were conversing about the future of the Otariet Colonial relations. She nodded silently to herself. Good – it would seem that the team was loose – ready to respond to whatever diplomatic nuances these people had. Looking over at the linguist on her staff he himself was doing what she was doing. She fully expected that in a few months she would be comfortable enough to try the colonial language – but until then conversation in English or via translator would have to do.
Katryne smiled to herself. She had to wonder if this is how foreign diplomats felt when coming to Otares. While many of the Otariet peole knew several languages and the foreigners could get by, one could count the number of none Otariets on one hand which could speak her native tongue. Several centuries of seclusion with no cultural contact outside of the aboriginals could do that to a culture. Otariet shared very little with Russian at this point – beyond the alphabet.
The plane touched down roughly – and one of the diplomats chuckled as his glass went tumbling uselessly from his hands. Luckily he had enough sense to finish with the contents before the landing.
Katryne for her part waited until the plane had come to a complete stop before moving her feet from under her and back into her dress shoes. Standing she smoothed her skirt and pulled the beret from her epaulet. Placing the beret over her hair – and adjusting it for the military style bun, she peered from the tinted glass of the plane.
“I wonder who’s come to meet us on the runway?”
Looking up she took in the cabin – trying to assess the mood of her team. The security team was easy enough – their jobs were simpler. Every Otariet was required to serve five years in the military and those who decided to stay on as career solidiers were some of the best trained you could find. They were doing last checks of their gear and checking the subdermal radios.
The diplomats were slightly more varied in their mannerisms. In standard Otariet fashion some had gotten into the drink – while others were conversing about the future of the Otariet Colonial relations. She nodded silently to herself. Good – it would seem that the team was loose – ready to respond to whatever diplomatic nuances these people had. Looking over at the linguist on her staff he himself was doing what she was doing. She fully expected that in a few months she would be comfortable enough to try the colonial language – but until then conversation in English or via translator would have to do.
Katryne smiled to herself. She had to wonder if this is how foreign diplomats felt when coming to Otares. While many of the Otariet peole knew several languages and the foreigners could get by, one could count the number of none Otariets on one hand which could speak her native tongue. Several centuries of seclusion with no cultural contact outside of the aboriginals could do that to a culture. Otariet shared very little with Russian at this point – beyond the alphabet.
The plane touched down roughly – and one of the diplomats chuckled as his glass went tumbling uselessly from his hands. Luckily he had enough sense to finish with the contents before the landing.
Katryne for her part waited until the plane had come to a complete stop before moving her feet from under her and back into her dress shoes. Standing she smoothed her skirt and pulled the beret from her epaulet. Placing the beret over her hair – and adjusting it for the military style bun, she peered from the tinted glass of the plane.
“I wonder who’s come to meet us on the runway?”