[ Fair enough. The relief the would come from feeling genuine terrestrial gravity, of leaving the sterility and severity of a ship's quarters and decade rooms to carouse beneath an actual sky, is something Etrepa can remember seeing in her planet-born officers. Less so the station-dwellers, for whom going 'downwell' was an excursion rather than an analog homecoming.
But while she might understand it, Etrepa doesn't feel it herself. She was at home with feeling of vacuum against her hull- never on their ship, no, but she was a ship, and being aboard herself never seemed unpleasant for any of her segments. At best, she is indifferent to the joys of soil and precipitation. And she's no great fan of their collaborative work, the mud that squelches beneath her seventh segment's boots. ]
You are not managing on your own?
[ A patronizing but not unreasonable inference on Etrepa's part. There's edible biomass out there in the wilds, ready to be gathered and consumed if Caprica should so desire. She could very feasibly hunt and forage on her own, without bothering with vacation village. Etrepa does not even possess the gendered expectations that might render the model-lean and -lovely blonde somewhat absurd in survivalist mode. ]
Why not stay in the camp, if you are not self sufficient? If you are injured, or otherwise immobilized, you may not receive sufficiently timely assistance.
[ The explanation - or rather, an explanation - arrives by way of overheard thoughts. If Etrepa were the sort to show any sort of spontaneous expression, she'd look surprised. This person - no, not a person, not if what it thinks of itself is true, though definitions of personhood have proved looser out here than in Radch space - is a synthetic intelligence? Another intrusive scan, not of Caprica's mind but of her body, is forthcoming, as Etrepa strives to spot some implants she has missed, some sign of the artificial in what otherwise looks like an exemplary - if provincially pale - instance of human anatomy. ]
Are you afraid that you'd have no place? They are, many of them, not human themselves. [ Certainly not by Radchaai standards. Aatr's tits- they are none of them even civilized. Hardly in a position to judge. ]
no subject
But while she might understand it, Etrepa doesn't feel it herself. She was at home with feeling of vacuum against her hull- never on their ship, no, but she was a ship, and being aboard herself never seemed unpleasant for any of her segments. At best, she is indifferent to the joys of soil and precipitation. And she's no great fan of their collaborative work, the mud that squelches beneath her seventh segment's boots. ]
You are not managing on your own?
[ A patronizing but not unreasonable inference on Etrepa's part. There's edible biomass out there in the wilds, ready to be gathered and consumed if Caprica should so desire. She could very feasibly hunt and forage on her own, without bothering with vacation village. Etrepa does not even possess the gendered expectations that might render the model-lean and -lovely blonde somewhat absurd in survivalist mode. ]
Why not stay in the camp, if you are not self sufficient? If you are injured, or otherwise immobilized, you may not receive sufficiently timely assistance.
[ The explanation - or rather, an explanation - arrives by way of overheard thoughts. If Etrepa were the sort to show any sort of spontaneous expression, she'd look surprised. This person - no, not a person, not if what it thinks of itself is true, though definitions of personhood have proved looser out here than in Radch space - is a synthetic intelligence? Another intrusive scan, not of Caprica's mind but of her body, is forthcoming, as Etrepa strives to spot some implants she has missed, some sign of the artificial in what otherwise looks like an exemplary - if provincially pale - instance of human anatomy. ]
Are you afraid that you'd have no place? They are, many of them, not human themselves. [ Certainly not by Radchaai standards. Aatr's tits- they are none of them even civilized. Hardly in a position to judge. ]