(backdated to pre-Pan plot -- also threadjack Miles in the comments!)

[vorbarra]

[There is a thin, angular man with dark neat hair and intensely focused hazel eyes on the screen. He clears his throat when the vid starts; he's had to swallow down his nerves and put on his calm political mask to speak. His accent is a gravelly, guttural sort of Russian, as if Russians went into space and were fast-forwarded a thousand years. Which they did.]

Hello. My name's Greg. I'm adding to your barrage of new arrivals. It's still very surreal to be here, if for no other reason than that I'm on pre-space travel Earth.

[He does look honestly bemused by that.]

I was wondering what the regulations are for obtaining jobs around here. They've assigned me one, but I was hoping for something... low key. Normal, menial work. [A quirk of his lips.] I have experience putting in lights, if that's relevant, and as a navigator.

I was also looking for confirmation that all of the, ah, abilities listed in our files are real. I'd prefer not to test something like this to find out.

Thank you.

Comments

[vorbarra]

I was starting to think we might be the only ones who thought space travel was obvious. [A wry smile, then he says rather drolly,] Traveling salesman. I'm not sure I'll go to day one of the job, to be honest.

[abadidea]

Were you some kind of salesman in your universe? [That's the only thing Isaac could think of.] Yeah, there aren't many of us.

[vorbarra]

[Gregor can't help a muffled snort at that question.]

No. More like the opposite. I have to conclude they're having a joke at our expense. Is it really that common for everyone to be from... the 20th, 21st century, was it? I keep wishing I'd paid more attention in my old Earth history lessons.

[abadidea]

[Isaac laughs.] They might be. I'm a systems engineer for deep space mining vessels. They have me working on ships.

...ocean ships.

[He shakes his head.] It's pretty common, yeah.

[vorbarra]

[A slight wince.] I see. Accept my sympathies. You must've traveled some interesting places to get to the mining vessels-- I've always wished I could spend more time off-planet. Or, as it was when I left, off-ship.

Maybe the Porter has a bias toward individuals from similar locations to this... It's a thought.

[abadidea]

It's not so bad. I'd started to like it.

[He shrugs.] Or maybe there's just more people to choose from, then. [And then he realizes how morbid that sounds.]

[vorbarra]

It wasn't your first choice?

[A short pause as Gregor lets that sink in, but then he's shaking his head.] Can't be. The population of Earth in my universe is around nine billion, and that's just Earth. Mathematically, it'd have to be... well. Who am I to know any of this?

Not like we can do anything by thinking about it, [he sighs.] Abstract quantum physics is not something my education focused on.

[abadidea]

I mean that...eventually universes end. Maybe there are more to choose from at that timeline.

[vorbarra]

... Do they? That seems a very long time from now.

[abadidea]

[Here, have a quiet, mirthless chuckle.] What year is it?

[vorbarra]

The 31st century.

[They really don't have anything on that scale in his universe. All of their problems are strictly human problems, which have always seemed entirely enough to Gregor.]

[abadidea]

...damn. [He pauses for a moment.] ...see, in your timeline, mine's already over. [At least most likely.]

[vorbarra]

It's-- over? Over completely?

[That's such a shocking idea that Gregor looks completely blank as he tries to process it.]

[abadidea]

I'm...pretty sure it was ending when I left. [He shakes his head.] It's long...long story, but it was 2514.

[vorbarra]

We were still in the Time of Isolation then, [he says faintly, still catching up.

Then he shakes his head, as if to clear it.] God. How are you dealing with that? --You don't have to answer, I just can't fathom.

[abadidea]

...the what? [That sounded...intense to say the least.]

...I'm dealing with it by not trying to leave. Where would I go?

[vorbarra]

Yes. Right. A perspective I hadn't thought of before.

[Gregor clears his throat, trying to switch to actually contributing to the conversation again.] The Time of Isolation was a period of six hundred years in which Barrayar was cut off from the rest of the galaxy. Our wormhole collapsed. We only found another about a hundred years ago.

[abadidea]

...damn. [A pause.] And the odds of the rest of the galaxy being similar at all after 600 years are pretty low...

[vorbarra]

[Gregor can't help a snort.]

We were reduced to a level of technology reminiscent of the medieval era very quickly. Shortly after being rediscovered, we suffered a planetary invasion.

[A thin edge of a smile, rife with cultural history of bitter victory. Gregor's own grandfather had fought in that invasion, as had Miles's.]

We fought them off.

[abadidea]

An invasion? From where?

[vorbarra]

The Cetagandans. It's all humans where we come from.

[abadidea]

...yeah, I'm not sure why I thought that would mean anything to me.

Why did they invade?

[vorbarra]

The usual reasons: greed and conquest. We were very tempting targets, with our pre-industrial tech, them with their spaceships. Must've seemed ripe for the taking.

[abadidea]

...how did you even stand a chance, though?

[vorbarra]

Guerrilla tactics, and sheer bloody-minded perseverance. It was very ugly. Many winters, they had to eat their own horses, and they... Well. I have a number of horrific tales.

It became more trouble than it was worth to the Cetagandans, long story short.