2023-08-18: Far From Heaven/Breaking All Illusions
- Log: 2023-08-18: Far From Heaven/Breaking All Illusions
- Cast: Teletha Testarossa, Andrei Kalilin (NPC'd)
- Where: Merida Island
- Date: U.C. 0097 08 18
- Summary: Mithril watches the Gyrps-2 laser and the miracle that follows. The ensuing fallout from the contents of Laplace's Box has just begun.
In the underground base of Merida Island, in the fateful two floors of the headquarters in New Zealand, in various pockmarked locales across the planet, Mithril sat with bated breath. One of the West Pacific Battlegroup SRT (along with a PRT unit) had gone to assist in the escapade to stop the Gryps-2. Failure. Too late. No matter the twists and turns of fate and effort, the confirmation of the Gyrps-2 laser was enough to set the entire organization on edge.
Down in the underground base of the island, the commander's chair was occupied. Tessa kept watch of the situation; Laplace's Box was sure to crack after so many years, and Mithril had a vested interest in what was inside. Allowing others to shift about, to move, and for them to look and to pick up the pieces where needed...Such was the movements of fighting for peace. All for naught, it seemed.
She watched the inference-based timer tick down from the hundreds of seconds in grim silence. Kalilin stood behind, the stoic commander understanding the inevitable. There was a time for miracles, a time to watch everything. Even a time to watch failure play.
"Gryps-2 confirmed fired." The technician monitoring Gyrps-2. The satellite camera aimed towards Side 5. The slow, bizarrely graceful dance of a Colony Laser slicing through the stars, and the ash blonde commander who could do little but watch an act of malice in the name of self-preservation play out.
To watch the silent desolation of the cosmos. Tessa's mind pricks. How many things were in the way of Gryps-2 and Side 5? How many kilometers of death had this shot wrought? She doesn't dare look away. To set her jaw and to observe the carnage. To observe...The glow of the cosmos, and the will of people too stubborn to admit defeat to tank it completely.
Kaliln's gaze narrows. Again and again, the small stir of thoughts. Something is wrong with this, but he can't worry about it. The faint feeling brushed away for the current situation: Side 5 was alive and well. There was only the need to see what Laplace's Box has and to start adjusting battleplans in the Pacific. Amit and Broda will have their hands full, but-
"Wait." The piercing voice of Tessa before Kalilin spoke, ashen eyes raptly staring at the camera. Green.
The poisonous green. Mithril's eyes on the ground adjust, refocusing, waiting for the light pollution to disperse, to view the battle akin to the fickle gods. Curiosity. Hunger. Hurry up. There's more coming. It didn't matter; For those in Mithril, save for a few people, the question of what was happening to those pilots was a secondary concern.
What is in the Box?
As the cameras refocus, as Mithril documents the green, the miracle, the rejection of reality...The display panels flicker.
"Transmission incoming! I can't stop it!" So says Shinohara, the communications officer. "All frequencies except for emergency bands are taken over!" A chill. There's a collective jolt of surprise.
There's another jolt when the person onscreen is recognized. Mineva. Its all Tessa can do to not exclaim in surprise, to keep her calm. Kalilin merely narrows his gaze.
Inside the Command Room of Merida Island, the crew watches.
---
Kalilin silently watches. How long ago had he heard about Laplace's Box? The stuff of rumors and hearsay, and it was real, in front of his eyes. You could replicate something similar; The amount of fakes, people purporting they found the real one, crackpots and speculative throughout the years. But this was the real thing. You could replicate objects. People, on the other hand...Even from how the camera was positioned, there was no doubt. Trust what's in front of your eyes.
A new species. With citizenship. The revealed clause confirmed a few longstanding theories about the early UC he had in the back of his mind. Not that it particularly mattered; Theories and citizenship and the definition of everything fell apart in the heat of battle. In the long term, this wouldn't change much. The terms of battle would change, and there'd be some training he'd have to enforce for morale and proper understanding. This division certainly wouldn't /need/ it, but proper caution from the higher ups would have such a thing come down in practice.
Though, what comes after? Kindness. The waves of change were slow and wide, sweeping over everything. In a few short decades, things had changed. Again and again and again. Was this another portent of it? Swearing kindness and change, the speeches he's heard time and time again? Will it stick this time?
The pragmatic side of him said no. It was not a matter of pessimism or optimism; It was merely fact. So long as there were two people alive, somewhere, anywhere, there would be a need for assertion via power.
The idea of 'possibility' is there, as it has always been. Whether it amounted to a scarred, tarred, burned, warped, tossed, mangled, destitute, vaguely wrong vessel of humanity to sit itself up and finally tend to its own wounds or not...Was an open question.
No matter. He had to start preparing for the obvious uprisings. Some groups would be emboldened by this, and it was Mithril's prerogative to snuff those embers before the kindling caught aflame.
---
Once Tessa's initial shock of surprise had faded away, there was only the speech to watch. "Record it." "Ma'am," Shinohara already on the task. Everything about this broadcast would be dissected later. To push through every channel like this was a grave thing, no matter the circumstances.
The difference is spotted immediately. Chapter VII, 'Future', Article 15, Provision 2; The odd one out compared to her own recollection of what the charter had. So this was the "smoking gun" Martha Vist Carbine wanted to eradicate. Outside, she remained silent.
Inside, she questioned. New species? That would count for Newtypes. Would Whispered, if their existence was known, count? Coordinators? Sentient Kaiju? Super AI? Zentradi? Would this mean that so much conflict was for naught, that so much would have been avoided by the act of obscuring one paragraph?
/No./ Of course not. /I want to say yes, but people are not that easy./ It is noble in theory. In practice, even with the hope and idealism of that statement, things are never that easy. Look at the world right now, that world that is oh-so-slightly /wrong/. Look at Britannia. Even in the same species, we fight. To resort to xenophobia? Some people would do that as a matter of course.
The Whispered Colonel listened on, dealing with the raging whirlpool of emotions. The Newtype Theory proposed by Deikun. Yes, too far apart. You can't have forty years of foresight...Can you...? Not him, at least. It was too early.
The obvious results. The tracing of decades of fear into coverups into the assimilation of something else entirely. A prayer of hope warped into a pestilence snuffed and tossed into an ever-tighter cage. There's the taste of bile at the recognition of a parallel, swallowed to focus. Hope into violence.
There is a collective sigh of relief at the conciliatory tone. The idea of Zeon would start to decline. Well aware of the power of someone who people idolized (or followed), there was little doubt in Tessa's own mind: /The Sleeves will disperse./ They pushed on with an idea that they shared, along with their hopes and dreams. They were all gone now, with the head publicly dispersing the idea. There'd be uprisings, but...No more.
The god called 'possibility'.
Possibility. The word strikes a chord. To believe in possibility, to push for something more. Multiple paths branch in her mind: one of Bani, one of Whispered, one of the pure idea of free will.
Possibility. Bani. What did you know? Your final message. You said it yourself. You said it. What did you know? Did you see this, all these years later? 'The Arbalest is a vehicle for possibility', a sentence said once Bani Moruta's death was confirmed to Al during Tsutsujidai's sectioning from reality. Were you thinking this far? How much more do I have to peel back until I stop seeing your fingerprints everywhere?
Possibility. Whispered. The god of possibility has already descended elsewhere, can't you see? Mineva, you aren't wrong. You're not going to be completely right. A god can't see what comes in from elsewhere. Possibility has already been warped nearly two decades ago. When the thoughts are spreading across the planet...I want to believe in it, Mineva. I believe, and yet. I believe you're unaware of just how far skewed the ideas of possibility have taken us.
Possibility. Free will. Can we push at this? I...I want to believe in Free Will. I haven't had any in a long time; I have to use this information to atone. Is what I'm doing free will? I can't completely release what's in my mind; People will want more. I can't hide away; I have an obligation for what I've done.
I can't believe in this god called 'possibility'. He was murdered when we were born that day. I'm sorry.
---
As the speech ends, the feeds cut in, one by one. Chatter from the crew begins again; Ascertaining relays, confirming connections, the sudden (technical) blackout reestablishing communications. Kalilin had already stepped out, no doubt sending orders to prepare for Quick Deployment to SRT. Who knows how many remnants are emboldened, who knows how many Sleeves Cells would try for one last gasp, unwilling or refusing to parse the speech.
Tessa barely relaxed. The hours ticking by, confirming the reality of the situation. Here and there, spending the yawning night underground, coordinating and confirming the realities of what had happened, a technical world away. Laplace's Box had opened, and Mithril had confirmed what was inside. That was that.
As for the ground team...
"Yes, she's in custody." Confirmation of Martha's detainment. There's a piece of paper held for Tessa, an exhausted woman's final thing before pulling herself off duty and towards the sweet embrace of bed. "She has a message for you."
"A message?" Tired eyebrows raised curiously, taking the offered slip. Encrypted text. Today's code, along with the time of day and other immutable numbers served to barely hold any resistance in understanding. The sentences repeated verbatim, with zero attempt at deciphering their meaning.
'Tell your Commander, I'm looking forward to meeting her.' 'I'd like to find out if she truly has her brother's eyes.'
"I see. Thank you." She doesn't hand the paper back to the technician, feeding it into the paper shredder/incinerator herself. The placid look on her face is clear. "Good work. Make a note to find how many connections Martha has away from official transactions." And she walked to her officer room in the general dorms, step by step.
Once away from the hustle and bustle, the mind raged.
How dare she taunt me like this. How dare she mock me like this. My brother? Him? He's involved in this too. How was this going to change anything for what you wanted? Is this a game now? Khanka, Behemoth, Gauron, and now this? What could you possibly gain from allying with her? Does she know? Will she have to die? Or was she just another collaborator?
With the eyes of a twin's latent understanding and fury, she arrived at her dorm. Sleep would come in fists and bursts, the tidal waves of declining Mineva's hopes and snapping at Martha's declaration.
I am not my brother.
I am not a pragmatic person going for a "noble" cause.
Leonard Testarossa's goal should not come to pass.