2022-08-20: Speaking Secrets
- Log: 2022-08-20: Speaking Secrets
- Cast: Nanai Miguel, Sayla Mass
- Where: Sweetwater Colony, Side 4
- OOC - IC Date: 19 August 2022
- Summary: A necessary exchange of secure information bring Sayla and 'Ms. Mesua' back into contact, as they discuss Laplace's Box, all the while dancing around the connecting point of their lives.
<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.
The months have been kind to Sweetwater. That is not something that could be said for much of its tense history. Even still, it is a kindness well suited for this colony, an island apart among islands apart. It is a kindness of increments, a kindness of next breaths. Life gets a little easier. It never gets easy.
There are many hearts to this turn of events, but the one that may most concern a visitor from the Shuffle Alliance is the effectiveness of the clandestine aid being delivered to the station. The two mirror each other: the aid comes in gradually, where it will not trigger undue interest from Federation authorities. Sweetwater survives by disinterest. The civilian powers in control there know this, and exercise patience.
The days into weeks into months of hard-to-find blessings -- critical mechanical parts, visits from medical specialists, building materials, a little spare food -- have bent the arc of the station that much more toward restoring the dignity of its inhabitants.
Save, perhaps, the dignity of the woman who oversees this restoration. Mesta Mesua labors in darkness no matter where and when she is.
Once Sayla takes the train to the colony divider, she picks up an escort. The closed-type portion of Sweetwater can be confusing for even inhabitants of the open-type side thanks to its ever-shifting nature, never mind for someone who hasn't been here in some time. Of course, there's also the sense that where Sayla is going will need some vouching.
The open-type section offered view of numerous demolition and construction projects on the journey. This intensifies in the closed-type section. The guide -- a genial young woman in coveralls named Mahj who manages to say exactly nothing about herself no matter how quizzed -- weaves Sayla through detour after detour. At this hour, where the simulated darkness is beginning to creep in, it also involves weaving through the streets being used for outdoor cafes and gathering plazas.
But their destination is an unassuming building tucked away in the sprawl. One of those combination buildings set up to be used as a store front on the bottom and residential up top, though the sign placards have been left empty. Buildings tend to get repurposed here, especially in economically depressed areas. It's suitably rough around the edges but, to its credit, a thorough pressure washing would go a long way toward its rehabilitation.
Mahj pauses at the glass storefront of the front entrance (blocked out by faded blue curtains), gives a look back to Sayla, and then pushes the door open. It's not even locked.
But there is a bell.
"Ms. Mesua? Your appointment is here."
The interior is an unaesthetic mixture of warm and cold lighting. The cold comes from the old fluorescents above, and the warm from assorted table lamps scattered about. There's territory at play here. The cold lighting seems more concentrated in the back through an archway where the furniture is made out of stainless steel, and the warm has more say in the impromptu seating area over there built around a particularly large rug. The gradient of comfy is thus established.
Mahj is immediately answered by two children coming around a corner. One, a boy in a colorful striped shirt, runs and then doubles back when his fellow, a girl with an overly complicated braid, doesn't run after him. She's looking down at the heavy tome held between her hands that is ominously titled LIFE AND DEATH (the subtitle is uncooperatively small for distant reading).
"Remember."
That's Mesta's voice, from the other room. The girl responds: "Cut their groups, connect your groups."
The children pass toward the outside, disinterested in Mahj and Sayla. Mahj does her part by sliding inside and holding the door to facilitate people getting in and out. Mesta, in the meanwhile, rounds the corner. The chill air has her in a pull-over hoodie with a faded Anaheim logo on it. It is literally impossible for any kind of scientist to not have at least some Anaheim Electronics swag in their closet or cupboard.
"That's right," she says, but her gaze is on Sayla.
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
Dr Mass is tense. She can see the work happening to Sweetwater, and it's heartening. It's just not heartening enough. She watches the building, the imporvements, the general tenor. And when it becomes clear Mahj isn't talking about anything of import, Sayla will keep up the small talk as much as necessary, but not more. She's not the genial woman she normally presents as.
She lets the chilldren leave, staying out of the way. She muses briefly on the lesson, but frankly... It's not what she's here for. She gives a small nod to Mahj, once the path is clear. "Thank you."
Sayla walks into the room, as Nanai's eyes on her her. She gives a brief pass, checking the room is the secure but... Well, Nanai is almost as paranoid as 'Mesta' is. But this time Sayla is keeping her distance. "...Good evening, Ms. Mesua. Do you want me to start with a topic in particular, or shall I just start?" Barely room for pleasantries, and even in the cold lights, it's clear to see that Sayla is tired.
<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.
Mahj meets Sayla's look but glances to Mesta before answering. When Mesta nods to her, the young woman gives Sayla a cheerful salute and flounces back out into the street.
The door glides shut behind her.
A beat of silence passes. Then, Mesta turns to walk to the other end of this central area.
"You've come a long way. You're welcome to sit. Would you like anything to drink?"
There is a flicker across the skein of the room. A feeling of rushing water. Mesta pauses at the threshold between this room and the next, placing her hand on the frame. She turns her head enough to suggest looking back at Sayla, but it must be only her peripheral vision if anything.
"If you're worried or embarrassed about what happened last time... don't be. I'm beyond all of that now. Work through it at your own pace. Not mine."
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
"I'm fine for right now, thank you." She's not, but she's keeping her walls up. She takes a seat, though, closer than she had planned. "...Very well." There's a long sigh before Sayla speaks.
"I said I would keep you informed on that matter you asked me to look into. As I said I have information." She still seems tense. "...Cardeas Vist was in possession of the 'key' to Laplace's Box, and intended to hand it to the Sleeves on the day he was killed in an attack on Industrial 7." She pauses. "The key is a gundam, and it's currently in possession of a boy named Banagher Links."
Another few moments, as she orients. "I've come into contact with Mr Links. He's a quite powerful newtype." She pauses. "Supposedly as strong as Haman Karn in her prime." Or Judau Ashta. She's still quiet, as she mulls over it.
He's been in contact with a faction of the Sleeves, but isn't aligned with them yet. He says he wants to find 'the right person' to give the box to, and stop war in the Earth Sphere."
There's lot's going unsaid here right now, but... Sayla is prone to only giving the necessary information.
<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.
Mesta watches for a moment longer. Then, saying nothing, she disappears into the other room. The polite clatter of dishware is assurance that she isn't too far to hear Sayla speaking.
The furniture here is well-worn but comfortable. The mismatched nature of the pieces tells the expected story of collecting assorted pieces where one is able. Coherency is expensive.
Perhaps it was Mesta's plan to hear this news while she was in the other room. This way prevents Sayla from seeing the other woman's reaction. With how tall Sayla keeps her walls, and how few ripples Mesta emanates, even the communication beyond sight is of little use.
Around the corner Mesta comes with a steaming mug, a string and tag trailing over the lip. The tawny-haired woman pauses there, considering Sayla, and then moves to lean against the wall rather than approach.
"Newtypes like that will only continue to appear in greater numbers. All these bright lights let people know that they can open their eyes."
Mesta glances down into her mug. A glaze of steam licks at the edges of her glasses.
"Good for us that the Sleeves didn't receive the key. I wonder if his ghost has the same fire in his eyes."
Another pause. A subtle shift of thought. Mesta returns her gaze to Sayla.
"You said the mobile suit is the key. What kind? This boy, Banagher -- does he have the box to give, or is he offering the key? What is this faction of the Sleeves? Did he contact you to see if you are the right person?"
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
Sayla's not unfamiliar with the mismatched approach. Taking the best of what you can get, when you can get it. That's the life for most at this point. Even for her, at one point.
It turns out assets hidden from the Zabi family go a long way.
"Assuming they can get old enough to do so without being used by the Federation or people like Bakharov. Or even Amalgam or BioNet..." Or a man long dead.
Sayla continues to be slow. Thoughtful. Or perhaps ruminating. "I think they did. He was on a ship called the Garencieres. I believe it's a front for the sleeves. But they let him keep the key for his own use." She sighs. "...He's offering the box, once he locates it. He doesn't have it yet, I don't think. But the discussions went... poorly."
Sayla leans back. "...The faction is connected to a man named Suberoa Zinnerman. Does the name ring any bells?" There's one more long pause. "...No. I contacted him." Another very long pause, then...
"My d- my ward asked him out on a date. After finding all this out. They.... connected." Sayla says the word with a deep bitterness. She's thinking of one connection in particular. One connection that set events in motion for years to come.
<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.
Mesta removes one hand from her mug to make a small gesture in response to Sayla's initial thought. A gesture of agreement? Of futility? She does not clarify.
On the subject of Zinnerman, Mesta's feelings are more clear: "I don't recall that name, but I concerned myself with the labs and the flagship. I could ask some of my contacts. The fact that they haven't forced it from his hand... well, I can only speculate without more knowledge of his character or the politics at play inside the Sleeves. I imagine that Bakharov is being his usual personable self. It could cause a rift. Or doubt. Doubt is enough."
Mesta pushes off from the wall and takes a circuitous path toward a small desk elsewhere in the room, intentionally circling away from Sayla as if tracing the edge of her bubble. Once at her destination, she sets the mug down, takes up a pen and a notepad, and makes a few marks.
"Another two, maybe. I've sometimes wondered why these patterns repeat. Maybe I'll wonder enough to write a paper someday."
She hesitates, and then sets her pen down to turn and face Sayla again.
"Sorry. This must be stressful for you. It may not be my business, but please, take it from me. When it comes to these choices, adults like us can either support them or deny them, and if we deny them they'll always find a way around us."
A humorless smile tightens her lips.
"Didn't we?"
Her hand finds her mug.
"You mentioned Mineva."
Not 'the princess.' Curious.
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
"We can use doubt." Sayla is completely unenthusiastic when she says it. One can hardly be surprised that she would be. She still seems... very in her own head, unresponsive as Mesta walks around her, looking at the sound of the mug on the desk.
"She's old enough to make her own decisions, and if things go badly, I'll help her pick up the pieces." The humourless smile is met with a fairly flat, muted expression. "I'm afraid I never had the chance." Despite having two opportunities in your life.
An interesting note, but frankly, preferred. "Yes. According to Mr Links, she is a 'guest of the Federation'. Last seen on board a ship ID'd as the Gwennagorn. It's Londo Bell, rather than G-Hound or Britannia." She pauses there too. "If Londo Bell Command still has any pull, she'll be... safe for the moment. But there's only so much he can do, and I'd rather not tug on that thread if I can." Sayla reaches for her bag, but stops. No. She's on the job. Wait until you're on the shuttle out.
<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.
"Hm."
A noncommittal noise. But again, Mesta moves on.
"He kept her away from the rebellion," she says. "I don't know much of her mood. I know what worth she is to Bakharov as a propaganda piece. I also know he'd kill her if he thought she'd serve him better that way. I can only imagine the Federation feels the same. Londo Bell is a thin shell, but I don't think anywhere will be safe for someone like her."
Mesta takes in a long breath and then exhales. Her gaze lingers on the floor, but what she's looking at seems miles away.
"I don't know if this will make sense to you. But, out of respect for what she meant to him, I'm willing to go out of my way to help her. My people will feel the same. Tell her that, if you get the chance. We can hide her if that's what she wants. If she wants something else... well, it may be beyond who we're willing to be, here."
The tawny-haired woman pauses to remove the bag of tea, dropping it into a small waste bin by the desk.
"As for the key... hidden in a mobile suit, of all things. What do you plan to do?"
I don't understand that.
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
Sayla's quiet for a long time, after Nanai speaks. Taking it all in. "...Understood. That's a fair offer, considering the safety of your people." She sighs. "And it's likely she would not want refuge from someone who assisted in killing her father. But then again..."
Sayla shakes her head, the raw memories coming to the surface. "...Vengeance on the Zabis was why he left. And yet in the end he's the reason you'd help her." There is a resentment there, that Sayla does all she can to keep buried, even if it's not enough."
Sayla pauses. "To be frank, even if the box is so powerful... I don't think what Mr Links wants can be achieved. The Federation has a century of inertia now, and the colonies suffer from it. He's an idealist, but doesn't know enough of the world. He wants to change that, but..." Sayla digs her nails into her palm. "He's too like Amuro and nothing like him all at once."
Sayla snaps herself out of it, getting back to the question at hand. "Either way, the boy is likely to be part of my life for some period, and even if he isn't my ward has an interest in a member of Zinnerman's crew. I'll have time to watch and analyze. I don't have enough to make a firm decision, but I can at least take advantage of my position to keep informed." It's not a decision, but it's not indecision, somehow. "Once we know how the key works, and what is involved... I'll revise."
<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.
Mesta lowers her gaze in demurral from the first topic. Her only comment, perhaps in apology, is short: "His sense of justice never changed."
She finally takes a drink from her tea. It serves as a neat pivot from one conversation to another, from hazy distant feelings to functional action.
"Considering how the Box has been used so far, I suspect that any peace it could create would be one born of tension. No. If it's a secret powerful enough to compel the Federation to bend, then releasing it could just as easily cause war. Such is the fate of the idealist who gets what they want."
She glances away.
"Perhaps only the ones with inflexible senses of justice."
A beat. Maybe Mesta managed to depress even herself.
"In any case, I can make inquiries concerning this group. If they have doubts about the Sleeves then they could be willing to shift sides. We may not live a glamorous life here, but we're proof that it's possible to live our ideals in some way. This Banagher -- he needs to understand what's at stake if the Box makes its way to Bakharov's hands. I suggest ensuring that does not happen be our immediate concern."
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
In a moment of perhaps kindness, Sayla simply lets the idea that her brother had a sense of justice float by. That's not an argument either of them needs right now. "I agree. It makes no sense to commit to how the box is used without knowing what it contains. That sort of leverage may be useful, but not... beneficial." She's not above such tactics, but maybe that's why she shouldn't have the box.
"I'll leave that in your hands, then." She pauses. "...I will do my best to make him understand what's at stake. I can arrange a meeting if you'd like but..." Sayla sighs. "...Leina knows how guard herself, at least somewhat. But she and Banagher formed a bond almost instantly. You know the chances of going to that place better than I do, but the risk is there."
Sayla takes a deep breath. "...I think that's all I had to raise on the matter. Anything else can be transmitted securely, but I thought this was better discussed in person." That and Sayla is paranoid. "But you may be being contacted by someone soon who wishes to discuss reactor upgrades. He understands the need to do this discretely, the activity carries risk for him too, but he wants to do something." She understands that well. "Unfortunately he can also be high profile, so officially he's doing some volunteer maintenance. But it might be an idea to give the civilian authorities some warning that the man who killed Dr Hell wants to visit."
<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.
Mesta listens along. At some point, what Sayla says seems to provoke her to reverie. Her gaze drifts off and she busies herself with her tea. There's been enough meetings between the two at this point that it's certain she's still listening, but something has got her mind working.
"Reactor upgrades?" she says. Her brow furrows as she considers the rest. Her eventual response is measured: "If he wants to come here, then he must want what only we can give. I hope he understands what he would be asking of me."
Mesta shakes her head. With one final sip of her tea, she sets the mug aside and steps forward to gesture at the door.
"Thank you for bringing this information to me. Tell me how the situation develops. I..."
She pauses, searching for the words.
"I don't know if I can be her again. Not just for my sake, but for the sake of everyone here. But these are the things I chose to make a part of my life, and I won't abandon my responsibility to them."
One final thought crosses her mind.
"That mobile suit -- what is it called?"
<Pose Tracker> Sayla Mass has posed.
"...You underestimate him. The most he'll want is directions to a decent place to eat, and honestly the restaurant Shelby works at would suit Koji nicely. He doesn't know anything about Sweetwater beyond what's public knowledge. And he's not part of the Shuffle Alliance." Sayla, even briefly, has a smirk. "He's not like us, he just wants to help people and hates bureaucracy getting in the way of that. I simply put the idea in his head that he could do more for the colonies."
With the gesture, Sayla stands, but Nanai keeps talking. "...Who you choose to be now is what matters. You have people depending on you, to keep safe. Sometime's that's easier as someone new than who you were before." Sayla's speaking from experience. "The name you give matters, but it's not going to change the person you are behind it. If the person who was is gone, there's no point trying to reach for them or claw them back."
She starts to turn to walk away, but is stopped by the final question. "...Unicorn." Sayla responds. "The Spades acquired footage an attack on Luna a few months ago. We can have it sent." With that, she starts for the door.
"A white unicorn from a seven... Rather on the nose, don't you think?"
<Pose Tracker> Nanai Miguel has posed.
"Maybe. But sincerity is all that's left," says Mesta.
She gives a final nod to Sayla.
"I'll hear him out, then. We always have room for more workers. And I'll see your footage. As for the rest, we'll see. Until next time, Dr. Mass."
She waits until Sayla has left. Mahj is waiting somewhere outside to help find the way back out of the tangle again. Mesta, for all her woundedness, has subtly given this chaotic station its own kind of order that shines through her intermediaries.
Back inside the building, Nanai Miguel looks down at the notepad. Her expression flattens as the likely variables play out in her mind. It's only several minutes later that she moves again, and then only to reach into the front pocket of her hoodie and pull out her mobile. She flicks down, down, down through the list of fake names.
"It's me," she says, and then pauses. Three clicks on the line. Secure.
"Send out feelers for anyone who knew a Suberoa Zinnerman. Yes. Might have had a ship command. He's currently running the Garencieres for Bakharov's lot. Alright. That timing is fine. I also want you to send along an inquiry down at Anaheim. Right, same way. A mobile suit."
Her gaze drifts to the last line on the paper.
"Unicorn."