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{{Log |cast=Banagher Links, Suberoa Zinnerman |location=Saudi Arabia - The Desert |summary=Braving the harshness of the wilderness, Zinnerman and Banagher strike out to make contact with Earth Zeon remnant forces in the hope of easing the process of finding the next set of Laplace coordinates. |date=2022-09-22 }} <Pose Tracker> Suberoa Zinnerman has posed. <poem> The desert of Saudi Arabia. By day, a deathtrap of heat, with the sun's heat beating down overhead and cooking the sand underfoot; by night, the inverse - the open, cloudless sky releases all that heat into the atmosphere, creating a wasteland where you could freeze to death as surely as you'd die by dehydration in the day. Across this blasted wilderness trudge Suberoa Zinnerman and Banagher Links, sleeping under shelter during the day and moving by night, to make the most efficient usage of their water - but why this, when they have access to a mighty spaceship that could make this travel so much simpler? ====== ONE WEEK AGO ====== ====== THE GARENCIERES CARGO HOLD ====== "There's no mistakin' it," Tomura, the Garencieres Team's prodigy mechanic, sighs as he looks over his laptop hooked up to the Unicorn Gundam, currently carefully negotiating with the onboard La+ Program, the little mystery software leading the camouflaged freighter after Laplace's Box. "These new coordinates the system's generated... They're Torrington Base." Murmurs of discomfort move around the hold among the crew. Flaste Schole, ship's mate, frowns. "There's no way we're getting the Unicorn in there. Even if we did without the kid getting shot down, we'd also have to get that damn NT-D system to activate." Alec, their field ops specialist, speaks up. "We'd have to create a distraction, or somethin'. Move the Federation's attention away from Torrington so response is slower to arrive." "Yeah but how's one ship with five mobile suits going to make a big enough distraction to successfully get something as high-profile as that Gundam onto a Federation weapons facility?" Ivan points out. "We don't even have enough Skiure turrets to pose a credible threat." "We don't." This fourth speaker is none other than Suberoa Zinnerman, joining the crew. "I just received a communication from Commander Frontal. He wants us to touch base with some of the Remnant forces on Earth, and provided me with intelligence pointing to a hideout in Saudi Arabia. Kwani confirmed some of the details when I contacted him." The team's espionage and intelligence specialist is still on detached duty in Area 11, conducting an operation of his own that isn't apparently related to the pursuit of the box on the Captain's orders. "If we get in touch with them, we can have them be our distraction." Gilboa Sant, their ace helmsman, rubs his chin thoughtfully. "We can't exactly fly the Garencieres over to their hideout and knock without selling them out - Feds'll be watching airspace in the OAC since that's where ZAFT's making the loudest noise. It'd have to be a desert trip - and we'll want to avoid discovery, so we'd have to mostly bury the Garencieres in the sand to hide our reactor emissions - which means the hangar doors will be unusable and we can't get any of the cargo vehicles out to make the trip easier." "... So it's a hike, then." Zinnerman sighs - it'll be brutal. "I won't be going alone, then. I'll need a second." That said, keeping the ship ready to fly from such a clandestine position is going to be an all-hands job - none of the crew are inclined to volunteer. ====== NOW ====== ====== MIDNIGHT IN THE DESERT ====== Even in the icy air, the going is laborious. The sand is thick and loose, and both Zinnerman and Banagher are laden with heavy, protective and comfortable clothes to keep them insulated and carrying tremendously heavy supply packs. Even with the sand boots and their wider surface area, it's as though the desert itself fights them for every inch of progress. The rough sleeping, under any shelter they can find in the day, is little help to morale - but turning back was never on the captain's mind, the grizzled veteran forcing step after step in the direction of the contact point he's been provided with. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed. <poem> Banagher's spirits have been higher than the crew of the Garencieres has seen before. Every new conversation he has with Leina seems to make him brighter, somehow, as though radiating echoed sunlight. His communicator is in his hand more often than not, the young man smiling down at it, tapping away at little messages to send to his girlfriend. Said girlfriend had been hard to convince of the reasons Banagher had to accompany the Captain. In the end, it came down to Banagher's love and loyalty to the man. There was no way he'd let Zinnerman walk through the desert alone, even if it meant missing out on a few dates with Leina. All the same. As they trudge through the sandy wastes, Banagher holds his communicator in one hand. He doesn't have the time to stop and send a message as they walk, but the implied connection to her strengthens him. A little Haro sticker is stuck to the side, cheerful and green in this colorless world of daylight. The trek began with Banagher's spirits high. Captain Zinnerman trusted him enough to make him his second on such an important mission! And he's never seen sand like this before. He kicks his shoes through it, watching stray grains catch in the wind and be carried away. Despite the heavy gear and strange clothing, it feels like an adventure. It feels like he's really a part of the Garencieres crew now. Zinnerman's shoulders sway in front of him as the Captain moves. The man is so steady and resolute. Banagher squares his own shoulders, emulating the man. Hours have passed, since the sun set. Mouth feeling dry, Banagher's steps sway just a bit. He shakes his head. Of course his mouth feels dry, it's the desert. He can keep going. One hand clutching the communicator a bit closer, he continues to faithfully walk behind the Captain. Stars dance in the young man's vision. It's almost the early morning, now. Sweat beads on Banagher's face, instantly chilling him in the cold of the night. A sick sort of feeling makes the back of his knees feel weak, until -- The sky tilts sideways, and the sand meets his face. Banagher goes tumbling down a sand dune, vision greying out. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Suberoa Zinnerman has posed. <poem> A thud, and the sound of a body sliding down a dune of sand. Zinnerman turns back, carefully sliding down the dune after Banagher. "Damn it," he grumbles. "Banagher, are you okay?" He reaches out a hand to help the young man back up to his feet. "Didn't I say to sip your water at regular intervals, even if you don't feel thirsty?" He glances up at the moon, estimating the time they have, and starts thinking about looking for somewhere to make camp. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed. <poem> Banagher blinks his eyes open, shaking the sand out of his hair. He's still lightheaded, and he takes a moment to rest. Thankfully, his communicator is laying in the sand right next to him. Grabbing it again, he looks up at the Captain. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry." He takes Zinnerman's hand, nodding. As if to make penance, Banagher gets his water and takes a quick sip. "Captain," Banagher begins, as Zinnerman looks up at the moon. "...people aren't going to get hurt because of this, right? It's just going to be a distraction, so we can get to the next coordinates?" </poem> <Pose Tracker> Suberoa Zinnerman has posed. <poem> It would be a question like that. Zinnerman sighs. "I don't know, Banagher. That's what ''we'' need, but what the people we're going to see want out of this... It will depend what kind of cell they are. Whether or not they've been waiting for a chance to come their way. They've been in hiding for seventeen years, after all." He pulls the boy back up onto his feet. "Things get... desperate, when you've been in that kind of position long enough." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed. <poem> "Thank you." Banagher murmurs, as the Captain helps him up. The other man's words aren't encouraging. The last time he fought in a populated area was back at his college, and -- there's no way he'll ever forget how that went down. "Can someone really stay angry for -- seventeen years?" Banagher resettles his pack. "I can't imagine. If they do want to hurt people, I want to stop them. I know I need to be working on the coordinates, but -- that can't be more important than people dying." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Suberoa Zinnerman has posed. <poem> Zinnerman's face darkens as Banagher asks that question. "It depends on what happened," he replies curtly - that sense of a heavy stormcloud over his shoulders builds again. "We should keep moving. We only have a few hours left to find shelter before daybreak." He turns away from Banagher and starts climbing back up the dune-side with the help of a walking stick. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed. <poem> Banagher blinks in surprise as Zinnerman's face darkens. The Captain is usually good-natured -- at least around him. What could bring this on? Before they set out into the desert, Banagher had a conversation with the Garencieres' second in command, Flaste. It was mostly good-natured ribbing, but... There was something in his eyes, when he talked about this area of the world. Maybe the crew had history here, in Africa? He resolves to ask the Captain about it when they rest, next. Scrambling up after Zinnerman, Banagher resumes following behind the man. It doesn't take long for them to come to a rocky outcrop with just enough space for the two men to rest and start a small fire. Banagher is quiet, watching the Captain prepare a can of soup. "Captain." He begins, again, poking the fire with a stick. "...Flaste mentioned -- history, here. What happened?" It isn't strictly true, but it isn't quite a lie, either. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Suberoa Zinnerman has posed. <poem> Flaste would have said something. Damn that man. Zinnerman glowers, briefly, before looking up to the starry sky over their heads. "The kid has a right to know, Cap," His best friend and first mate's voice echoes in his memory. "I'll tell him if you don't - he follows after you like a lost puppy, we can't let him walk into something that we could have warned him about." As he starts cooking a meal from the rations they have, Zinnerman sighs. "Flaste and I were in a POW camp here in Africa after the One Year War. The treaty might as well have been so much scrap for how they treated us - we were the 'devils of Zeon', after all." After Sydney, he can't rightly blame them for feeling that way. "That's where he and I became friends, stuck here on Earth while the Feds were getting stir-crazy occupying Side 3." There's something here he can't quite explain - his throat still locks up when he tries to talk about it. Unbeknownst to him, though, Flaste has covered for him. ====== A MEMORY OF EXPOSITION ====== Flaste is going through the supplies they'll need for the trip, making sure Banagher is properly geared. "He won't talk about it, even to us, any more. Our town on Side 3 was called Globe City. My mother and father lived there, as did the captain's wife and daughter." He looks up at the desert sky through the portholes of the freighter. "The Federation troops occupying Globe were restless. Official reports claimed they were pacifying rioting civilians, but we all knew - they were blowing off steam on the people they hated." He fixes Banagher with a grim look. "They killed everyone, Banagher. The elderly and the children clung to their families, crying for help - and the Feds burned the city down with them still inside." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed. <poem> Banagher listens. As the story progresses, it all falls into place -- Flaste's earlier explanation, combined with the Captain's words. He drops the stick he was poking the fire with, letting it fall into the flames and disappear. Banagher watches the stick burn up, until the fire seems to spread from the pit to encompass his vision. The shadows of buildings flicker before him, the crackling of burning wood almost covering the sound of people screaming. Shadows dance against the hellscape, making Banagher think he can almost make out individual people. The vision grows louder, more vibrant, merging with the brief flash of fire that wiped out the rest of his college class. Golden eyes close, and he shakes his head. Once he opens his eyes again, the infero has vanished, leaving only the remains of a stick falling into ash. How does Zinnerman endure this? Despair and pain entwine in his heart, destroying each other until something like hatred is all that remains. Far deeper than anything he's felt, even with the help of the NT-D. Far more agonizing. To not even be there, when the people you love most are suffering. To know they were killed just so some men could 'blow off steam'. He can't bear to bring himself to look up at the Captain, fearful of what else he might see -- instead grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around himself. Banagher wears it like a cloak, hiding his face. Unable to hold on a moment longer, tears start to fall down the young man's face. It isn't fair. The Captain's the one suffering -- him and Flaste. He's only feeling echoes of what they experienced. It isn't right to show this to them -- to expect them to comfort him. He's not a child anymore. Crying in front of people is shameful. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Suberoa Zinnerman has posed. <poem> Zinnerman looks up as he hears the sounds of a young man trying to cry quietly. "Hey, Banagher?" he's not sure what's going through the kid's mind as he pours the soup he's been cooking into a mug. "Soup's done." He hands the mug over, waiting for Banagher to take it. When he does, Zinnerman waits a minute before asking "You okay?" </poem> <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed. <poem> "J--just a second." Banagher sniffles, trying to get himself together. "I -- know it isn't right for a man to cry in front of people." When he gets himself under control a little more, Banagher reaches out for the soup. The blanket still shrouds most of his face even as the boy eats. "...I'm sorry. I was insensitive earlier." He could stay angry for a hundred years, if something like what the Captain experienced happened to his loved ones. "I didn't realize how bad things got here, for -- people like us." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Suberoa Zinnerman has posed. <poem> "Don't be ridiculous, Banagher. Crying because you care is a totally different matter. I don't trust anyone who never cries; that's my philosophy." Zinnerman offers the young man a wry half-smile, accepting the shared grief for what it is. He takes a deep breath, looking up at the sky again. "It's a compatibility thing. The systems the spacenoids created, to bring themselves hope, the old system on Earth rejected them. Systems that come from different birthplaces are never compatible - there's always going to be violence as one system tries to force the other into submission. That's why the first Zeon uprising happened." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed. <poem> Allowing the blanket to fall down around his shoulders, Banagher looks up at Zinnerman. A few more tears streak down his face -- this time, out of relief at the other man's understanding. If the Captain says it... Maybe that's the way things are. Maybe it's okay to be this way. Banagher looks out to the sky as well. Out here in the desert, he can see the galaxy swirling around the stars -- almost like the view from space. Stardust lays delicate paths, with each pinprick of light brighter than anywhere else he's seen on Earth. A fierce pang of longing pierces Banagher's heart as he looks at the stars. "Before that..." He murmurs, drinking a little more soup. It's grounding, making him feel a little more connected to reality. "A unified world government, a world where so many live in space... It must've seemed like a fantasy." And now.. if peace seems like a fantasy, then maybe... "Doesn't that mean it's still possible that humanity could succeed? That one day we'll be able to merge the two ways of thinking?" Banagher's voice is soft, but strong with hope. He looks back at Zinnerman, eager to hear his answer. </poem> <Pose Tracker> Suberoa Zinnerman has posed. <poem> Zinnerman sighs. It's hard to be cynical in the face of such youthful idealism. "If you stay true to yourself, that belief... Maybe you can help make it happen, one day, Banagher, but the sad truth is, right now, there's a lot of hatred of the beaten and downtrodden clinging to the Earth. We aren't all governed fairly and equally, after all." He glances up at the sky. "Almost makes you think those stories about pollution are just that, huh? But they say the desert goes right up to Dakar's borders, now, that the air's worse than it's ever been..." He sighs again, breath misting in the cold air. "It's a long and hard road to change the world." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed. <poem> Banagher lowers his eyes when Zinnerman replies, thinking it over for a moment. "...it's sad, don't you think?" He doesn't know how to change the world. Not on his own, anyway. Maybe if Audrey or Leina were here, they'd have something more intelligent to offer, but Banagher... Sitting in the dregs of the agonizing vision he had, all he can feel is a gentle sense of grief for humanity at large. A feeling he knows the Captain shares with him. "It's so beautiful." Banagher murmurs, looking up at the stars again. That sense of longing returns, and a few more tears manage to streak down his face. He scoots a little closer to the fire, feeling safe next to the Captain. "It makes me want to do more. For everyone." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Suberoa Zinnerman has posed. <poem> "... I suppose it is," Zinnerman agrees. "Even though we spend our whole lives trying to escape sadness." He looks up at the stars again, squinting off into the Eastern horizon as a gentle orange tint begins to creep up the sky. "It's good that you want to do more, Banagher." It feels like a hollow reassurance to him, since his own heart still aches with that old loss, but the kid needs to hear it. It is somehow strangely comforting to the big man to have Banagher weep for him - after all, his own tears dried up a long time ago. "Sun's coming up. We should make proper camp and try and get some sleep." He shifts over, clapping a hand on Banagher's shoulder. "You've done well to keep up so far, kid. One more night of this hike and we should be there." </poem> <Pose Tracker> Banagher Links has posed. <poem> Banagher manages to give Zinnerman a smile. The praise settles into his heart, comforting him. "Thanks, Captain. I'm -- really glad you let me tag along with you." That smile only gets all the more brilliant when the Captain claps him on the shoulder. "Yeah. I'll set everything up." He's eager to do something helpful and work off a bit of the lingering emotions in his heart. Bedrolls are set up, and Banagher holds the communicator close again. "...'night, Captain." A dim glow illuminates the cave as Banagher opens the communicator, sending a quick message to Leina. "Going to bed now. We're safe. I'm really glad I came along." </poem>