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LOC: Asticassia School of Technology || DATE_TIME: August 9, AS 126 @ 0921 Front Local Time
Inside the walls of Asticassia, there are living, breathing, scars. The ghosts of the young people who died in Ad Stella 122 whilst attending a school once thought to be safe from the horrors of the war that had waged early in the Ad Stella calendar; and far from the battlefields where those wars were fought. A new type of war had been fought in the halls of this school; that of the politics and maneuvering of young aristocrats coming into their own at a school that encouraged ‘friendly’ duels as a way to settle disputes. Proxy battles fought with the fervor of young men and women who had no other ways to safely work out this energy that burned in their chest; the desire to fight, rebel and push against the walls of the systems they had been born into.
An official death count of people who had died during the Rumble Ring always seemed lower to those living scars than it had actually been.
To even others, the death count would always be one less than it should’ve been; a missing friend, a missing sibling, a missing parent who had been in attendance at the Open Campus festivities who had never returned home after they were supposed to graduate.
Some had returned to Asticassia to do their best to make the entire place more safe for those who came next; security personnel of both Benerit Group employ or hired on by the Front Management Company.
Some reluctantly agreed to have their siblings also be sent to Asticassia, and before long, those scars had been grown over with the tender skin of those who wanted to go to and attend the one school in the Solar System that was as diverse as Asticassia was and had been. Many of those who attended now, however, were still hesitant in those first days when they would hear the warnings of a Duel, or the rumbling of distant Mobile Suits. These Spacians knew innately that sound didn’t carry in space; and yet that fear had been instilled in them from the stories of that single incident in the year 122.
Miorine Rembran knows of those scars. She has met with hundreds of unique people who were affected directly or indirectly by the Rumble Ring Attack, she had listened to their stories, and did her best as the President of the largest Corporate conglomerate to ensure that the school her Group sponsored would never suffer an attack like that again. That was the least she could do.
Suletta, her wife, didn’t talk at all about what had happened that day or in the days that followed.
Elan-Five, although she was sure he had taken on a different name now, had metaphorically dropped off the face of the Earth.
Guel Jeturk, now the CEO of Jeturk Heavy Machinery, hadn’t been at Asticassia during that event.
The others she had either been friends with or acquainted with, didn’t talk about it either.
So she never asked.
But she knew those scars still ached.
The world moved on, regardless of how someone was hurt; she knew that too well.
In the years that had followed her as she became President of the Group, and had made decisions that she earnestly believed would make the Group better; Asticassia, her friends, her wife — they had all begun to heal. She wasn’t sure how much that healing had removed the pain, but it was still healing. Of that much she was sure.
However, that sense of those around her healing didn’t make being back among these halls feel any less strange to her.
“What’re you thinking about, ma’am?” The young man just two years her senior asked. He was taller than Miorine, and had the brown hair and hazel eyes of someone whose family had long since lived on the Earth. In a lot of ways, he even still dressed like he was from Earth despite who he worked for; a plain t-shirt and pants. And despite the way he dressed, despite the fact that he was born and raised on Earth — he held respect for her that went beyond simple things such as the passage of years. She was his boss, and he had been trained from a young age to give whoever signed his paychecks one simple thing; respect. Loyalty wasn’t given for money, it was given for deeds; and in this way she had long since earned both his respect and loyalty.
She remained silent for a moment before speaking as the pair walked through the administrative sector of the school; “I was thinking about all that happened here. The Rumble Ring, Shaddiq, Norea and Sophie.”
He had never met the people she mentioned, but knew their names nonetheless. “I believe Elan-Five is still on Earth, at least.”
“Still looking for those places in her notebook?”
He nodded. “As for the rest, I can only have read the stories.”
“You were on Earth for your schooling, weren’t you?”
“Correct, ma’am.”
Her heels clicked, whereas his boots made no sound against the floor as he walked. The halls they walked in all had a slight upward slant; a universal of being in a Front like Asticassia that used the O’neil Cylinder concept for artificial gravity. Neither spoke for a moment.
“If I asked you to find Elan-Five, would you be able to?”
He paused for a moment, yet kept his stride. “Earth has more surface area per capita than any other settlement on a planetary body or in space. The average Spacian lives in the equivalent of a closet. Earthians aren’t much better, pound-for-pound at least. But there are much larger swaths of Earth for someone to hide in, whereas in Space? I can do a high-gain radar search and find most things larger than a normal suit within five hundred thousand kilometers. And besides, in space? You have to stop for new air, water, and food. Earth? You can come by those things by virtue of just being there. Quinnharbor is just one city, ma’am. There are an infinite number of places to be on Earth that haven’t been touched by humans.”
“Yet.”
“You’re more than likely right, ma’am.” He sighed, thinking about the places he’d been on Earth, and how there were places he was sure he’d never be able to return to. “But for the time being? He’ll keep looking.”
She nodded as this as they rounded a corner and it became more obvious where it was they were going — although both knew anyways. An observation deck in the airspace control center. This area was closed off to all but the airspace management majors at Asticassia, and those who had the credentials to be here. She didn’t need to show her ID badge, and he didn’t either. The Dominicus soldiers of the Asticassia Garrison recognized them, and one keyed in the authorization to open the door. Miorine and her ‘attendant’ strode onto the deck beyond without hassle.
The room beyond was dark, serving to allow easier viewing through the reinforced windows of the control center of the space beyond for the arrival and departure lane of the main entrance to Asticassia. The control center was above and below them; those who were above looking as if they sat on the ceiling. There was no gravity here; so as they would have stepped onto the deck, both Miorine and the young man next to her floated forwards instead.
On the deck, leaning against one of the railings just before the set of windows that viewed the space beyond as it gracefully twisted in accordance with the spin of the cylinder; was a woman who was certainly older than either of them. The woman gave a loud yawn, before shaking her head as if to wake herself up, before noticing the pair floating towards her.
“Misses President.” The woman said, straightening her back and looking as if she wanted to give a salute, but didn’t. Miorine hadn’t earned this woman’s respect or loyalty in the same way that she had for the man by her side. This wasn’t a living scar of Asticassia; this was a woman completely separate from all of that.
“Helena.” Miorine responded. “I’m sure you’ve met Zak by now.”
“I’m acquainted with him and his team.” Helena responded.
“Good. You may or may not see him around in the future. I’ve designated him as one of the ICOT’s oversight members.”
“Are the rest from his team, ma’am?”
“No, the rest are from the other corporations overseeing Asticassia.”
“I see.”
Miorine motioned at the window beyond Helena’s back; “I take it that line of freighters is bringing the incoming student’s new suits?”
“We’re checking each one as they come in, on top of the normal security procedures, ma’am.”
“And you’re here?”
“No need for pilots who have half-an-idea of what to look for. The gearhea— The mechanics and security staff are better trained for that.” Helena was unused to speaking to her organizational boss, using slang and other informalities that might bother others. Miorine paid no mind to it, and Zak had never been a stickler for the protocol of those who he knew didn’t need to always abide by it — much less those he didn’t have authority over. “Tomorrow the incoming and returning students start arriving, and we’ll have all-hands for that.”
Miorine nodded. “The rest of the ICOT leadership has been briefed for this year as well. But I thought I’d give you a personal visit, since you’re one of the Mobile Suit group leaders.”
Helena’s eyebrow shot up for a moment. “I don’t have any questions, ma’am. If that’s what you’re asking at least.”
Miorine thought about telling Helena what was coming; she was sure that if anyone of the Inter-Corporation Oversight Team who was here at the School for this year — the one who was ultimately legally responsible for responding to what was going to happen here should be told what was coming. But as part of the ICOT; Helena may be on the Group’s payroll, but she was not beholden to what Miorine said. This was something that went beyond the Group; it went all the way to the League. But if Miorine revealed what she knew in this moment, all of the work she had done until this point would ultimately fall short at the best case; and the worst case was something that she didn’t want anyone she knew to be involved in. It was better, in this case, to ask for forgiveness, rather than permission.
“When does your shuttle depart, ma’am?” Helena asked, and Crimson was the one to respond first.
“Departure time is scheduled for twelve hundred front-local.” He spoke with the efficiency of a soldier, and yet he had never been one.
“The control team says that there’s a lull in the arrivals then, but they’ll clear a path for you regardless.” Helena confirmed, and Crimson nodded; whereas Miorine simply looked at the line of cargo freighters in space beyond the window. Some bore the corporate logos and insignias of companies she recognized; others were local to the Spheres they were from, and had made the long-haul to Asticassia — although she was becoming more familiar with the Earth-centralized cargo haulers.
“In that case, ma’am, I won’t occupy more of your time unless you need me for something.”
Miorine shook her head, turning her attention back to Helena. “That’ll be all, Helena. Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” Helena’s words slipped casual again, and Miorine resisted smiling at this.
Some people wouldn’t fit in to higher Spacian society, and Miorine ultimately felt more comfortable around those people. Zak had never been exposed to that same society that she belonged to, so his respect had the grit of the soil of the Earth. Helena wouldn’t fit in because of how she talked, Zak wouldn’t because he was from Earth; similar symptom, different cause.
Miorine pushed against the floor of the observation deck, and in so doing turned around, floating back the way she had come; Zak quickly followed.
“Do you think she’s fine for the job, ma’am?” Zak asked as the artificial gravity was restored beneath them, and they resumed walking.
“What makes you ask that?” Miorine responded.
“Her record shows her as a narcoleptic and not well-liked by her former teams.”
“But she gets the job done, doesn’t she?”
“All indications and merits show that, yes.” Zak responded.
“Then she’s fine for the job.”
“Even with…?”
“Especially with what happens next.”