Mobile Suit Gundam SEED –Remnants
By Milbury
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Phase 00 – The Call Always Knows
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April 2nd, CE 53
Private Residence of Mr. George Glenn, PLANT Aprilius 1, LaGrange Point 5
In the sprawling, almost labyrinthine library of Mr. George Glenn, a single lamp's light illuminated the figure of an older gentleman eased into a comfortable reclining chair, reading the latest edition of Coordination, a PLANT-published newsmagazine. The man was dressed casually, clad in a dark green bathrobe and maroon slippers, and had the look of a man who hasn't stepped outside all day. To look at him, it would come as a surprise to anyone unacquainted with him to learn that this man was probably the single most famous (and in some corners of the Earth Sphere, infamous) individual in all of Earth or space.
Life had been good to George Glenn. Sixty-nine years old and a day, and he could still read the tiniest newsprint by just a single soft light without even so much as needing to squint. Whatever their other enhancements, Coordinators still aged at the same rate as Naturals, and while there were no Coordinators alive older than he was, he knew for a fact that when his oldest children did catch up to him, they would begin suffering under the affects of old age as surely as any Natural. No amount of gene tinkering by PLANT scientists yet could stave off the inevitable decay of the human body.
Of course, George Glenn was different. He was the first Coordinator, and even among his own people no one really understood what that meant. When he had released the instructions to engineer Coordinators to the Earth Sphere, what he'd never told anyone was that he'd only released the basic iteration of the process. It had shaken civilization at every level, and the ramifications of his actions were still hotly debated among historians even today, but when you boiled it down, all George Glenn had done was release a how-to guide to create designer babies. Custom hair, custom eyes, and so forth were all that made up a good chunk of the first generation of Coordinators. Enhanced mental faculties, enhanced immune systems, and other more useful perks came later, and now, over thirty-five years later, any given Coordinator was physically and mentally superior to even the best baseline human. It was something Glenn took great pride in, the fact that even the most undisciplined and unmotivated of his children could outperform the most dedicated Natural without even having to try. And George Glenn, the first of their kind, outpaced them all.
Contrary to what jealous Natural historians speculated, however, pride wasn't what had motivated George Glenn to broadcast his famous revelation to the Earth Sphere that day. Oh, pride had been part of it, of course. Pride always was. Whether Natural or Coordinator, the drive to be respected, to be renowned, to be better was universal, and George Glenn knew that better than anyone. However, pride had in truth been the least of his reasons for making that broadcast in CE 15. The most important reason was something that haunted him every day, and most of all on birthdays, because he always knew he was one year closer to the inevitable day when they would return.
Echoing through the library, eerily hypnotic, a voice cut through the peaceful silence that had settled in the library like a laser beam through smoke.
"George, my dear friend… how have you been?"
George Glenn's blood froze in his veins and every muscle in his body tensed of its own accord. Twenty-eight years had passed since last he saw the man, but his voice hadn't changed a bit. His estate was equipped with security systems more advanced than anything on the market, designed specifically by he himself, but all his preparations had turned out to be useless, just as he had always suspected and feared they would. Slowly, like a man in a dream, Glenn swiveled in his chair, his magazine dropping from nerveless fingers as he turned to face the intruder standing in his chamber door.
The flowing platinum-blonde hair hadn't changed. The skull-white facemask with the three tiny red eyes hadn't changed. Worst of all, that smile on his face hadn't changed.
The ambassador. Of course it was the ambassador. On his better days, George Glenn had sometimes entertained the notion that maybe the ambassador had died somehow over the years; that he'd been killed or demoted or just succumbed to old age like other men should. But it had always been self-delusion, and the rest of the time, he'd known it. Deep down, he had known that one day he'd have to face him again.
"Come now, George, that thunderstruck look doesn't become you." chuckled the man. "What would the star-struck sheep of the Friends of George Glenn Society think if they saw their beloved hero with that look on his face? It's been a long trip to the Earth Sphere, aren't you going to at least invite me to have a seat?"
Pulling himself to his feet like a man getting up to walk to his own execution, Glenn forced his face into the closest thing to a gracious smile he could manage; the gesture fooled neither of them.
"Ambassador Gola… please excuse my poor manners. Feel free to sit down."
Instead of taking the proffered chair, however, Ambassador Gola advanced to the point where he was almost eye to eye with George Glenn. It was what Glenn dreaded most, the relentless scrutiny of those empty red eyes. In all these years, Glenn had never seen the ambassador's actual face, nor did he want to. Ambassador Gola stared Glenn down for a few horrible seconds, expressionless as a mannequin, before the cold smile returned. In all honesty, Glenn preferred the blank look to that horrid smile.
"I'm glad you've been taking care of yourself, George. It's good to see our gifts are still being put to such good use, even after all these years."
"Yes…" muttered Glenn dumbly, wincing at the word 'gifts' and the ramifications that word carried. His grin only widening at Glenn's discomfort, Ambassador Gola took a seat opposite his host. Relieved that the ambassador had left his personal space without incident, Glenn gratefully sat back down, very much not trusting himself to stand steady for long now that the day had finally come.
"The arrangements have all been made." began Ambassador Gola. "It's going to happen in three days."
"I see." said a resigned Glenn. "I take it I'll be needed to play a part in this charade then?"
"Oh, no." smiled the ambassador disconcertingly. "It won't be anything near as crude as that. You underrate Jovian technology, I'm disappointed." he chided, actually wagging one finger at the father of all Coordinators like a disapproving parent scolding an errant child. "All we really needed was someone to pull the trigger, and we've already found a suitable pawn to carry out the task. I must say, it's refreshing to see that there exists no shortage of well-intentioned extremists on Terra Firma."
"It's going to take place on Earth, then?" demanded Glenn.
"No, the boy just hails from Earth. It's happening on Phaëton, actually. Specifically, Phaëton University. You're familiar with Phaëton, yes?"
"I see." sighed George. He was indeed familiar with Phaëton. A Eurasian Federation space colony, it had a roughly 70/30 population favoring Naturals. Of course, the Coordinators who made up the minority made all the important decisions, as was their genetically-engineered right, but naturally, the displaced plebes were discontent with the slow but steady shift in the balance of power, and the Blue Cosmos recruitment office there attracted more and more prospective members every day. In short, Phaëton was a tinderbox, just waiting for a spark to come along and ignite the dormant hostility to a conflagration. Normally, George Glenn would be loathe to even set foot in such a place. Of course, with the ambassador's arrival, 'normal' was a privilege George Glenn no longer had.
"Is all of this necessary?" blurted Glenn, making one last attempt to hold back the tide that had come to sweep him up in it. "Faking my death… inciting the conflict between my Coordinators and the Naturals to a fever pitch… is it all still something that has to happen? I know I owe the Empire my service for making me what I am today and I would never think of reneging on that debt. But…"
"But nothing." snapped the ambassador, standing to stare down at Glenn through the merciless red eyes of his mask. "You clearly haven't acquired any good sense since we last met, George. Yes, it is still necessary. It's always been necessary. We've been planning this since before you were born. What the Empire's motivation is for setting this into motion is not a matter of your concern. So I will tell you this one more time, George: do not question that which you do not understand!"
Glenn openly flinched at the ambassador's tirade. "… Very well." he sighed. "Very well. The Empire is what helped me get this far… I'll repay my debt to them, and I'll do it without questioning the hows and whys of it all. But after this is done, that debt is repaid and then… then it's finally over, right?"
The ambassador's smile returned. "After it's done… yes, that's right."
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Nine years later…
July 25th, CE 62
Aducarf Manor, Oregon, Atlantic Federation
"So you're saying that you are certain he will be ready to lead Blue Cosmos in two more years, Bruno?"
Bruno Azrael ached for a cigar to calm his nerves, but in the domain of Mathilda Aducarf, he didn't dare. The tall, imposing woman had kept her stranglehold over the title of Lord Imperial for the past thirty years, and she ruled LOGOS with an iron fist. The men (for aside from Mathilda, all the other LOGOS members were male) chafed under her rigidity and had long sought to install a new Lord Imperial, but Mathilda hadn't laid claim to the title for nothing. She was brilliant, ruthless, and stricter than a military drill sergeant. Tobacco and alcohol were strictly forbidden in Aducarf Manor, and Bruno for one seethed at being treated like a child by anyone, let alone the aged Aducarf family matriarch. The other members of LOGOS owned multi-billion dollar corporations and made decisions that changed the world. The woman who led them lived like a recluse and hadn't realized one of her two granddaughters was in fact a grandson for the first five years of the boy's life.
"Yes. He's on a shuttle to Copernicus now. Two years to refine him is all I ask, and then you can determine my successor with no objection from me. I assure you, the choice will then be clear."
"Will it?" For some reason, Mathilda seemed amused.
"Why should Muruta be given special treatment?" demanded Urien Djibril. "We established Azure five years ago to determine who would be your successor. Judging by their performance up to now, the choice is already clear, and it isn't him."
"I still lead Blue Cosmos." responded Bruno testily. "The issue of my successor will be determined on my terms. Muruta is given this extra chance because he is the legitimate candidate. His grandfather founded Blue Cosmos and his father put it on the map. What did you do for us before Magnus Azrael's speech made Blue Cosmos a household name?"
Urien's face purpled, but before he could explode with some no-doubt-vitriolic comeback, a new voice spoke up. The speaker, a man with androgynous features and a noble countenance, leaned forward in his seat.
"As it stands, none of them are ready for such an important duty yet. They're all still children. Even young Lord Djibril, Urien."
"Well put, Lhondo." said Mathilda approvingly to the Sahaku family patriarch. "Indeed, the children of Azure are just that: children. Bruno Azrael's successor cannot be determined at this time. So instead, we should focus upon building our resources. Djibril, you said you had a new project to propose before us?"
Urien Djibril stood with a flourish; he had been waiting for this day.
"Indeed I do, milady Aducarf. I call it 'Project Extended…'"