Chapter 5
21.12.0093 U.C.
It was almost showtime.
I flicked through the speech outline I had drafted during the fleets' evacuation to our current location: the outer edges of the Pezun debris field, formerly a Zeon staging base and R&D hub during the One Year War. It'd been destroyed during the conflict with the Titans although Captain Dawson had said he was unsure on which side during the Titan Conflict had destroyed it. Main point being, it was well out of the way of Federation patrols and not too far away from the Earth Sphere that the fleet would lose wider communication with the Earth Sphere. We were far enough away from the shattered asteroid that I was able to see the upper half of the asteroid base, which looked like a flying saucer, framed by the sun during our approach. Quite the sight.
I was in the hangar of the Lindra and was currently sitting on the railing of the upper deck, my feet hooked behind the lower rail to prevent my floating off. I was currently jacketless, due to finding out that wearing the same thing for the past five days did not make it smell good. Luckily Dawson had some method of cleaning clothes on his ship because he had an aid whisk my coat, which I had become surprisingly fond of, off to be cleaned.
The smell of industrial paint wafted up from the decks of the hangar, the deck crews making the finishing touches on our...well, my new heraldry. I hoped the rest of the fleet would add it to their suits in time.
With one final flick through the ending of my speech, I refolded the paper and tucked into my belt. If speech class in high school taught me anything, it is that there is such a thing as too much preparation.
From the back of my head came an amused sense of agreement. I shivered involuntarily, damn fucking thing didn't have the good grace to wither and die. No, instead it fucking goes and lives.
A thriving tree stands next to a dying branch. The branch is attached to the tree through human intervention. Gradually the branch anchors to the tree for survival, but the tree keeps it separate from the whole. An outsider. But the branch profits from the arrangement, it is able to live from being attached to the tree afterall. So the branch acts like how a branch would, helping the core of the tree carry on. Maybe one day the barrier between the branch and the tree will dissolve simply due to continued exposure. Becoming one, where one cannot tell where the original and the survivor begin or end. Maybe one day.
I shake my head in annoyance. The Will isn't alive, just a couple fragments that play back embedded thoughts and beliefs. Get. Over. It.
I can't afford a break down at a time like this, perhaps I won't ever be able to afford one. I took a deep breath and slowly released it to calm myself. A presence approached me from my right and it pinged off me in a way that served to alert me.
I opened my eyes, that I didn't realize I had closed, and looked to my right. "Ah Chief Engineer Oshikawa, is everything ready?"
The bald chief engineer of the Lindra nodded. "It is sir. I'll admit, your tablet was a dosey to get connected to our communication array but we managed it. Got the floodlights from the Renewed hooked up and tested as you requested as well."
"Good, good." I replied, looking back at the ceiling of the hangar. "Then we are ready to proceed?"
Oshikawa glanced down at the end of the hangar. "Looks like the bridge lads are ready to go, so I'd say we are."
"I hope that moving my suit wasn't too much trouble for your subordinates Chief Engineer, I know that you have a full berth here." I moved off the railing and stretched my back
"Not at all sir! My lads just had to power up the old lifters and bing bang boom, we floated your suit right over there!", Oshikawa early responded, a gleam of some kind in his eye. He must have seen something in my expression. "It's just that we here on the Lindra haven't had a whole lot to do lately, not even during the war. Nice to be useful that's all." The thin man shrugged.
"Yes, it is a good feeling to be able to contribute to something greater than yourself." I stated.
The Chief Engineer and myself continued our conversation as we moved, with me asking him questions about what role the Lindra served in Char's War -as I like to call it, although not out loud- and his previous service in the forces Zeon. Turns out, this bald and rail thin engineer was a part of the Autonomous Defense Forces of Munso back when Dozle Zabi himself was only a junior officer! This guy was ancient! As much as I would have liked to pick his brain over how life was like under the Zabi lead Principality and his service in the One Year War, Oshikawa had responsibilities to attend to and I had a speech to make.
So the two of us parted ways and I peeled off to the hangar, using a ladder to move down a level. An ensign intercepted me along the way, my jacket, which looked to be freshly ironed, tucked under his arm. I stopped to let him catch up to me.
"Sir!" The ensign snapped off a salute. "As requested sir, this has been washed and ironed. The requested additions have also been attached to the jacket." He offered me the jacket; itself hanging on a plastic coat hanger. Nodding in thanks, I doffed the jacket, sliding my arms into the sleeves and then buttoning it up fully. Thankfully I had neglected to add that stupid shirt whose collar soared up to my jaw. I examined the 'additions' as the ensign had called them.
The new sleeves were slightly thicker than the material that my jacket was made out of, but it worked as it made the ornate gold wing design and the border off the cuffs truly pop. My new epaulettes and collar had the same gold wing design on black as well. Well at least I looked the part of an important someone, now I had to sell it to others.
"Excuse me sir? But Captain Dawson also had this sent along with me. Said it was one of your personal effects." The ensign piped up just as I turned away. I glanced back and saw it. An innocuous plastic/steel mask with red eye lenses; there was no clasp on the rear of the mask yet I knew it would fit me perfectly. A sour taste filled my mouth and I felt the urge to spit.
Guess self-determination of my identity was off the table from the start. Of course, the mere sight of the mask caused the Will to ping me, as if indicating that it knew what the item was and was smug about it. Stupid thing must like pointless masks that serve only to limit combat visibility.
"Wher…" I coughed to clear my throat. "Where did Captain Dawson find that item? I was unable to locate it during our evacuation of our previous safe harbor and presumed it lost." My voice was stilted as I replied, the mask stirring up memories of what will, no no no, what could happen in three years.
"Captain Dawson did not inform me of that sir." The female ensign simply responded, the shake of her head sending her short hair whisking around her before it settled down.
A grimace formed as I pondered the offered mask for a second. The urge to spit rose through me again, even greater this time. "Very well then ensign. Pass along my thanks to the good captain and you may return to your duties." I grabbed the mask with my left hand and returned the ensign's salute with my right. I then entered the hangar and got to work finishing the rest of the preparations.
"Okay, throw the lights on." I called down to the people below me. I couldn't hear the switch being flicked but I certainly saw the result. Industrial grade floodlights positioned in such a way that darkened out the area around my Geara Doga and myself. I was perched on the left shoulder of my suit, next to the shoulder shield, and within touching distance of the head. The red monoeye was dim and lifeless at the moment with the commander's antenna being folded back in its 'inactive' state.
On the steel hanger wall behind the mobile suit, two banners attached to the wall hung. The one to the left had been from the storage holds of the Gandra; it was the black and gold rose standard of Axis Zeon. The red banner on the right had the angular winged emblem from Char's Neo Zeon. I looked upward and could dimly see a bundle of cloth suspended directly above my Geara Doga's head. It would be revealed at the right time. Hopefully.
"Awaiting your mark sir!" A voice called up to me. I nodded, guessing that they would see it. Then I moved closer to the head of the Geara Doga where, tucked out of sight of the cameras, some panels had been removed, revealing a recess. In that recess laid the most jury rigged, hack job sight I had ever seen: Char's, or mine I suppose, tablet wired into the powerful commander's antenna of my Geara Doga. Further cables attached to the bottom of the tablet traced back down the back of the mobile suit and ran to the myriad of equipment manned by the technical and comms crewmen.
Someone had explained the system to me in detail but I had kinda forgotten the exact technical specifications for what it would be doing: getting this message out to the people I need to see it.
Activating the tablet, which didn't explode(always a good sign), I flipped through the interface.
Communication Master List Activated Naval Vessels.
And to further raise my opinion of the people who had created this wondrous device, the list of ships was apparently updated in real time as to their status. Destroyed ships had their entries grayed out, captured ships had bright red entries, and active non-captured ships had a normal blue entry. Considering I had some knowledge on who exactly provided the designs for most of Char's fleet, my guess as to how such real time tracking was possible was to blame Anaheim, and leave it at that for the moment. No need to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Sorting the list by Active Non-Captured, I selected all ships. I then hovered over the begin communique option. I quickly reviewed the rundown that the technicians had given me about the jury rigged comm system they had devised.
'After selecting targets for communication and activating the system, I have thirty seconds before the recording process begins. Have to be mindful of time due to limited memory storage and necessary compression and encryption that has to be applied afterwards.'
'There will be only one shot.'
No pressure yeah?
Suddenly I felt an aching sensation from my left hand. I looked down to see my hand straining against what it was holding. I must have forgotten about it.
Well...did I have to wear it?
A brief image of Char making his address on Sweetwater popped up. I let a harsh breath out through my nose. Yeah, I suppose I had to wear this. Char had been kind enough to plaster his(and therefore my) face across the Earth Sphere with that move and it would be foolish to think that anyone looking at me from the outside would not see Char Aznable, which would result in some unsavory fellows from the Federation being sent to pay me a visit.
Still, even thinking about the action of putting this mask on stings something fierce. But why? Hard to say and tough to put a name on the feeling.
In time, would this mask affect me?
…..no, I decided. A mask was just that: a mask. A useful part of a costume that would, in fact, protect my identity and give me a necessary air of mystery when the inevitable backroom dealing came into play. My thumb jabbed the activation button on the tablet and then moved down to flip the switch to open the system to the rest of the hodgepodge array.
30 seconds to go.
Swallowing my doubts, I took the mask in both hands and all but jammed the thing into place, the cool surface gliding down my face. My vision was tinted ever so slightly red by the eye lenses and I found out, to my annoyance, that whoever had made this mask had not taken the concern of not having a good field of view into consideration. That or the maker had never intended for it to be worn in a strenuous environment like mobile suit combat. Mentally grumbling, I started making a list of necessary modifications that would have to be made to the mask actually wearable for long durations of time. But that was a topic for another time.
It was time to wave the flag and rally the troops. Shout, Shout the Battle Cry of Freedom.
Rally them to me and to my vision of the future.
Deep breath in, out through the nose. Project confidence. Speak boldly. Show no hesitation. The people I would be addressing are looking for leadership, for a goal. No matter how short term that goal was, such as forming up together and finding a permanent safe harbor.
I just had to reach them. I know that the people who have fought and will fight the Federation are not bad people as a whole. They had good reasons and good beliefs for what they did. It was just the organization that had failed them, twisted their beliefs into acts of asteroid drops and colony gassing. If what I was attempting to do had any hope of turning out different than the struggles of Delaz, Karn, and Aznable, I had to change the organization to be worthy of the people. It started with this.
In the center of the cone of floodlights, a small red light blinked on.
And action!
"HEAR ME ZEON!"
"Nine months have passed since the defeat at Axis. Nine long, hard months. We, who were once again poised to finally liberate all spacenoids from the iron grip of the tyrant Federation, were driven from the Earth orbit. Our great strength broke and we scattered to the wind, seeking to survive. Perhaps some of you think this is the end of our cause, the cause of Neo Zeon! Twice we have strived against the Federation. Once under Haman Karn, where we fought to reassert the old Principality that our people knew prosperity under. Then after Karn was brought low, the greatest of our number, Char Aznable, returned and reforged us into something greater. An instrument that sought to fulfil the eternal dream of the great Zeon Zum Deikun. Freedom for All Spacenoids! The Complete Ascension of Humanity to the Stars!"
"But we have failed and now we question. Will the dreams of our people, our great leaders, fade into obscurity? Will the pain, suffering, and deaths of our comrades, our loved ones massacred to maintain the Federation's grip on us have been for nothing?"
"No I say! No, I shout! Zeon is not dead! Our dream is not dead! We are SPACENOIDS! Overcoming adversity is in our blood. The Federation could not crush us when they exiled us to empty metal cylinders, they did not crush us when they stripped us of our self determination, they did not crush us when they burned our homes! And they will not crush us after this! "
"I am Full Frontal and I ask you this: Will you give up now? Let the Federation finally have their long sought victory? Or will you fight on? Hold up our flag, the dream of our people, despite what the Federation will do to stop us? Fight the fight of Freedom and shout our battle cry so that the eyes of others will be opened to the tyranny of the Federation?"
"I know what I will do. I WILL FIGHT! I will fight for our Freedom! I will fight for Zeon! I will fight for the future of mankind!"
"Sieg Zeon!"