06: lost in meaning.
"Report of Specials regiment attacking rebel carrier at L3 satellite S03-26," Treize demanded curtly of his missions-affairs officer.
"Colonel Zechs Merquise's mission?" the officer clarified, shuffling through files.
Treize's eyes narrowed imperceptively, his voice cold. "Yes."
Successfully retrieving the requested documents, the officer skimmed the most recent page and frowned. "No return confirmation as of oh-six-hundred-hours this morning, when the scheduled-"
"I know the schedule," Treize snapped, intensely disavowing his increasing heartrate, "Has there been any word at all?"
"Reports of- oh..." his brow furrowed in something that was not a frown, and Treize clenched his jaw. "Sir... reports have confirmed the explosion of satellite S03-26 at around oh-four-hundred- Sir? Sir?"
Treize was already a vanishing flap of cape around the door.
Lady Une's private office door slid open unexpectedly, and she glanced up with what would have been an intimidating glare in time to see the General of OZ somehow manage to burst through the gap with the most wild expression she had ever witnessed on his handsome face: a grimace to his prim lips and a severe arch to his elegantly split eyebrows. All she could do in response was raise one of her own before Treize was slamming his palms onto her desk. "Are there any scheduled transports to L3 or near within the next hour?" he growled.
"Your Excellency? There is a routine deployment barge to L3 base-"
"Put me on it."
"If I may be so bold, Your Excellency, what on earth is the meaning of this?"
"I'll need a spacecraft as well, preferably with mobile suit retrieval capabilities." Finally Treize straightened himself, removing his hands from the shaken desk and dropping them to his sides, regaining his regal posture, and completely ignoring the Lady's query.
"Sir, I'm afraid you have a meeting with Romefeller members-"
"Postpone it."
"It is in regards to mobile doll production."
"Postpone it."
"You've been planning this meeting for weeks, Your Excell-"
"Postpone it," the snarl to his voice, though not raised in the slightest, was so dangerous that Une paused in her protests to deeply contemplate her General's state.
Her only reply was to soften her own tone and suggest, "Consider the consequences of breaking this meeting with such malleable members at such a crucial time."
"Zechs hasn't confirmed his return to base."
Carefully guarding her surprise, Une glanced at her desk clock. "Scheduled return was only two hours ago, Your Excellency, I'm sure it's only-"
"His satellite exploded, Une."
At the use of her name rather than her title, the slight slackening of his tense shoulders to her perceptive eye, the weariness behind his fierce gaze, Une stood to face her General fully, a muted display of her strength that she freely offered him. "Zechs Merquise is a very capable man, Your Excellency. Whatever happened has already happened, and we both know that if... anything is possible, he has done and is doing it. I will send a private speed-recovery squadron to the mission site at once, and you will attend your meeting with Romefeller to have your way with the Alliance."
Treize clutched his temples between an extended middle finger and thumb, one thin digit resting against his forehead and the rest arched outward, aristocratic even in his weaker gestures, feeling the sore tendon there flexing from his jaw. "Oversee it personally, Lady."
"Of course, Your Excellency. Your meeting is in thirty minutes."
"I need a drink."
Quickly suppressing a feminine smile, Une turned towards the finely-carved cabinets behind her desk. "No, you don't." She opened one and glanced over the various glass glinting in shadow. "Scotch, Your Excellency?"
"You cannot seriously expect that the production of war-technologies that eliminate the human element will not have lasting repercussions on the act of warfare and, by design, the interactions of humankind as we know it."
"I do expect repercussions," Dermail crowed, a keen leer to his face, "I expect that war will become a cleaner, more precise, less brutal affair."
"Fool," Treize hissed without altering his voice, "You expect that war will become the product of funding, and you expect to be in possession of great amounts of it. You expect to own the world."
"And what, young man, is the problem with Romefeller, a respected foundation," the Duke nodded towards his compatriots around the table, "controlling this world and stopping the senseless slaughter of war?" In a single sentence, the old man had invalidated Treize's military successes, ignored his powerful position, belittled him as a person, twisted his words to imply disrespect towards the foundation that supported him while including the members he sought to isolate, and morally justified their meagre excuse for power-hunger. Treize chose his next words very carefully.
"The problem, Duke," Treize offered Dermail the dignity of his title, appearing mature while the old man simply appeared rude, "is not whether Romefeller controls the world," -indicating no preference for that proposition- "the problem is how you propose we do that, by removing a very relevant aspect of the human condition- sterilising the world, in fact, and blindly believing this will not affect peaceful life and will prevent future battles of the very real, human sort. You cannot remove violence from mankind in this totalitarian manner," Treize's voice began to elevate, his tone impassioned, "Instead of preventing brutal war, you will simply be rearranging the presence and type of brutality. An economic war will brew and rise in the wake of this decision, which will quickly give way to a war of information, as you all know is the logical progression," he entreated his audience into silent, agreeable nodding. "Rather than clashing on a battlefield, men and women will clash in private sectors in every occupied area of the world and beyond, and rather than erasing the clean, precise violence of a proper, honourable war, you will have caused constant turmoil in daily life until, inevitably, physical brutality would re-emerge. Is this your plan, Duke? Control the world by destroying peace and scavenging through the remains like a petty opportunist?"
Through this diatribe, Dermail's face acquired a very unflattering shade of magenta, but at Treize's final, utterly derisive epithet against his high and aristocratic position, the Duke lost his temper. "How dare you- you- impudent scrap of a boy, question my authority?"
Treize arched his eyebrows, apparently in contemptuous disbelief of his Foundation superior's outburst, but this was exactly what Treize had been hoping for.
"I elected you in the wake of Catalonia's demise, I favoured you against Septum-"
"Then perhaps those were the last good decisions of your authority," Treize interrupted quietly.
Dermail sputtered in fury, spittle curdling over his wrinkled chin. "Out! Get out of my boardroom!"
"Excuse me?" Treize mused, his demeanour calm and almost wry in the face of the Duke's rage.
"You are demoted, you ungrateful juvenile! Foundation members, I propose a vote to remove Treize Khushrenada from his position as Specials Commander and General of OZ at once!"
An excited murmur immediately filled the room, swelling in volume as some members stood and protested outrage at the suddenness of this suggestion, at the emotional and overly-partial quality of the Duke's decision; some cawing in superficial glee at the prospect of having the young upstart removed.
"Not every member of the Foundation is here, we can't-"
"-unreasonable, Dermail, let's all calm-"
"-preposterous! This is unfair!"
"At last that ridiculous idealist will be-"
Treize stood silently, his palms settled firm on the table, catching the gaze of many of his supporters and willing them to cease their argumentation, staring down the agitation in his enemies until everyone was seated but him. Slowly the room quieted, a tremulous hush slinking through the Foundation until only Dermail and those nearest him were still cackling together, a pack of hyenas with glimmering, deceptive eyes in his direction. All gazes fixed upon the young, ruthlessly visionary Treize as he expressed his thoughts on the subject of Dermail's persecution of him.
"I resign."