[MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

[onemind]

CHARACTERS: All
WHERE: The Station + Concordia
WHEN: Day :000 - ???
SUMMARY: Leaving the Station; the arrival and first days on Concordia. Concordia pt.1.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

IT'S EARLY IN THE DAY and something feels strange. It’s not unlike when a new Host - not one of your brood, but close enough to feel the tug - comes awake on the Nesting Deck. But it’s just the initial tug. There’s no noise, no hum of confusion or volume. Today, it’s just there: a sensation of presence that a moment ago wasn’t. Soon after follows a prickling awareness of urgency. A small electric bolt through the mind. Cathaway doesn’t use words in the mind, but her meaning is nonetheless easily understood: come to her on the hangar; your presence is required.

On the hangar there is a sleek, low profile transport ship. Before it stand Cathaway and Prince and in their company is a stranger: a short woman with warm skin and dark hair, wearing unfamiliar colorful clothes and a quick, pleasant smile. You’ve never seen her before, but you know she’s a Host.

“This is them?” Her voice is light and sweet. Prince, occupied by a databank, glances up at her then nods once. There’s a tension in his shoulder and through his jaw - a distinct contrast to Cathaway and the stranger who lack both.

“Lovely.” Her tone is breezy and easy, delighted. “Hello, it is so nice to meet you all! My name is Carata. My partner and I have been away on duty for a few months, but it’s become clear that we need backup on our assignment. We are hoping you can help.” Carata motions to the mission equipment in neat kits at her feet. There is one for each young Host.

Prince folds his pad down into its smallest form. His expression is set and serious.

“You will be joining Carata and Nirad on the planet below to assist them with their mission. Your datapbank will provide you with information about the planet and the city where you will be stationed. This mission is covert and the planet itself has no contact with other planetary races, so you will need to do your utmost to blend in.”

Cathaway sharpens slowly beside them: a dull pencil being sharpened to a point as her attention curves back to this place, this instance. She unfolds her hands. “You’ll be provided with an earpiece that should allow you to interface with the local technology and a fake identity for your cover on world. Please mind both carefully and be sure to keep your databanks offline. It would be inconvenient if they were networked while on planet.” From the way she says it, it sounds like ‘inconvenient’ might be an understatement. “This mission shouldn’t be inherently life threatening. Your primary goal is to investigate the anti-android movement. Carata and Nirad will be able to tell you what your databanks do not.”

“You should listen to them,” Prince adds. “Rely on their experience and knowledge to help you succeed in your task. Be mindful, and treat them with the respect they have earned.”

At this Carata laughs. It’s a bright, joyful sound, her hands coming up to clasp in front of her chest, “Please, teacher, you are too serious. I am sure they will do very well. Come along then! Gather your things; we must leave as soon as possible. I do hate to leave Nirad alone for too long.”

Turning her back to the Hosts, Carata takes Cathaway’s hand for a moment Nothing is said, but there’s the distinct impression of something passing between them. They release their grip, then Carata turns to Prince. She places her hands on his shoulders and goes up to her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t return the gesture, but those with sharp eyes will note he does lean down slightly to make her job easier.

Gather your gear, get anything from your rooms you might not want to leave behind. In two hours, everyone attending the mission will be buckled or strapped into the transport as Carata readies the ship for takeoff. She explains, neatly and concisely, what they believe the enemy to be doing in Concordia. Then, with a turning of the deck, the ship is freed from the embrace of Station 72.

It will be a long time before you see this place again.

     I. THE WHEELS ON THE BUS
The flight to Concordia is surprisingly short. By the time Carata's finished her explanation, you've passed into a new universe. It comes with a strange wave of something akin to nausea. Outside the transport's starboard viewports lays Opia in all it's glory: a beautiful blue marble speckled with sixteen landmasses and swathed in thing clouds like spun sugar. From this distance, clusters of light burn from specific points on the continents like a map of grounded constellations. As one of the great megacities of Opia comes curling from around the edge of the planet, the transport ship begins to descend.

Atmospheric entry is smooth. The transport drops at the outskirts of Concordia on what is, hilariously, some kind of large parking garage. It has engaged the most sophisticated of its cloaking technology to do this and Carata urged everyone to disembark quickly so the ship can return to orbiting the planet before it's detected.

"It will be back," she says flippantly. "When we've finished our job."

The ship departs. It's quiet and still for a handful of minutes; Carata seems unconcerned and gives little in the way of direction or instruction. The city flashes around them - bright lights and neon masking the fading of natural light - and nearby, a roadway hums. Eventually the sound of a car pitches louder. A set of headlamps shear from the long line of cars and in moments a long, squarish transport van pulls up and parks at the top of the garage. The side door slides open to admit everyone. In the driver's seat is an android - shining metal and cheerful as it greets every host by name. Beside the android in the van's passenger seat sits a tall, dark skinned man who - much like Carata - is obviously a host.

Welcome to Concordia.

     II. HOME SWEET HOME
It's a long drive into the city. The buildings get taller, the lights get brighter, the streets get busier. There are throngs of people on the street, dogged by endless rows of neon bright advertisements. Traffic is either miserable or flowing depending on the neighborhood and trams run on tracks fifty feet or more above the roadways. Streams of people files from the pavement to the subways, countless numbers of escalators leading down.

When the bus finally stops, it's in front of a building as tall as any others. The signs here mark this section of the city as BETA BLOCK and when you get out and into the building lobby you find that the door opens for you automatically. A chime rings through the interfacing ear piece and when you enter the elevators, the only floor accessible to you is NUMBER EIGHTEEN. When you disembark, a kind voice welcomes you by home in your ear. There are a large number of rooms here in Bearing - stake your claim, everyone! Nirad and Carata already have a couple of rooms in the Southwest corner of the building, but the rest are open. Time to settle in!

     III. FEET ON THE GROUND
You're given the rest of the night to sleep (or...whatever), but by 9AM the next morning everyone is awoken by Carata's voice in their head. She's clearly not shy of using her symbiotic connection.

( Good morning! I know this is quite a lot to get used to. I believe this is your first true assignment? But I have always believed that the best way to learn something new is to jump right in. ) The words are accompanied by the sensation of someone clapping their hands together, a cheerful kind of practicality. ( You’ve been given a credit card. I encourage you to go out today and learn what you can about this place. Talk to people. Listen to the news. Be sure to remember your cover identity, and don’t hesitate to call if you find yourself in trouble. )

There is nothing pressing to the suggestion, just the sensation- light. Airy. Fun. She switches track after a moment, a thoughtful addition: ( There is also a rally in town today. It’s being run by The True Children of Opia, some minor little hate group-- ) She seems to wave off the unsavory aspects as she forges ahead, ( They aren’t affiliated with Humans + Humans 1st, but they do have very similar ideologies and it is quite probable that there is overlap in their membership. If you would rather, it is also quite likely that there will be protestors there as well, both members of Mind Life and those who are adamant about pursuing digital resurrection. Please do be careful, though, sometimes those rallies can be a little... ) An image of an oily substance catching flame, quickly and hotly.

( Whatever you chose, simply do your best to get your bearings. ) She seems to realize the unintended joke there, given the name of their current residence, and a bright happy flash of color accompanies it. What a delightful surprise. ( Prepare yourself for what is to come. Nirad and I will continue our investigation in the meantime. )

---

((OOC Notes: This is the catchall log for the first stages of the Concordia mission. You'll notice there's no set ending date, so use this log however you like - alternatively, feel free to start your own logs in the setting! Don't worry; we'll be keeping a close eye on things, so if something big starts to happen that necessitates a new long, we'll make sure to keep our bases covered and all of y'all updated. Just be aware that dating forward farther than :010 may get a little dicey.

If you have any mission specific questions, direct them to the OOC post here.))

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Comments

[nirsighted]

"Why--?" He actually looks at her then, attention skating from the block. For a moment he seems confused, bewildered. What kind of question is that? Why are they here? A small measure of uneasiness finds him, stitched through like some mild colored thread of a grandmother's favorite throw. He can feel it around his shoulders, a weight that should be comforting but instead feels oppressive for it's... lack. It shouldn't be there. He shouldn't be thinking of home right now. Nonsense, Nirad. Get your head on straight.

"Because we were called. Cathaway was told we were needed here and what needed to be done, and so here we are. Something - the 'Enemy' -" (he seems unimpressed with the term) "Changed things here and now we've come along to fix what they broke."

He shrugs. It's all a little helpless. "It's a patch job."

[adamance]

The sharper part of her wants to remark upon his bemusement, to point out that it's not as if the Prince or Cathaway are in the habit of providing clear answers. The issue lies in them not knowing precisely which answers to ask, which creates a problem. She assumes that the Enemy in question is the one that's caused the disruption, and thus doesn't ask anymore about that exact thing they've done.

"What do they gain from this?" That is a better question, and one that will lead to better answers, or so she assumes. If she's meant to know what their end goal is, Lexa will be remarkably surprised. The Prince didn't seem to know, but she has a feeling that she may have also proposed the wrong question there.

[nirsighted]

He looks at her, a narrow eyed study. It's a fair question. Does he have an answer for her that's any better than sea swept garbage? He hums. Twitches his eyeline back to the puzzle block and makes a few moves, seemingly arbitrary. "What does who gain from this?"

Be more specific. --What had she said? She should be clearer. That would help ease that sharp little edge to her. That little knife rough feeling that spearheads her mind.

"Do you mean the supposed enemy or the Station or Cathaway or the thing that rests ahead of Cathaway? There's a lot of they, isn't there?" He squints past the puzzle block at her and frowns. "Am I a they?"

The question isn't an inherently funny one, but it seems to catch even him off guard - send a small, amused flicker through the hum of his mind. Funny. He never thought he would be.

[adamance]

"The enemy in question," she says. "But you speak of them as if you don't believe that they, the Enemy, exists." All of her words are now carefully chosen, because she knows that she's added to the lack of clarity in the conversation. Lexa can adjust her behavior, even if it sometimes comes across as her grabbing a dagger to change the appearance of a sculpture.

"And if that's so, then what are the other answers? What does the Nest, or the Station, or Cathaway all gain from this? What do you gain from this?" No, she hadn't considered him a "they," as she sees most of the Hosts all gaining what they can from being alive. She's already past the point where she questions that from everyone, as she understands their situation better.

But perhaps he has a different view on the matter, having been away for so long. That he still acts for the Nest is curious, when it appears that he could be independent. But there's still much she's grasping about their situation, and she feels like she's finally getting a handle on real answers.

Should they come, anyway.

[nirsighted]

A twang passes through that reverberating hum, off centered and vaguely uneasy. It's a chord plucked off key. "No. Sorry. They exist - that enemy does. I've seen the trace of it here and other places too." Far away worlds and corners of the universe fetid with some kind of rot like a a boat left to idle in tow for too many seasons. "It's just a silly thing to call them. Wouldn't it be easier to name them? Give us something to dislike."

It's hard to hate something without a name, to fight something without so much as that front. There are names for everything else, aren't there? The Symbiote, the hosts, a numbered Station. Click, click, click goes the puzzle block under Nirad's fingers and hummmmmmm goes the link between them.

"If we rout them here, they have less territory somehow. Not that they're here now, of course. No, we'd know if they were. But somewhere down the line, this place being messed up is important to them somehow. Making sure it doesn't stay under their control must mean saving ourselves trouble later. Which means we get to stay alive longer. Which probably means nothing chases up back to the Station and tries to eat it." A sigh, followed by a low thoughtful murmur as he studies his next move: "Like a fish trapped in a tide pool. It'd be easy pickings."

Click. He lifts his head with a faint jerk as if he's caught himself dozing and throws her an apologetic look. "Anyway. I like the robots. It would be nice if people saw them."

[adamance]

There is so little certainty to his words that she can't help but feel displeasure. Lexa recalls her first conversation with The Prince, and how she came to feel as if he should have had absolute answers and was then able to give her none. She feels the same sentiment here, and realizes, not for the first time, that it wasn't The Prince's fault that he lacked these answers but the Nest's. They lack any certainty, any goal. It's all a matter of "could bes" and "maybes" and "that might happens" and none of this pleases her.

It's hardly Nirad's fault that she feels this way. Her displeasure isn't directed at him so much as it's directed at the Nest itself. Their missions will always feel this aimless, won't they? They will always be scrambling to survive.

She understands that much.

Her lips twitch in understanding and she closes her eyes for a moment to calm the displeasure down into nothing, to focus on the bizarre hum that exists in the link between them. When her eyes reopen, she nods at his final words. "I believe the robots deserve a fair chance, as well. Possibly not for the same reason as you." Liking the robots seems like a simple thought, and one she can't understand. That lack of understanding is hardly his fault.

After all, Lexa feels the need to mentally complicate everything. The robots, their mission, and this world are all the same for her: things that need to be complicated.

[nirsighted]

He feels it, that long strung out line of frustration. It feels familiar, a shape he knows and it fits into and through him like a shape passing through a hole made specifically for it. For a moment There's a passive drum roll of sympathy for it, for her. People like this have a difficult time. There are lots of uncertainties, yes, but he thinks he knows that pretty well. He knows what it's like to grind a sharp tool over a stone until it goes dull.

The mental hum shifts, flexing like a breathing thing - like a fish with scales, the hum made by a thousand little plates moving in tandem against one another and under each a thought or memory, vaguely projected. Under one there is Nirad or someone very like him and then the hum changes tone as his attention whittles back to the matter of robots.

"Oh? How do you feel about them? The androids. --Most people don't call them robots, by the way. It makes you sound old."

[adamance]

"Both words are new to me. I'll be careful not to use it outside of this place." Had they been more involved with the Mountain Men, there's a chance that her people could be more advanced and more capable of technological progress. Instead, there's just what lies within her, meant to evolve with the knowledge of previous commanders waiting to offer guidance. It's what they had. It's what they've always had. From what she knows, it's likely what's allowed them to survive and evolve.

They had no choice but to do so, just as she has to do the same here. In a way, she's glad that she's here and not Indra or Titus (aside from the potential risks to their lives). They wouldn't be able to adjust as quickly to what surrounds them, no matter how much they admire her ability to do so. Lexa is used to that compromise and that balance, though she's had to tilt a lot more in the other direction without their influence. It's how she's surviving this experience.

"But because they're new, I'm willing to accept their life as it is. I have my reasons." They're selfish, but many things with Lexa are. That doesn't necessarily make it a bad thing.

[nirsighted]

He looks at her, blank faced but humming with expectation. "What are they?"

Is that nosy? It is. It's rude to ask, but he asks it anyway. Of course she has her reasons. Everyone had reasons for everything; he wants to know what those reasons are. What she thinks, what she feels, what he can feel tingling just there at the edge of his own sensation.

[adamance]

"Nothing I'm ready to share just yet," she concedes. "But it may prove useful for our goals here." That's vague, but given her own initial understanding of these matters, she doesn't want to make promises.

But if she can eradicate the problems posed by their faceless enemies, then she will. She won't hesitate to release that information about herself.

She just has to see how much she can access first.

[nirsighted]

There's a sensation over the mental link, in the bland bewilderment of his expression, that all files down to ( ????????????????? ) What a strange girl. Why bother keeping it to herself? How did someone have an opinion that might be useful to others and simply prefer not to share it?

He clicks a few more moves on the puzzle without so much as looking at it. It's something to do with his hands and that's...-- comforting. Like tying knots would be. This takes up less space though.

"Okay. I guess that's fine."

[adamance]

"There's nothing that can be done about it now." Even if she proposed the idea to the rest of the Hosts, her lack of knowledge would backfire and it would seem futile. If nothing else, Lexa likes to be prepared. Bringing this information forward if they ultimately can't use it would end up exposing her.

Which, admittedly, is part of the issue.

"I'll be leaving now. Try to keep your noise down."

[nirsighted]

He should keep his mouth shut. He really should; he should be better at that by now. But really? Not so much. For a moment Nirad chews his tongue, but the inclination to say something leaks through the mental link anyway: a tang of impatience and curiosity, a faint fluttering of... anxiety? Uncertainty.

He doesn't like not knowing things that might turn out to be important.

"Sure." Said flat. "But--" Catches himself. Snapping against some line of self imposed tension. He leans hard against it, testing the strength of it. His self control frays by a series of degrees. "But you should tell someone. In case you get messed up and it ends up being important."

[adamance]

"I have a contingency plan should anything happen to me," she says. Angel is that contingency plan, and she intends to pass it on if anything should happen to her.

There is a pause, though, as she considers the comatose Nathaniel and the others who have slipped away. "Do many Hosts end up 'messed up'?" She had intended to depart, but it's a thought that's been nagging her. Her previous suspicions toward Cathaway and the Prince were struck down by the presence of these two "new" Hosts, but there are other concerns to consider.

And if there's a way to prevent people from being "messed up," she would like to hear it.

[nirsighted]

A small noise of consideration. Plans were good. They could also be dangerous. He spends a few more seconds thoughtfully chewing on the inside of his cheek, a small murmur of unease and curiosity and mingled satisfaction drumming across the link between them.

"Lots do. How long have you been here? How many have gone asleep since then?" Has someone died yet? Someone usually has. At least with the sleeping ones there was a chance they'd wake up again. Corpses just became heavy, inert like a stone tied to some necessary limb. "It happens all the time."

Sometimes to people you could almost expect it of - the ones who are weak or delicate in some way. But sometimes it happens to the ones who seem fit and perfectly capable. Sometimes there isn't any explanation and that doesn't even count-- "And sometimes dangerous things happen and staying quiet about something gets the rest of us in trouble with them."

[adamance]

Lexa thinks that about five have gone to sleep, but some have woke back up again. It leaves her wondering if that might happen to her. If it does, will her contingency plan matter? There's a sense coming off of her about wheels turning. She does have a contingency plan, but she'll need to revise it. These random circumstances aren't very reliable.

As for his final statement, it leaves her puzzled. She can understand it in a general sense. Keeping secrets about someone being dangerous is unwise unless you have control over it. She recalls Kylo Ren's blind devotion to Cathaway, and Ilde's statement that he's considered dangerous (much like her). She imagines that's a way of keeping one or both of them contained, but she knows better than to ask for further clarity.

(Besides, if Ren is so weak that he needs to be devoted to a woman he barely knows, a woman who is not a leader, then it shows his true nature to her. It's unfortunate. He seemed like a true potential ally at the beginning.)

"I understand cause and effect, and not looking out for yourself instead of the group. But I'd like some clarity. Is the trouble things like assassins or bounty hunters coming after us, or punishment that somehow comes from within the Nest itself?" She had judged the Prince's punitive words because they felt hollow, empty, like he hoped for them all to feel the same guilt he did. She resented it.

No, correction: she resents it. What could have been a grudge she forgot has become firmly implanted in her mind. At least for the time being.

[nirsighted]

"Both, maybe." The subdued response is automatic, accompanied by the mental shiver and flinch. What difference was there? "Not that the hive really punishes but-- you feel it, don't you? When someone goes to sleep or goes away?" He touches his fingers to the center of his chest, a gesture that's almost unconscious and timed to the strange, yawning sensation of something dark and cold and empty across their mental link. It's like a great big, dark creature swimming somewhere deep and low - the shadow of it passing under them, a cold sweat prickling for the realization of it. Just as there is danger in the world - worlds, universes -, there are also creatures lurking in their heads waiting to find them.

"But mostly I mean the first one. People or monsters in the places we go. Someone could hurt or kill you and if you aren't sharing information or suspicions, no one will know how to uh..." A hesitation. He absently rubs his breastbone with the pads of his fingers. "Build on it, I guess. Sometimes hosts die with important information they forgot to share. It makes work for the rest of us harder, right?"

For any number of reasons.

[adamance]

"It does. When scouts fail to return, it's undoubtedly for a reason." She speaks of her people. "But sometimes, there are accidents. You can't assume that someone was killed for the information they might have, but you'd be unwise to consider that they'd die without having something." It's a factor that Lexa's had to consider countless times, especially with the Mountain Men painting targets on her people's backs. Whenever they proved unruly, their leaders might die.

Or their leaders may end up torn apart by a wild, mutated animal.

She's definitely very nearly experienced the latter.

"Has anyone tried to use the technology available to try to prevent these circumstances?" she asks. It's in part because she thinks it's possible that she asks, but she's not entirely certain.

(Always business, she tries to ignore that lurking, darker sense beneath what he says. Just as she tries to treat the symbiote as an inconvenience, she only brings it up when it helps her. Showing that she's afraid of it, no matter how true that might be, is a weakness.)

[nirsighted]

"I don't mean that. Assuming - that accidents don't happen. I'm not paranoid." That part's snapped out, a small sense of bristling like the grumble of thunder across some distant horizon or, maybe, just the smaller more immediate sensation of a piece of paper clumsily crumpled in a closed fist. "I know that. But accident or on purpose, if a person dies knowing something no one else knows then that still goes with them."

A shrug. He lifts a hand, sets his thumb to his lower lip and starts to pick at the skin - absentminded and much as its habitual. There's a small scar there, difficult to parse against the dark of his lip. He makes a short noise.

"The technology here or on the Station? What would you even do?" What's better than riding along in someone's mind? Is there anything more immediate than that?

[adamance]

"Cathaway explained that the ideal situation is for us to be closer to the Nest. I agree, but too many are uncomfortable with that notion. And it's hard to accept, to adjust to, especially early on. Why else would that information be lost if it isn't a consistent factor? When we had our mission on Avera-9, we came across ... recordings. If we could maintain something like that, to update immediately, then it might bridge the gap between what we have and what is lost."

It's clear through her explanation that she doesn't know where to begin. While a part of her records all of her actions, there is still the tricky predicament that none of the people here would even be able to access the Flame. So, something external, something that isn't so difficult to accept.

In that, they might even learn to trust one another more. Possibly.

But she's still technologically limited, no matter what in her mind is itching to reach out and answer the right questions.

[nirsighted]

He blinks in rapid succession, turning the idea over. No, it's not that he doesn't see why that might be useful, but--

"No, I understand and sure there's stuff like that here. I guess I just don't get why you'd bother. Why put it in a file instead of just... telling someone else, I guess." That steady, pulsing mental vibration pours out of him at the same pitch and intensity that it's maintained for this whole conversation. It's a steady, consistent heartbeat. A reminder of his presence here. He likes the idea of other people feeling it, sure, but it's as much for them as it is for himself. They should know he's here. They should know what he's feeling and what he thinks. That's important.

"Even if you don't like using your brain, you could just say it with your mouth instead of holding it back for later."

[adamance]

That's where their differences lie. Lexa realizes that their perspectives vary. There are limitations to these things, as there are with all things. Even with the link, there is still a limitation, though she hasn't tested it as strenuously as she's tested her physical strength and endurance.

"A ... transmitting device may supply the information when all else fails. Should a Host die before returning from scouting, they won't be able to tell much of anyone." None of them should be sent out alone, but there are so few of them, and so many of them like to be independent, even with the Nest.

The hum that comes off him is disorienting, but she holds back on asking. For now. She might, before she leaves like she thought she might originally, but the discussion is still at hand.

[nirsighted]

There's another series of blinks headed her way across the span of his knuckles as he continues to pick at his lip. That mental buzz doesn't waver, but after a moment he drops his hand from his mouth.

"Let me get this straight, huh? So you... want a transmitter to send information you have now out to everyone else in case you die. But you don't just want to tell them what you have now...now?"

It's bewildering. Why not just share the information when she gets it if it might be important?

[adamance]

"You misunderstand. Obviously you would report upon returning, but should you believe your life is in danger, how can you be certain you pass on the information in time? Of course, that won't limit those who choose to report nothing at all." Lexa doesn't know where to encourage that. If a scout withholds information back home, that might hurt them as much as it may hurt the people close to them.

But that might be where the issue lies.

[nirsighted]

"But-- that's what I meant when I mentioned it in the first place. I just wanted to know why you wouldn't want to tell people things if you knew them." He hesitates, unsure. Lifts his hand and starts to pick at his lip again. There's something anxious and habitual about it, as unconscious as the rolling vibration of his mind as it rolls around in the air between them. The sensation brushes against her mind, curious but timid - quick to roll away when he realizes he's maybe more close than is comfortable to her. Maybe she's the person she's talking about. He should try to keep his hands, his brain, to himself, right?

"There are things like that. Things you could report with but..." A welling of unease like a small wave of nausea. "But you should work on using your mind. Everyone should. I know it isn't comfortable always but it's better than not. It's useful."

They needed useful things.