station72 | [MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

[MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

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.))

NAVIGATION • SETTING • FAQ • MOD CONTACT • GLOSSARY

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[Sharing her new discovery about the Flame (and Spirit) that she's spoken of before makes it easier to realize that it is what it is, and what interest she has in these memory banks. She has a hard time thinking of the Commanders who have spoken to her in her dreams and periods of meditation as memories, but that's why she wants to be able to see the difference.

In fact, it's the difference that may bridge the gap in this world, to help them move forward.]

To a degree, my people did. [So, she shares it.] On a more limited level. But in those cases, they were very real. Alive, as if death was not the end.

[Is not the end.]

[ At surface level, the idea of death not being the end is very disturbing. Her whole life had been built upon a pile of bones and rotting meat. She had suffered through it all in the name of the exquisite nothingness, the final release that was death. And yet. Here she is. She had not chosen to die. She had chosen to continue fighting. What did that say about her? Was it contradictory, or was she merely unwilling to simply lay down and die? She had been promised a grand immolation, a part in a magnificent destiny, not to lie down at the feet of a monstrosity and be devoured.

Her thoughts knot themselves, black and tangled. She brushes her hair out of her face, her outward expression placid. ]

Jessica feels much further away than Anakin did.

[ Not quite a non sequitur. The meaning of death. The meaning of not-quite being dead. ]

It is troubling.

[ The mourning for someone not yet gone... Did that make her a ghost? A zombie? A softly breathing tombstone for herself? Ilde shakes her head, checking the directions on a ripped piece of paper. The subspace children had given her a strange look when she had asked for directions to be written down... But she is what she is, they find her quirks interesting when she lies to them about being an aspiring idol.

She points down a side street, heading for the base of one of the memory bank silos. ]

[That it's disturbing resonates within Lexa, but there's nothing deeper. She recalls the look in Clarke's eyes when she failed to accept Lexa's views on death. Death for most people is the end. Even for her people, they know that they don't have the same perpetual life as their commanders do, even if they don't understand how it occurs. She makes no efforts to clarify that it's only her, that she's one of the very few who gets the chance to live on.

It's easier, too, to hold back her clarification when Ilde goes on, speaking about her lost broodmate. Lexa recalls Anduin and his naive faith that everything would turn out fine. It hadn't for him, at least for now. He lacks any autonomy in the greater picture. She wonders if the symbiotes are ever limited in their number, or if some bodies, albeit being "right" for this lifestyle, simply can't take it. It's something that interests her, especially now that she knows more about the other thing inside of her.]

When someone is like that, they still live and breathe. They're distant, but their minds aren't gone to us. [Death, for most, is final.] I imagine that they could be secured here in some way, if it was necessary. I don't know how alive these memories are, or how much they evolve.

[ Winding past other pedestrians, Ilde is silent for a few blocks, finally breaking out into the sunlight where the memory bank rises up into the sky from the center of a stone plaza. She tilts her head back, shading her eyes to look upwards along the obsidian pillar. It seems very arcane to her, strange to find the line between science and magic in this instance. ]

What is life without pain?

[ She means this in philosophical sense, not in her usual dire stance upon the cruelties of the world. Yes, Jessica and the others were not dead, but they lay in a state of nothingness. Feeling nothing. Reacting to nothing. If at least they seemed to be interacting with their dreams, Ilde might be slightly more placated, but they were just... meat. ]

I think that they would argue that since they still have a chance to return to us, they are very much alive. [Lexa recalls the different commanders speaking to her, chastising her for her decisions. They were worried. They felt pain. But they were decidedly dead, merely clued in to their decisions. In that case, could they be considered alive if they could respond to her mindset? And if so, what did it mean that they could? She's confused about the matter, but doesn't voice it.]

If they are stuck like that forever, then maybe they are not alive. We'd have to ask. [Or see what happened to the one who woke up, to see what it was like to sleep so deeply. Anakin?] Anakin ... he may be able to answer. [The name resonates deep within her, in part because of her link to Ahsoka. She's never spoken to him herself.]

Edited (more accurate since closed-living space) 2016-06-08 22:50 (UTC)

He is sometimes given to conversation.

[ He was the most difficult member of her brood to connect with, he resisted strongly caring more about what he might return to than what he had. Very different from the rest of Castor... ]

Omega Memory Bank...

[ She says it out loud to herself, verifying she's come to the right place. Then she crumples up her directions and puts them in her bag, she finds her way onto a paved pathway, serene concrete planters lining the way. ]

There are public... graves here.

[ Is grave the right word for a collection of data? ]

[It may be a question that's better for Ahsoka to follow up on. The problem is that Lexa and Ahsoka are too stubborn, too fiercely independent to see eye to eye on anything, even when they appear to carry the same ideals. It's strange.

She doesn't remark upon it any further, choosing to silently follow Ilde as she passes by the memory banks.

Lexa's mind rejects the word "grave." It seems wrong.]

Do they call them graves? [she asks, glancing at Ilde out of the corner of her eye.] Or is that only you?

[ She shakes her head in response. ]

The children do not call it a grave. Memory bank. A place that houses memories, not bodies.

[ It all feels wrong to her. ]

I don't know what it is to house memories in that way... [ A frown creases between her eyes. The only understanding of it that she has is the grief she feels in all her old ways being behind her now. Was that the same? Was Jessica's lingering like a memory? Though she hardly knew Jessica, what was there to remember beside her sleeping face, she was gone so quickly. ] Nor look forward.

[ She had admitted that to Cathaway, suddenly aware that she did not know what to do with all the possibility in front of her. ]

It was always... just another day before the end.

[ Frozen on the brink of the end of the world. ]

Memories are different. We all have memories. Of what's happened before, of what's happening in the present. Every moment is committed in some way, even if we forget. How we treat the dead is different. [A body is different. Her people burn bodies because they feel it's necessary, and it's a practice they've carried for a long time. She will never understand the urge to bury a body, to save it in the earth. It feels wasteful and wrong in some way.]

But it seems as if you never had much to remember or to savor. Is that true?

[Superficially, her opinions on death aren't so different. She always knew that she might die, and would act to prevent it if and when she could. She would do what she could for her people, sacrificing them only when forced to do it. And she spoke of her death flippantly.

Still, she did not lie to die. She was far from that. Her life was not about waiting for that end, because her people came first.]

[ It's not fair to say she does not remember the dead. She knows what death looks like, if she tries she can even remember their faces or their names, but... There is no emotion attached to it. She has seen so much of it that it is all one long chain of thought, bodies upon bodies, the familiar smell of spoiling meet, the sounds of tearing flesh. ]

I tried not to dwell on what came before. Nor think on what was to come.

[ It was a precarious game of survival, simply trying to keep herself from fracturing, to make it to the next day with her life and her mind intact.

Rather than focus on that concept, in fact, Ilde's attention drifts through the garden, watching the way in which others interact with the memory banks. Some sit perfectly still, watching something on their interface privately, others interact with tiny little holograms which they speak to, cry with. She looks around at the nodes nearest to herself, choosing one to activate... ]

My name is Callendre Vasantize, loving mother of four...

[ A voice speaks from the interface, and visions of said loving mother playing with her four beautiful daughters begins jitter across the visual. Ilde is, quiet honestly, transfixed by it. A pang in her heart, sad jealousy for what it might have been like to have been one of those daughters, to have something sweet to remember. ]

[The present is always what matters most, but the world around someone influences how they survive. Their experiences do the same. Lexa has seen how drastically different her people are from the Sky People, but how they have similar viewpoints, too. Confined, the Sky People developed different ideals, and could believe themselves above others. But on the ground, strength is defined in entirely different ways.

She doesn't tell Ilde this, doesn't put words to it. Lexa understands where that emptiness comes from, only she has never been successful at managing it herself. She's had that pointed out to her before, and she doesn't live in the same state of denial as she did before that conversation.

She does follow, and her eyes seem void of any emotion as she watches the memory. But what's apparent to her is this: unlike what rests inside of her, this memory is not reminiscent of life. It's just a recording of something that's long gone, like the songs that cars sometimes would project when they would try to open them up and drag out supplies from inside.

There is much that Lexa would like to make of this, but she finds herself ... empty in response. She knows the difference.]

What do you make of it? [she asks Ilde, though she could sense the pang of jealousy over not having anything quite like that. Lexa is unfamiliar with that feeling, at least in regard to a recording like this. She has both good and bad in her life, and the bad often outweighs the good. But that doesn't lead her to feeling envious of other people's lives. It simply doesn't occur to her.]

[ Such a question, and so open for Ilde to twist and turn into whichever emotions crows the loudest inside of her. ]

I do not remember my mother. She was eaten when I was too young. I was raised by strangers in a caravan, there were very few children.

[ Few survived long enough to give birth. ]

I think... if I had such a memory, I would want to revisit it.

Edited 2016-06-24 02:36 (UTC)

In my world, we have books, memoirs, and pictures that we've sometimes found from the world before it burned. Sometimes, we don't have any idea of who these people are, but they had a way of recalling memories. [It's easier to lean on this and to share it. As she views the image before it flickers away, she considers Ilde's words. "Eaten" is nothing like what she knows, and nothing that she can really question.

Or perhaps she would rather not question it, because the meaning is clear.]

I believe these people have found a way to ensure that things can be saved even if this world is razed. [Like the Flame inside of her, but for everyone.]

[ She thinks on this. There were some similar mementos from her world, but she had never put that emotion to them. SHe wonders why that is. Why she somehow fundamentally incapable, or was the culture of her caravan and Lexa's tribe somehow fundamentally different. She does not know for certain. ]

Yes, there were paintings of family members... memoirs, dairies. We... read them infrequently. Those who knew how to read. Dreus taught me to read.

[ More than just a physical force in her life, he had been a teacher to her as well, making her memories and emotions of him complex. He was a tyrant and a murderer, but also a mentor and a benefacotr. ]

We paid little attention to it all.

[ There's some kind of question implied. Should they have paid more attention? Should she have done so specifically? Was she negligent or heartless in some way? Ilde's confusion and uncertainty in the word of emotional is clear in that moment. ]

Edited (wrong word entirely.) 2016-06-30 03:41 (UTC)

Not all people can afford to pay attention. There is training. Survival. I read because I want to be able to find lessons from ages that have passed, but I can't expect others to do the same. [They have to hunt and gather food, provide, and everything else. They have to scavenge supplies to the best of their ability. They have to care for their young and hope that they survive long enough to learn whether they will farm, fight, heal, or all three, as sometimes it is all three.]

But you can pay attention to it now. Will you? [She watches Ilde's face to see how she reacts, or if she does react at all.]

[ Ah, that excites Ilde a little bit, a pulse of eagerness that matches her actual age. Thirst to know more. ]

Yes, that is why we are here. I have also visited the zoological park and several museums.

[ She gestures kind of vaguely around her eyes where the interface sits, ]

This technology seemed irritating at first, but it has many books to read.

[ Just the tip of the iceberg in terms of what the interface could do, but as long as she's happy.... ]

[Lexa loves books, so she hardly minds.]

There are a great deal of books back at the Station, as well. I can tell they've come from many different worlds, rather than being limited to this one. You should take a look at them. [A pause.] I can recommend some as well, once I've read more.

[She really does love books.]

Have you thought to make a record of your visits to these places so you can view them later?

[ Her eyebrows go up. No, that thought hadn't crossed her mind. She can read, but there's never been any call to write, and that is still the image her imagination goes to when it thinks of making a recording. But, here in this place.... with little pieces of lives captured, just like the voice they had found in the depths of that laboratory, perhaps she could.

She looks away for a moment, off into the gardens to mull over the idea. Would it please her to see these worlds again in more than just a memory? What was the difference between the digital and what she held in her head. ]

No. I hadn't thought of it. But I have been practicing with Cathaway how to project my memories.

[ A glance, curious for the other girl's reaction to the idea. ]

[There's a hint of discomfort. Her glance doesn't offer a positive response, as Lexa's own projection of images has been accidental. She knows that people have glimpsed part of her memories because of her lack of control. The heavier memories have leaked through quite easily, and were available for both Ilde and Angel if they had wanted to ask.

Thankfully, they didn't.]

Do you intend to give yourself more fully to the Nest so that it's how you communicate? And is a memory enough when it comes to reliving it yourself? [She does not say whether it's good or bad, but her searching questions imply that she's not fond of it. It's not that Lexa intends to do the same herself. Saving moments and sharing them with others isn't something she likes, but there's a certain level of invasive procedure connected to projecting that she, frankly, just doesn't like or want.]

[ Hmm. Again, an interesting question. That had not quite been what she was thinking of, but it was not an unworthy question. ]

I am not certain what I want from the Nest. [ She is an honest girl, her lies are more by omission than by true falsehood, and she sees no reason to lie to Lexa. ] I want... power and control in my life.

[ She glances out of the corner of her eye. It seems like such a reasonable request, but Ilde knows it isn't. She knows why it gives her pause, teetering at the precipice of something she is not certain she can control. Not certain what it will do to her. ]

But my life now involves an entire universe.

[Lexa chooses to conceal her own opinion about how she will handle the Nest. It is a lingering question, one brought on by a conversation with Cathaway. Still, projecting memories is something that's limited. Not everyone can experience it.

So, the reason for her question follows:] The entire universe is not part of the Nest. I'd recommend that you keep your experiences close, and learn to share what you want with others. [She waves a hand at the memory bank.] Find a way to keep memories like this, even if it is just pictures or something you write, and then share what shreds of the memory remain with others.

[It feels important to do it this way, to hold on to some part of themselves that is separate and removed.]

It is not enough.

[ A confident response, as though this part at least is something she has thought on. ]

Pictures, words, voices... They are incomplete. They are not emotional, not sensory.

They can remind you of your feelings, can't they?

[After all, they had begun with a woman who had done exactly that: reminding others of a moment. They may not have the emotions attached to it, but emotions exist for someone.

That is what matters.]

I will remember.

[ That does not worry her. ]

It is having others understand what I remember that I find vexing.

Not everyone is a part of the Nest. [She returns to this point for a reason: having them so dependent on a closed circuit (so to speak) feels dangerous.] You may want to learn how to communicate that better.

[Then again, Lexa is a natural orator. She's someone who can launch into a rousing speech with little difficulty.]

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[MISSION LOG] BRAVE NEW WORLD

i'm psychic!!

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wow is that last tag of mine typo riddled...................

my brain autocorrected for you, i didn't even notice

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