"Your interest has piqued, hasn't it."
He doesn't even ask. He never asks. I hate his voice. God, but do I hate his voice.
"Maybe."
He laughs. He sounds like a barking dog, and the static coming from the bad transmission doesn't improve it either. His face is distorted, crumpled by the interference, flickering on and off the video screen.
"It seems that we've got to live up to our predictions. Who thought it would come to this."
I shrug. "We always had good foresight."
"We don't have time to chitchat. It's very important to be extremely careful."
"I know. You don't have to remind me." I continue organizing an impressive stack of papers-- my latest designs and mobile suit calculations. The Romefeller Foundation was very specific with their request when they approached us, and proposed some interesting modifications. Fascinating, fascinating, I tell you. My pencil rolls over the tabletop and falls on the ground. I pick it up. Mobile suits are like a riddle, a puzzle, if you will. A creation about to be born. A challenge to create, with fascinating and mesmerizing technology.
I have so many riddles to solve. Romefeller asked for an upgrade in speed with the new suits. The current suits are too heavy, even stripped down to the most basic functions of mere walking and lifting a beam gun. I have to calculate the right amount of power to add to the suit's engines before it becomes too heavy; I can't adjust the agility without altering the weight. There must be a way to make a suit lighter, maybe when processing the alloy...
"Are you listening to me?"
"Sorry," I mumble. I did mention to him that I hate his voice. He couldn't care less. Why should he?
"Heero Yuy has only been dead for 24 hours. Society is in chaos. I expect communications cut between the colonies any second."
"Then we better hurry up." I know I sound lame. I only want to return to my designs. We've been over this before. I know his words by heart.
"What are you up to?"
"Me? Nothing." He probably can't see what I'm doing. Scrambled screen, lousy transmission. He surprises me, however.
"Working on the suit already?"
"And you?" I snap back.
"...my question." Lousy transmission, indeed.
"They were right to discard the Tallgeese suit," I say. "It's not worth the trouble and it's way too complicated for mass production. It's a fluke."
"Why do you keep it rubbing in? You did help with the construction, you know."
The screen blackens out. I heave a sigh. Thank God that's over.
It's really not a secret. I despised the Tallgeese from the moment it was designed. It was an obnoxious suit, with its blinding white color and massive beam gun. I snort. My colleagues listened to my input, that's for sure, but we were working with five people on the project. I was assigned to tackle the speed problem. I don't go for an obnoxious attitude and massive beam guns. I don't believe in conspicuousness. Maybe they wanted to get all the attention with the suit. I personally believe in a more stealthily approach, sneaking, if you wish to name it so. I prefer striking out of nowhere, when it's least expected. I don't want attention. I scoop up another stack of papers. They're my personal notes and calculations for my mobile suit-- the perfect suit as I envisioned from the start.
"Come on, you knew this would happen." His voice booms through the room and startles me- apparently he continued talking, without noticing that the line was severed.
"What?"
"We knew Yuy was going to be assassinated. I'm surprised it took them so long."
"Them?" I close my eyes. It wasn't really hard to guess. I don't share his surprise-- I can't imagine why all the colonists don't see the same thing.
He hesitates.
"I think it might be better to only use our initials from now on. It's getting too dangerous. I don't even know if this line is secure."
"Very well." I know from experience that Jo... J isn't going to elaborate any further.
"How far are you?" Yes, he's curious. He knows how I prefer to work with riddles and shadows, not showing my work. I don't believe the others show their work either. It was an agreement, long ago. Wait, not so long ago. I guess we really did see it coming.
"Just working on the cloaking," I answer.
"Your infamous cloaking device." He chuckles. "If it's really going to work, Ger... G, I'll bow to you."
"Don't be so condescending. You want to have your suit turning into 'bird mode'," I quip, without any effort to keep the disdain out of my voice myself. "Really, we hardly figured out how to construct the landing gear to fold up in the suit itself and you're talking about an entire suit able to transform!"
"We still have some time to make modifications. We can't execute our plans until we've finished building the suits anyway."
"By the time we're finished, we're too old to pilot them."
"We've never intended to pilot them ourselves."
"Do you know anything of the others?" I ask, feigning politeness.
"I know O went to his home colony." He carefully avoids naming the cluster. Who knows if the line is tapped. I doubt it, but I don't voice it-- bigger problems are at hand.
"H has acquainted himself to a rich family who owns resource satellites."
That's too obvious. The Winner family, of course.
As if J guesses my thoughts, he continues, "The head of the family is too old to learn how to pilot, but he got recently married. His son will be a worthy candidate."
"Doesn't H assume too much?" I object.
"The pilot is an expendable factor. The suit comes first at this moment-- and they have the resources he wants to use."
"What about S?"
"Haven't heard from him in a while. I think S has managed to get himself a rich sponsor."
The Barton Foundation? Smart guy. Working right under the nose of the enemy.
"And you?" He sounds casual, so darn casual.
I shrug. "I'm doing all right. Just working on the suit."
"What about yourself?" I ask in return, not knowing what else to say. I don't have these plans laid out. I only have plans for the suit, not for the pilot. I didn't think that far.
He clears his throat. "I don't know yet. It's all progressing nicely. I don't have any options for the pilot, though. I have to work my way through the colonies, see if I can pick somebody up."
It looks like he's about to say more, but the interference on the line becomes too loud and his words are almost inaudible.
"Let's keep in touch, G."
"We'll talk again soon." It's out of my mouth before I register it. We both lie. We both are liars. The screen blackens out, definitively this time. I regret my irritated, harsh words about the conversation as soon as the silence returns. I appreciate silence, I appreciate it very much, but this is... the wrong kind of silence.
I support my head with my hands, feeling oddly left out. We're on the brink of life changing, future changing events of history. We five are going to write history with this war. A war that has gone on and off for the last decades, and has taken twists and turns that nobody has foreseen. There was only one thing to be foreseen-- the assassination of Heero Yuy, the greatest spokesperson for peace, a renowned diplomat and preacher of total pacifism. He's only been dead for 24 hours... and the world is changing rapidly. We can feel it changing and I never thought I would be one of those people helping it change.
I'm only here for the technology. I'm not interested in politics and factions and Foundations. The process of designing and building a mobile suit fascinates me. I want to find the solutions for the mechanics, adapting and adjusting until the suit operates as envisioned. Riddles. I take a look at my designs. However strange it may seem, there is a certain... beauty in a mobile suit. The proportions leave me in awe. It's human nature to be in awe of huge machines, feeling the power radiating from them. Is it in human nature to be dominated by machines? It's always a human who pilots a machine. What does that say about the human inside the machine? Is he following orders from people outside the machines... orchestrating him like a puppet? And who is orchestrating? Are the right people orchestrating? Who are the right people anyway? We're obviously not the right people. Are we responsible? We only built the mobile suits. Are we guilty for keeping this war going, by building and providing suits for the military?
I stick my hands in my pockets. All five of us agreed to disappear from stage the moment something should happen to Heero Yuy. I shake my head. Someone was clearly not in his or her right mind to assassinate a pacifist. It will be colonies against Earth from now on. We have agreed to become the voice of our respective colony clusters, to fight ourselves for peace.
I sigh and stand up, eyeing the stack of papers. We also agreed to work separately on a mobile suit. I have agreed to participate actively in this war. Then I'll be causing death and mayhem with the suit I'm about to build and the pilot I'm going to train.
It's a good suit. My designs are almost finished. I don't believe in massive beam guns, heavy artillery, or in heavy armor. I believe in a single, swift motion that makes the difference between life and death. A touch that leaves you dead or alive. I snicker. A touch of pestilence. I’m becoming a pestilence.
It's staring back at me. The production process is only in its first stage, and I have plenty more ideas for it. It's the biggest riddle I'm working on. This machine, as beautiful as it is, can't operate without a pilot. It needs a guide, someone who... empathizes with the suit and knows how to handle it in every way. Someone who despises wars and will fight to his own death to keep others from fighting.
It's time I find myself a counterpart.
As pestilence, it's time I find myself a God of Death.