“Cafe der guten Hoffnung”, Deck 3, Bruchsal Base, Frankfurt System
17/06/824 A.S., 10:54 AM
“...Furthermore on Page five: A transcript of Peter Vogel’s speech in the party congress from the 15th of June, 824 A.S.”
A few handmotions on the touchscreen later, said transcript would pop up on the display of the PDA. He could have checked the version recorded via video as well, but he preferred written texts. It gave you more latitude in rereading and analyzing than having to rewind every single minute. Another slurp from the milky coffee and he would begin to read through what the newspaper were to tell him.
“Sehr geehrte Mitglieder und Mitgliederinnen of the Parteikongress, as always it is an honour to be able to step before you. Yet while it is an honour to do so, there are matters at hand that do not admit of delay in any way, and I am not going to mince those matters in any way either. As it is my duty as party member of the Rote Adler, I must draw attention to several grievances in our beloved Bundschuh movement. And believe me, they need fixing.
The Bundschuh is dying, dear colleagues, and there is no way around it. Just look at it, and you will certainly see what I mean. We are in turmoil, the Bundschuh is in turmoil and is being engulfed into complete chaos, like a boat being drawn into the Maelstrom. Some of you might think that I am exaggerating, but it is the least I do. If anything, I am hinting at the gravity of the current situation, our situation. Do you see Doktor Haupt anywhere among us? No, you don’t, unless you see ghosts, ghosts of times that are long gone. There can be no denying that the Major of the Vereinigte Widerstandsarmee and our central figure of hope has vanished. The repercussions of this, the vacuum of power Haupt has left behind, can be feeled right now, right here, at our home. Just go out and watch what is happening on numerous of Bruchsal’s decks these days. Fighting.
We are living in dire times right now, dear colleagues, more than ever before. Several splinter cells, claiming their ludicrous ideologies to be the only right one under many, have emerged, tearing the Bundschuh apart from its inside. They might not be aware of it, but the only thing they achieve through senseless fisticuffs is the debilitation of the Bundschuh. The Bundschuh we have all once sworn to fight for, no matter the costs. I am asking you right here, dear representatives that have come together today: It this what we want for our movement? That it drowns itself, only because some people think idiocies are the only way to power? Think of the Government, hell, even think of the Büro. They must be laughing up their sleeves when they hear about their arch-rival committing suicide out of the blue. If we want for our believes to succeed, we have to act. Now.
Compare the Bundschuh to a human body. The human body is built out of millions of millions of organs and cells, all working together smoothly. They all aim for one goal: The survival of the human organism. They don’t fight each other. At least not usually.
Now please, think about what happens when the human body develops cancer, when suddenly single cells decide to go rogue and rather harm their own organism than to contribute to its well-being. What will the body do? Indeed, it will fight back, as best as it can, until it is either victorious against the cancer or dead.
Nature has given us a prime example of a well-functioning society through our own body, Damen und Herren. And I believe we should follow said example. There is no time for procrastinating left, no time for letting these bastards roam around our movement and cause harm wherever they can. For too long have they compromised our actions, worn us out and deteriorated the Bundschuh’s capability to act. The time to counterpunch has come, we will no longer just stand on the sidelines of this existential battle.
I hereby announce that the Rote Adler will do everything in its might to repel any threat to the Bundschuh, no matter if it comes from the out- or inside, with relentless force. The Bundschuh needs a strong hand to guide it through the chaos again, sehr geehrte Damen und Herren, and the Rote Adler is offering itself for this guidance. Down with the gropuscules, once and for all!”
Like a horse, he panted with anger once, then switched the PDA off and put it aside. For a few seconds he let his fingers play over the white, round table, watching them carefully. His fingernails were pared almost meticulously, with not a single hint of dirt under them. In the end the hand slid towards the plate that stood on the table, and grabbed the small crescent roll on it. He crumbled a little as he guided it towards his mouth and bit a piece off and returned to the plate. The crumbs ended up on his alpaca pullover, but were quickly brushed away by his spare hand. Using the chance, he would also adjust his tie quickly, to give him a bit more space to breath. Only a mere look at the black screen of the PDA made him snort angrily again.
To some degree, that was alarming. But above all, it was funny, thought Emmanuel. Quickly he doublechecked whether he had accidentally read the satire page, but turned out he had not. If he should find that unsettling or not he was not exactly sure, but for all he knew, this could not mean anything good, and would probably only let the situation escalate even more. With a small smirk he looked at the PDA again. He didn’t feel like analyzing that crap at all, he realized. Could have just watched the video instead.
Emmanuel reached for the cup of coffee again, swaying it and watching the miniature waves he was creating. Despite the lack of any substantial meaning in his colleague Vogel’s speech, it was still quite intriguing to think about it. If only to discern other’s opinions, and to deem them as puerile afterwards. A simple finger exercise, so to say, and one Emmanuel loved to do over and over again. The moment he would notice with satisfaction how well thought out his own stance was compared to others would always be a satisfactory one to him. He celebrated it every time, and so did he this time. Vogel was an especially easy one to disarm in his mind’s eyes. Hell, what should he even begin with? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth - what a hellishly outdated principle anyways. Then, Vogel was bodaciously exaggerating. Sure, there were people fooling about with mind-bending stupidity, but talking about the demise of the Bundschuh was premature at best. The movement didn’t have a clear leader anymore, that was certain, but that wouldn’t have to mean much. New leaders would arise soon enough, just as Haupt had arisen after the downfall of Eistochter and Klugmann, and so it would happen again. All Emmanuel could do was to play his cards right in this struggle. If he proved to be a capable debater and leading figure in the near future, maybe he could make another step towards realizing his dream, as a great unifier of the Bundschuh. All he needed was good timing, usage of his exceptional eloquence and a bit of luck. In some way, he had been fed up with only being that extra something in the Kongress. He wanted more.
Smirkingly, he let this topic drop, not thinking further about the speech he had read. After all, he didn’t want to bash poor Vogel too much right now. There had to be some fun left when he did it again in the Kongress.
His legs crossed, hands resting on his lap, Emmanuel looked round. In the background, there was a switched-on TV spouting some propaganda nonsense. The bar itself was rather empty, only a few guest sat inside. It was more of an uptown cafe, but Emmanuel preferred those over the ones with noisy, drunken brats. Here, he could have his peace while brooding over key questions. In the mornings, he had found out he was the most creative, so he liked to use his biological clock to draw on full resources.
Fiddling about with his thumbs, Immanuel tilted his head and looked outside the cafe into the hallway. No battlecries - at least something. Some of Bruchsal’s corridors had tended to turn into battlefields between rivaling camps lately. Especially on Deck two the situation was slowly getting out of hand, at least from what Emmanuel had heard. Good thing he only rarely had to go down there. To imagine him, cravatted and with his splendid, hoary beard, storming into the fray, was a recipe for a safe laughter.
The café was surprisingly quiet, this day. The missing battlecries from outside seemed to seep into the minds of the people spending their time here, and not even a heated discussion was audible. Just the usual muttering and occasional sigh. The thing suspiciously absent, however, was laughter. Bruchsal had never been a place of constant happiness, she had to admit that, but at least an occasional joke, even motivated by gallows humour, would have done wonders to the atmosphere of the place.
It was different from the last time she’d been here. Very different. It almost felt alien, paranoid. Like everyone was constantly double-checking if there was some ideological enemy right behind them, ready to stab them in the back. It felt like a base in the Omicrons, on the farthest frontier.
And there was one more thing she had noticed.
Her friends were gone. Every single person she had trusted, or even known, was nowhere to be found. Not on Eltmann, not on Bielefeld. Even the professors and students that she had often spoken to when teaching had mysteriously vanished. It was as if someone had swept them under a rug.
And that meant trouble. Not only for her, even though to her shame that was the first thing that had come to her mind. No, it also meant that the hand-picked people that she had chosen to lead her sect had been removed somehow. And if the VWA, the driving force, the uniting force of the Bundschuh, truly was falling apart, that could spell doom for the entire revolutionary movement.
It had been with these worried thoughts that she had come here, on the faint hope that her allies had just retreated to Bruchsal, assembled their forces. A bastion of order. Instead, she had found chaos. Extremists at each other’s throats, gangs that would go to any length short of using guns just for another corridor under their control, because they couldn’t agree on the shade of red they wanted the Bundschuh to stand for. And the worst thing was that it all seemed to be connected to the day that she had been taken. For a few moments, the pained expression of guilt flared up on her face, but she denied herself to indulge in the feeling as soon as she felt it surfacing. Focus on the moment.
She was still looking for clues as to what happened, truly. She already knew that in her absence, Michael Wolf had taken command of the VWA once more, but aside from that she didn’t know much. What she was sure about however was that one day, her entire corps of loyal party supporters, or at least the most loyal of them, had vanished. Without a trace. And so far, nobody had been able to give her a clue as to what happened.
It didn’t help of course that she wasn’t able to talk to many people face-to-face. Being recognized in this current environment was suicidal, because apparently there were more than enough Eistochterists out there that were out for her blood. Or worse, her head, that they could then present to the Witch hidden somewhere in the Omicrons, ideally perforated with an icepick. How ironic. She had exiled her former mentor because her ideals and constant scheming had been a danger to the Movement, a danger to democracy. And for the hardliners, it appeared that she had created a martyr.
She looked around in the café, mainly to make sure that there were no familiar faces. Sure, a lot of them she knew from seeing or talking to them sporadically - after all she’d lived here for a long time, and a space station wasn’t that large, but none of them were her close allies. Which meant that she would still have to be careful. She made sure that her hood was still over her head, obscuring the sides of her face to curious eyes, and the shadow covered her forehead. Since this wouldn’t resist a close inspection of her face, she had also dyed the tips of her hair dark green, and it was significantly longer than it used to be. Her scar and tattoo were completely hidden under make-up, and the new model of cybernetic eyes was completely missing the old sunglasses-frame she used to wear. Coupled with the contact lenses changing her eye-color to a dark brown, it was a pretty effective mask. She had received multiple curious looks the past few days - the ones you get when somebody seems to think he knows you from somewhere, but couldn’t quite put a finger on it - but none seemed to be recognizing from where. It seemed like she had not lost the edge she’d learned in the Omicrons. At least that was good news.
She turned around, and checked for free seats. Not many. Seemed that a lot of people liked to find refuge in this café. Not that she could blame them. After contemplating if she should take her coffee elsewhere and start her search, she decided against it. The calm had lasted far too long, and if her experiences at home had been anything to go by, the corridors would soon be full of rioting gangs for a few hours. So she could as well stay here and conduct her research from here. She spied a free seat across the room, opposite to a man that didn’t seem familiar, and walked over.
Grabbing the seat with her left, gloved hand, she mumbled“This one free?”in a casual voice, carefully making sure that her tone was modulated differently from the usual one. Speaking like this for a month had helped ingrain the speech pattern, so it did sound quite natural. Slight eastern accent, a little slower than her normal speech, enough to make sure that people didn’t get a hint at who she was by just her voice.
She added a nervous grin to the mix, appearing slightly frightened of the situation. Just a new pilot, scared of the riots and seeking refuge.
Emmanuel had by now dared another look onto the PDA, simply because there was not much else for him to do around here. Sure, there were some paintings that hung at the wall, not to neglect the aforementioned TV channel that oh so teemed with propaganda. At least the TV was set to a medium volume, making it easy to brush the claptrap away if one wasn’t interested. And if he needed anything the least, then it was stuff and nonsense for commonality. Still, he carefully peaked at the screen for a few seconds, but instead of listening to it, he would instantly begin to dissect it. Usage of large, mostly sensational pictures, strung together rapidly. The editor obviously tried to deliver as much punchy information in as little time as possible. To Emmanuel, it only came across as epileptic, as his slow eyes couldn’t quite keep up with the pictures. Heaving a frustrated sigh, he looked away again. Who needed propaganda anyways?, he tried to tell himself, only to realize he was exactly the one who did. Influence of masses through more or less idiotic techniques - nothing he really liked; actually, he vilified it heavily. Then again though, even if he would have liked to be a pure idealist, he knew that things weren’t as easy. He couldn’t make a difference without a compromise of his own personal values. While he would have loved to create a steady discourse of opinions between each and everybody, he was aware many people were idle fellows who would only accept pre-chewed information packages, skewed and misrepresented to satisfy him. A shame, but reality.
Bemused as he was, staring at his cup of coffee, he didn’t see the woman approaching at all. Her voice gave him a mediocre fright, making him flinch. Exhaling sharply, he would look up and arch his eyebrows, his green eyes examining the figure before him closely. While his eyes darted around over her face and body, his mien kept being neutral, until a small smile flitted across his face. The least thing he had expected was a colloquist during breakfast. Not that he would object, but the last time a stranger had been sitting down next to him like that was - maybe a few months ago? Not to mention the person in front of her was quite pretty to watch. Establishing eye contact again, he would make a small, inviting hand gesture while he took the coffee cup with the other and guided it towards his lips.“Sure, the seat is free,”replied he with his loud, husky voice. Decades of smoking had left their mark there. Only recently had he succeeded in abstaining from it. Politics were full of stressful matters, especially when being outlawed by the government too, which had time after time driven him towards the cigarettes.
He unflashily adjusted his tie again, slackening its grip around his throat a bit more, then folded his hands on the table. Switch on the PDA again or not? Actually, he still had quite some stuff on his newsticker he hadn’t checked yet, but disinclination got the better of him. It wouldn’t hurt to have some smalltalk, he thought. The woman seemed rather new to him, as he thought to spot some insecurity in her behavior. New pilot, perhaps. Or just somebody who tried to avoid Deck two lately - she didn’t appear to him as a combatant either. Actually, it was kind of hard for him to take a guess at what she worked as - most probable to him was that she was a simple activist. Maybe got born into it. However, his look quickly turned into a squint for a few seconds. There was something about her that made him feel a little uneasy. He couldn’t quite characterize it - it was as though he had seen her before once or twice, but couldn’t remember when and where, and neither who she was. It was only the hint of a feeling, so he just marked it down as a simple instance of deja vu, and decided to not ponder more about it. Surely it was only his ageing mind that was deceiving him right now.
Reaching out one of his hands, he would say:“Emmanuel von Gottschall, Fräulein.”A small pause during which he began to smile again, gentleman-like.
She hadn’t expected him to actually be talkative. Nowadays, members of the Bundschuh seemed to be careful and quiet. A result of the catastrophic situation the movement was in, most likely. She didn’t act surprised, however. After all, she had been the one who initiated the conversation.“Johanna Vahlen.”She extended her hand too, absentmindedly offering her right one - Which lead to her grip while shaking the hands being significantly stronger than probably expected. She cursed herself for being so careless, but then calmed quickly again. If he had no idea who she was, the fact that she had a prosthetic hand would likely not give him enough of a hint anyway.
It seemed like the man was actually looking forward to a conversation, which came as a welcome change to the rest of the Bundschuh. She wasn’t exactly sure what, but maybe the man could shed some light into what had happened to her friends a while ago. She offered him a shy smile, fitting to her current persona.
Because of her apparent shyness, she could stay silent for a few moments more than generally acceptable. She mustered the man, at least what she could see right now. A PDA, coffee - milky coffee, her mind noticed with disgust - and a relatively old face. A politician or a rich supporter of the movement, likely. Given the current situation more likely the former than the latter. Currently, the rich people from the house itself tended to prefer meetings on their respective home worlds, given the… unsafe nature of Rheinlands unlawful bases.
She put her own coffee cup down on the table, catching a glimpse of her worried face in the black fluid. She looked up again, smiling nervously and letting out a sigh that was supposed to signify her uncertainty. She had to admit to herself that today, her act was done quite well. After the few moments of silence, she finally broke it again, carefully making sure that her accent stayed noticeable, but not obnoxious. She had long ago found out that men tended to find accents, particularly ones that were not too heavy, attractive - and men who felt attracted to oneself were always easier to manipulate. “Reading something interesting?”She made it seem like the question had taken her a while to come up with - and to be fair, that was not entirely inaccurate. And what the man was reading was indeed interesting to her. It would help her judge what kind of person he was.
She had to admit to herself that she felt a bit guilty for already planning out how she would try to manipulate the man into finding the information she needed. Sure, there wasn’t really another choice, but still. She kept fidgeting her hands, before she took a sip again. Almost hiding behind her cup, she kept mustering the area around them, as if she was trying to make sure nobody would stab her in the back. While she herself was completely aware of her surroundings, the act of the scared young woman had to be upheld.
It surprised Emmanuel a little to feel the woman’s tight grip around his hand, but he kept a stiff upper lip about it. To him and probably everybody else in the café she didn’t really appear to be a musclehead. Add to that her timid behavior - Emmanuel knew that with a thoroughly fit body usually came higher self-esteem - and the woman that had sat down right next to him would prove to be quite an antithesis to him. Interesting, he thought and took a note in his mind, also recognizing her eastern accent. Releasing her hand again - or rather, she released his -, he retracted his arm again and casually laid it on the table, supporting himself against it a little. For a few seconds he eyed her up again, thoughts and deliberations beginning to run through his head. He just stared into her eyes without any kind of motion. That such a young woman preferred to sit down next to an old fart like him also got him into thinking. Peculiar. Briefly, his face took on a stern expression. Then however, his mien slackened, and he smiled softly again. He didn’t want to come across as too much of a grump. What he however couldn’t neglect was the dyed hair of his opposite. A punk? That was a trademark for the Unioners, but for the Bundschuh? He would have shaken his head over it, but he restrained.“My bad, I was lost in thoughts,”he said and reached for the PDA.“A pleasure to meet you, Frau Vahlen.” Little pause, then a light chuckle. “Has anybody ever told you that you got a strong grip for a lady?”
Followed by a quick glance around his surroundings, he would sip from the coffee with relish, but avoid to make an obnoxious slurping sound while doing so. People’s heads were blocking his view, otherwise he would have checked if there were still others seats free right now. Instead, he just dropped back in his brown leather armchair and crossed his legs. He would lay the PDA on his lap and rest his hands on top of it. There were thousands of other things that were still needed to be done, with processing the dozens of articles that had grown rampant on his PDA leading the way. But for the love of it, he couldn’t bring himself to read more for now. The speech he had read had already been enough to satisfy his inner, captious critic for at least a few hours. Not to mention that a conversation might prove to be interesting, if only to catch a glimpse on how the spirit of the everyday Bundschuh activist was like these days. He didn’t get overly worried about the fact that he had caused a slight pause by now by not saying much. It was one of his peculiarities; that he sometimes liked to just pause the conversation for a moment and see what happens, what the other’s reaction would be like.
He looked down at his PDA, then into her eyes once more. He stuttered a bit clumsily, as if he had been lost in thoughts. “Oh, oh well, interesting is subjective, isn’t it? One might find something interesting and captivating, while somebody else finds it boring and not worth his time.”Clearing his throat, he resumed shortly after. “I’ve read up on some speeches that were held in the Parteikongress.” He could have added that he found them disgusting mostly, but he didn’t want to spoil too much of his own opinions. For now, he didn’t want to reveal he was an actual politician. Instead, he first wanted to see how inquisitive she was. Fingering his beard, he went on.“It’s an interesting read, sometimes. Not always, though”For a moment he looked down on the table, seemingly pensive.
