The Insider
By El Su/Ashy
Act I Chapter III
------
Amie
It pains me to remember that day; the day I learned Preventer had
caught Midii Une, so I won't dwell on it, for now.
This was the day I took the first tentative steps to becoming like my
mother. I was eighteen and thus of age and ready to commit fully to
my duties, the first of which involved a trip beyond Earth's
atmosphere and into the great void. I had never been to Space before,
and I did so with mixture of excitement and trepidation. The sheer
speed of which I would be travelling made me feel light-headed and
weak even before I stepped on board the shuttle bound for Colony L-3
X18999. Anyone else would wonder how they were supposed to remember
the names of the individual colony clusters, without a prompt, when
trying to navigate their way around the Spaceport to the correct
terminal. Those abstruse strings of digits were perpetually
frustrating when listed together on the screens overhead.
I knew I had it right- X18999- even without looking at my notes,
because it was a notorious colony anyway, and I wasn't just an
ordinary person. Numbers and sequences would become ingrained deeply
in my consciousness, able to be summoned at any second I needed them.
I had an uncanny ability to remember even the most trivial of facts.
I attribute it to my time spent living in my mother's household, in
such a milieu of cautiousness and second-guesses.
I hardly needed the training I had received since, but They seemed to
think it was necessary anyway. `They' were a shadowy pair, in some
way connected to my mother's friends- the wider `family'. I didn't
know all of them but the two who swiftly became my mentors- a man and
a woman- I supposed must have been working at Moffet's taxi firm
while I was living away in Moscow. In fact, I recognised him at least.
She was in her early forties, I surmised; tall and slim, with a pale
face and long, wavy blonde locks, darker than my mother's and much
coarser. I couldn't decide if she was attractive or not; sometimes,
when she laughed at a joke, or at someone else's expense, her eyes
would twinkle and her face would soften into something more becoming,
but mostly she was as sharp-featured as she was sharp-witted. He was
younger than her, about thirty-nine or so, a taciturn man- lean but
athletic looking- with a thatch of wiry brown hair that fell over his
face in an unruly manner. His bicep muscles were prominent and bulged
unnaturally beneath his T-shirts. He always wore the same ones, as
though he lacked imagination when it came to dressing himself.
Both of them had blue eyes. I take note of details, can't help it.
It's the way I've been trained. Her blue eyes were almond shaped and
kindly, if a little patronising, when she wasn't frowning. In
contrast, his were large, and steely, beneath thick, dark brows. I
wasn't afraid of him though, for he never appeared to exhibit any
violence, and never said more than he needed to, which told me he was
a person of restraint. He was called Takitani Hiromitsu- of Japanese
origin, I was told. I tried to find something oriental looking about
him, but it seemed like bullshit to me. Her name was Salieh Black and
she said she was English. From Kent, wherever that was. She offered
this information; I didn't ask. You never asked.
They made an odd pair. They hardly spoke much with each other, but
seemed to have an unspoken understanding, a trust, which broke the
golden rule of this business: `trust no-one, not even your friends.'
For a while I fought against the notion that they were my pseudo-
parents, for I never really saw Takitani as the paternal sort.
Neither did I view Ms Black as a surrogate mother; she wasn't very
maternal; didn't ask how I felt or what I thought about things.
Everything was on the subject of my mission, and she was a hard
taskmaster.
I had known them a month - the first time I met them, a week after my
mother was seized. At first I believed she and Moffett had gone away
somewhere together- he was frequently whisking her off- but I began
to hear talk in our circle that Preventer had got to them. I had been
bundled into the back of a van on my way home after a late shift at
work and taken however many miles to a dim, sparse-looking office
space, attached to a small apartment. They had come looking for me.
My first thought was that they were my enemies.
"I am nothing to do with anything!" I had snapped, disorientated.
"We know your mother has been taken," the woman had replied, her
voice a military bark. "It is only a matter of time before they come
after you, and the rest of our family."
"Why am I so important?"
She gave me no answer for a moment, then, softer, she said; "Do you
want to help your mother?"
It was a loaded question. I decided to co-operate. They were family,
after all.
The day I left our Office in St. Petersburg, bound for Colony L-
3X18999, for `college', she squeezed my hand before I got into the
taxi, and hugged me like a mother would. So imbued with cynicism was
I, that I guessed she was doing it only to ensure our little goodbye
looked genuine. But perhaps she did care, because she held onto me
longer than she needed to. Even Hiromitsu, standing behind us, looked
mellower than usual, and he waved as the cab pulled away from the
kerb. I wanted to cry but I wasn't sure why.
I didn't.
****
I was to book a room in the less than resplendent Hotel Midas during
my immediate stay on L-3. The owners had more than milked the gold
theme, but the d?cor they had chosen was cheap and tacky, like fools
gold. At least it was clean. My mentors had provided me with the
funds, as my own paltry earnings could not cover the trip. I had
worked for a year in a single-screened cinema in Moscow which showed
Arthouse films. It didn't generate much cash and what I had, I spent.
I tried to be ordinary. I lived in a grubby bed-sit round the corner.
I had no future plans to save for, as my life seemed rootless. The
only constancy had been my travelling family of fraudsters, moving on
to pastures new when the authorities got to close for comfort. For
this reason, Moffet had insisted M?re and I move to Russia with him.
We had fled France when I was nine, shortly after I found out my
mother's real name, to live in London, then Geneva, then Strasbourg.
I found it hard to make genuine friendships. When I attended
temporary schools, I studied without enthusiasm and made few friends.
Sometimes it bothered me that I had no real interests, no passions,
other than perhaps, reading. I'd read about dancers and artists and
composers who just couldn't function without nurturing their inherent
obsessions. Nothing arrested me like it did them.
I took a cab to the Preventer HQ the very next morning, and couldn't
help noticing as I peered out of the window just how ugly L-3 X18999
was in daylight, an industrial sprawl, no doubt belching out
unsavoury chemicals to be channelled into Space. I had done my
research on this colony; it mainly dealt in pharmaceuticals and the
manufacture of car parts. The Earth's richer regions seemed to covet
the `cleaner' industries these days.
The exterior of the L-3 Preventer base was just as unsightly. I
supposed if the purpose of the building was to be inconspicuous,
there was little point assigning government funds to aesthetically-
pleasing architecture, doomed never to be appreciated. The expansive
structure was squat and wide, resembling a massive greenhouse, only
the panels of the windows were blacked out. It appeared most of the
base operated below colony surface level, where I imagined the car
parking spaces and the hangars were also situated.
After reciting the appropriate codes I had been given, I was
permitted inside the main gate and then the front entrance. I was
frisked by a door warden with an idle gun before being allowed to
proceed further. I reported to the snooty receptionist and she made a
quick internal phone call, before another woman led me into a tiny
adjoining room to be photographed, before presenting me with a
visitor's I.D card.
Once I returned to the reception, I waited for my chaperone and
surveyed my surroundings, peering around to see if I could spy any
other nervous interviewees. There were none. Most were probably
internal candidates anyway. I was an outsider, and I wasn't nervous,
I assured myself. The reception was sparse and unwelcoming, as though
the very walls were suspicious of sharing their secrets. The
Preventer emblem- a geometric `P'- was slapped across the faux marble
of the foyer floor. The smell of warm plastic- of slaving computers-
permeated the space.
Presently, a young man approached me and he grew younger the nearer
he drew. His solid frame was compact and masculine, but his face was
boyish, I saw; big wide eyes and a wide mouth to match. Only his nose
was small, and a little upturned. His hair was bluish, short,
exaggerating his pixie-like features. He must only have been a year
older than me, if that.
"Agent Bucky Maxwell." He grinned, and thrust out his hand
expectantly.
Right. My escort. A flirt. I had him pinned. `But don't be too sure,'
I chastised myself. It could be his cover. Never assume anything
about these people. Anyhow, I wasn't drawn to him. He was cute, in a
puckish sort of way, but not dashingly handsome. And I wasn't here to
make any real attachments. I shook the blunt-fingered paw politely.
"Charley- I mean the Deputy Chief- was supposed to be your tour guide
but she seemed to be in a delegating mood today, so I got the job."
He grinned again. "In case you were expecting her. Not that it's a
problem."
I cut through his gossip. It was clearly intended to put me at ease.
People are so transparent. "I wasn't. Do I show you this?"
I held out my ID. He inspected it for a moment and I felt a knot of
pressure clench in my gut. My face did not betray my nerves, though;
the visage I showed Agent Maxwell was confident, a small smile
tugging at the corners of my mouth, not enough to seem overly self-
assured, but enough to look pleasant. Innocent, even.
"Am?lie Gautier," he said. "Where are you from?"
"I'm French."
Was he stupid? My name, my accent; the fact my ID card
said `Nationality: French', on it in clear block capitals.
"No, I mean what part of France?"
He passed me the ID card back. Now I felt the stupid one, and I
didn't like that feeling.
"Paris," I said, struggling to retain the smile. "Belleville, to be
precise."
"Ah, the City of Love." He adopted a faux-French accent, one that I
could have interpreted as a mockery of mine, but chose not to.
He gestured towards the elevator at the end of the corridor, and once
inside, I could not help but check my reflection in the interior
mirror. I looked every inch the smart interviewee; patent black
shoes, a pencil skirt, and neatly pressed white blouse buttoned up to
the collar. No excess flesh on show or any flashy jewellery. Knowing
I looked the part, I relaxed a little inside, though my tension had
never been evident to my chaperone.
"So is it true?" he mused.
"What, Sir?"
It seemed odd addressing a nineteen-year-old as `Sir', but it was
necessary. I guessed that in this environment, age was irrelevant and
rank was everything.
"Paris; is it the City of Love, in your experience?"
I paused. Was his interest in Parisian life feigned, just to impress
me? Of course, I'd never lived there, but I had visited it before.
Yes, the artefacts were ancient. But there were also the busy inner
city roads, where at least a few people died in traffic accidents
each day, rude waiters and swarms of tourists, there to view the
culture. I couldn't see what it had to do with love. Aesthetics,
atmosphere, maybe, but that was different.
"Not especially," I said.
"Have you always lived there?"
I felt my hackles rising, and my adrenal glands responding to the
alarm his casual trickle of questions was raising inside me. Maybe
this was the `unofficial interview'- Maxwell got the measure of me,
the first impression, and passed this information onto his superiors.
I focused on the story Ms Black had pummelled into me, day after day,
night after night; jolting me awake at odd hours to make sure that
even in my bleariest moments, I would remember who I was supposed to
be. Forcing me to go without sleep occasionally, and quizzing me on
my identity, as I battled fatigue. Making me go without food for a
day at a time, to ensure even the pangs of hunger and the faintness
this brought on, would not cause me to slip up. That was about as far
as she took it. Enough to be uncomfortable, not enough to feel like
true torture. And I was always rewarded afterwards by long lie-ins
and delicious dinners. Besides, I was doing all this for Midii Une-
my precious mother- and it was worth it.
"I haven't always lived in Paris," I said, in reply to Bucky's
question, urging myself to be more talkative. "I was born there, but
I have lived in a few places, actually." I took a chance. "What about
you?"
It was a vague enough question not to look suspicious.
"Oh?" He scratched his head. "I've always lived on L-2 till I came to
work here last year. Guess I wanted to follow in my old man's
footsteps."
I didn't ask who his old man was.
****
I had heard the Chief of the Space Preventers was very beautiful. I
found it to be true; Mariemaia Kushrenada *was* beautiful, radiating
a mature elegance. Her hair was flame red, but darker than it was in
the history books. Then she was depicted as no more than a seven-year-
old girl with a haunting smirk and a uniform too big for her. The way
that hat-feather had drooped over her small, pinched face, had looked
at once both sad and comical. There was nothing pinched or pathetic
about her now, as she stood to her full, majestic height and shook my
hand with a pleasant, open smile.
"Pleased to meet you," said the Chief. "I am Mariemaia Kushrenada,
and this is Agent Charlotte Chang, my deputy."
Her second in command, loitering behind her, was younger than her,
but older than me. About twenty, I reckoned. She was clearly of
Chinese decent, unusually tall and lanky for someone of such a
heritage.
"It's a pleasure," said the Chinese woman, but it did not look a
pleasure. She gave me a perfunctory handshake, which involved her
snatching my hand rather than me offering her it. "And you are??"
"Am?lie Gautier," I lied with ease, my confidence expanding. No, I
shouldn't fret as I had done with Maxwell. Not even a polygraph could
catch me out. I'd practiced with them extensively, listening to
Hiromitsu's endless drone of questions- embarrassing questions-
delivered in a monotone, and answering them accordingly. Another
method he had used involved monitoring a digital screen on which was
projected a close-up of my pupils. Eventually neither these nor my
physical reactions belied any of my untruths. I think if my life had
have been different, I'd have made a rather accomplished screen
actress, or at least some sort of performer.
Mariemaia left the nondescript office, then- some other matter to
attend to- claiming she would speak to me further in fifteen minutes.
I was left with her deputy and my escort. I sensed that Deputy Chang
didn't like me. It could have been due to something very simple, such
as the fact I was prettier than her; she had good cheekbones- I
conceded her that- but she was sour-looking. Her nose was long and
sharp, accentuated by the way her hair was scraped back severely into
a chignon gathered at her nape. And we were the same height despite
her age-seniority, so it wasn't as though she could add that to her
reasons to act superior. As I was applying for a secretarial
position, her respect for me was probably minimal.
But perhaps her disdain had nothing to do with superficialities or
rank at all; perhaps she sensed I was a fraud. If that was so, then
all my training, all my many tests and trials, were in vain. I knew I
had to ingratiate myself to her in some way.
"The Chief won't be long. You can sit there at that workstation while
you wait," she said, pointing to a padded office chair, and repeated-
"There"- as though I had not heard her the first time. "I am sure
you know better than to touch anything and if you do, Maxwell will
report it." She turned to the boy, hissed, "And don't stare at her
like that."
"Jealous, Charley?" He cackled.
Charley Chang. The alliteration was somewhat amusing to me. And
wasn't that a man's name?
"My name-" She shot her subordinate a filthy glare. "-Is Deputy
Chang. You know you only get away with it because of who your daddy
is. If it was up to me?" She folded her arms, then promptly unfolded
them and picked up a sheaf of papers. "I won't be long." With that,
she left the office and the clicking of her steel-capped boots could
be heard receding down the corridor.
Bucky stretched out against the backrest of his chair, languid, like
a cat on a warm flagstone. "Don't mind her," he said. "She's all
right, really. Probably just her time of the month. I can't believe
we have two in charge here now!" Women, he meant. He looked instantly
apologetic and flailed his arms, "I don't mean?I?"
I thought: to say she was his direct senior and the L-3 Deputy-Chief,
he was rather disrespectful in the way he addressed Chang. Maybe I
could make something of this impertinence and use it to my own
advantage- act like I wasn't keen on him either. Then she might view
me differently. Clearly she saw the pair of us as children though she
was little more than an overgrown teen herself.
It was alarming how the young were thrust into such positions of
authority in this world, without much time to gain wisdom.
Apparently, years ago, it hadn't been that way.
"It's okay," I replied. "I didn't take offence."
The youth rubbed his chin. "Hmm. There's no gender here, really.
We're all the same. That's what I meant to say."
"I see."
Inwardly tense, I waited.
****
One thing was certain- during the minutes of clenching my calves and
steadying my breathing, I never estimated how apprehensive I would
feel with Mariemaia Kusheranada actually sitting opposite me, one
fine-sculpted leg crossed over the other. In her slender hands, she
held my file. This was crunch time. I could not afford to botch this
up.
On the wall of her office was a portrait of her father. I'd seen
pictures of Treize Kushrenada before. He was suavely attractive with
the biggest shoulders I'd ever seen on a man, accentuated by the huge
gold epaulettes adorning his uniform of royal blue. I glanced briefly
at the portrait. His smile was enigmatic, his hair the same coppery
gold as the detail on his dress. What struck me most was his profound
youth. He looked no older than twenty five, probably not even that-
and yet that smile suggested a wisdom beyond his years, or at least
the illusion of it.
"I see you are drawn to my father," said Mariemaia, not missing a
trick.
"Yes, the painting is magnificent," I replied. "Who was the artist?"
She tilted her head. "I have no idea. Some Romerfellar associate I
expect." She sneezed then, which seemed to embarrass her poise. "I do
apologise."
I smiled courteously but did not offer her a blessing, as appeared to
be the etiquette when someone sneezed. I found it rather artificial,
myself, and not wishing to appear too sycophantic, I looked at her
directly, prompting her to begin the interview. No point beating
around the bush.
"Your resume is impressive, given your age," she said. "So. Tell me
more about yourself, Amelia Gautier."
"Am?lie ."
"Oh, Am?lie . Gracious. Typos. Precisely why I need a new secretary."
She smiled again, and I got the impression she was joking.
"I was born in AC 201," I said without wavering, "My father was an ex-
Oz lieutenant. His name was Lieutenant Philippe Gautier formally part
of a battalion from Paris."
"I see." She glanced down at my documents arranged in a manila
folder, as though prompting her memory. "And he was later a member of
the Treize Faction, I believe?"
"Yes. He was caught up in the Romerfellar attack near the Sanc
Kingdom in AC 195. He fought alongside one of the Gundams?the one the
called 01 I believe, and though he was injured in a Taurus suit, he
survived to cross the border with the rest of the salvaged troops."
"Lucky man," Kushrenada said, her luminous blue eyes wide with
surprise. "What an interesting story."
The choice of word she used- `story' unsettled me somewhat.
"Eventually, he returned to France and there he met my mother," I
said, my lips smiling.
"Tell me about your mother."
"Her name was Marie-Anne Beaumont," I replied. "She was an
intellectual at the Academy of Paris after it was restored following
the Alliance bombing. She died giving birth to me."
If she had anyone verify these details, Hiromitsu's glorious hacking
skills would easily ensure them my tale was the absolute truth. She
would have been required to do a background check on me before even
thinking of interviewing me and quite clearly `Am?lie Gautier', the
daughter of a bogus Pro-Treize Lieutenant, had survived intact.
"So you were brought up with your father?"
"Yes. Until I was sixteen. He perished in a traffic accident- an
ironic, meaningless fate for a solider." Salieh had told me not to
make too much of my `father's' attachment to Treize- using the
leader's name too often- or else I might appear be manipulating
Mariemaia's favour. Instead, I had merely alluded to the man's ideals
about battle and death. "After my father died, I continued with my
studies at the same Academy as my mother, and graduated- "
"With straight A's, I believe." Kushrenada gestured to my documents,
her expression inscrutable.
"And I supported myself since then in various secretarial jobs for
businesses and governors. The details are all there in my file."
I was unsure just how They had managed to account for my credentials.
So much about them remained a mystery to me; where their origins lay,
what they were capable of. I had suspicions they had once been
military, or had some inside knowledge about the machinations of this
organisation. I wondered what had made them defect but conversation
had never strayed to such territory. Only one thing I was certain of;
they had both killed. Given they were connected to a crime syndicate,
it should have been a reasonable conclusion, but somehow there was a
difference between knowing it and feeling it in ones very being. I
did whatever they instructed me.
Mariemaia shifted on her chair, and crossed her legs the other
way. "Tell me, Miss Gautier, what made you apply for work as my
secretary here in Space?"
This was the most pivotal aspect of the entire interview. I gave an
acceptable pause before I launched into my script. "To be truthful,"
I said emphatically clasping my hands together, "to work within this
agency has been my dream. I have always felt a certain loyalty to the
Preventers, especially since its leaders were linked to Treize
Kushrenada whom my father loved and respected deeply. I am committed
to doing all I can to help sustain a peaceful world, in whatever
small measure. I believe I am a professional and trustworthy person,
and though am aware my youth might not stand in my favour, I am
confident I can handle anything I am required to do."
"I see," said Mariemaia, resting her elbow on her thigh, chin in
hand. "I see. Well, you certainly seem committed."
"I am."
"And you are aware of the restrictions which will be placed upon you
working within an organisation such as this? My desire is not to seem
patronising given how much you must already know of Preventer, but I
am required to express; once you're in here, relationships with the
outside world can never be entirely the same."
"I understand that."
"Well then. You will hear by tonight if you have been accepted,"
Mariemaia said.
She stood and shook my hand warmly. "It's been a pleasure to meet
you, Miss Gautier."
I left the building shortly after, Agent Maxwell leading the way. I
was searched on my way out and he lingered until I was permitted to
leave. As the automatic doors slid open to allow my exit, I turned
briefly, noticed his small wave, his parting grin naturally wide. I
still could not decide if it was sincere.
****
That evening I waited alone in my gaudy hotel room, every so often
getting up from my chair to pace the carpeted floor. I entertained
the idea of ordering room service but my appetite had long since
deserted me. I did not wish to report to Black and Takitani that I
had failed them. No; not only them, I had failed my mother.
The restlessness in my bones had almost reached its unbearable peak,
when the shrill ring-tone of my cell phone sounded and I went to it,
accepting the call. An unidentified number.
"Hello. Am?lie Gautier speaking," I said, sounding more casual than I
felt. I knew one of two coded phrases would be spoken to me.
A terse voice: "This is the Chief's current secretary. You have been
accepted. Report to reception tomorrow at 0800 hours and provide your
measurements."
"Yes, Ma'am."
The measurements were for my uniform, I guessed. Relief seeped
through me as I realised the magnificence of the stunt I had managed
to pull off. A delirious dizziness held me captive for a moment. I-
Amie Bonnet- had managed to keep a straight face and hoodwink the
Chief of the Space Preventers with an entirely cock-and-bull story.
Not that I could take any credit for its crafting.
I went outside to the payphone directly opposite the hotel entrance,
appearing nonchalant, and dialled the number that was etched into my
brain.
"Hello?" A familiar female voice spoke up on the other end of the
line. She did not activate the visual link.
"Success," was all I said.
"Ah. Well done."
She could have sounded more excited, I thought, with some irritation.
It was unusual that I allowed trivialities such as this to affect me,
but I had suffered for this position and I felt the human craving for
some acknowledgement.
"When do you next want to speak to me?"
"When you next have something to tell me."
"Right." I digested this. "Okay."
"Good luck," she said. "And- well done. Really. You did a good job.
Goodbye."
I smiled. Well, that was about as much gushing as I was going to get,
and really, I should have been ashamed of myself. People did all
number of risky things for what they believed in, for their vision,
not just for some paltry praise or reward. How mercenary of me. I
wanted to tell my mother about it all, and felt a pang that she was
ignorant of everything I had been through since her capture.
As I came out of the phone box, I bumped into a tall man with a
leather suitcase. "Pardon Monsieur!" I exclaimed, my French a
language reflex. He didn't say anything, but he didn't seem annoyed.
I watched him walk away down the street, before I returned to the
brassy gold of the Hotel Midas.
TBC?
The Insider Part 3 (Eventual 3x12 & others)
Moderator: Lauren
