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veilbreak2026-01-27 04:22 pm
stayonscript) wrote in veilbreak2026-01-27 04:22 pm
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WHO: Taryn Payne & Dr. Talia Verin
WHEN: After the Lammu mission
WHERE: Command
WHAT: Taryn makes a request on Adrián’s behalf
WARNINGS: Some discussion of like, mass casualties in war, but it's pretty mild.
Hours after the mission, most of the crew of Mnemosyne had filtered out of Command and back into the common areas to share celebratory drinks (or, Taryn reflected privately, whatever it was the kids did these days). It wasn’t altogether surprising that Verin was still there, though. It was the first place Taryn thought to look for her.
“You should be celebrating,” Taryn said, knowing full well that Verin was not prone to strong emotions of any sort let alone positive ones. “This is very good news.”
She looked up from the sheaf of papers she’d been studying — notes on mission specifics, things that could have gone smoother, areas for improvement. There was always something that could be improved upon if one looked hard enough, and she’d spent the last two decades doing just that. Even with the unqualified success of this mission, her brain still sought for ways to move faster, more efficiently.
Celebrating would only come when there was nothing else to be done.
“It is, but we could have been faster with the relocation, and node destruction still had blowback,” Verin replied, but set the papers down.
“Always something that needs improving,” Taryn agreed, although with a sharp sentiment in her tone. “I’d give you a harder time about that, but I’m also here on business. Aldana said you’ve been denying his requests.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Did he now?”
“Yes, he did,” Taryn said, situating herself so she was leaning up against a console adjacent to the table Verin was using for her files. “I don’t want to get into the weeds with you on what’s right or wrong. I doubt that’s an argument I’m likely to win.”
The sentiment was heartfelt and without resentment. Throughout their efforts with Dislinked, she’d always respected Verin for her pragmatism and mental acuity. But as deep as that admiration ran, it posed a problem to her now. She wasn’t a woman who was easily convinced of anything, let alone something that she’d already previously made her mind up on.
“Adrián thinks he can get those margins down if he can fine-tune the neuroclast,” Taryn continued after a moment of silent contemplation. She turned her eyes away from Verin to instead appraise a nearby digital screen, with its readouts of the mission results. “Now’s not the time to deny him anything he needs to accomplish that. Even human volunteers.” She put particular emphasis on the final word. “We’re already asking people to risk their lives every day. We all understand the stakes. He’s not going to sugarcoat the risks to any potential test subjects and it’s critical this work gets done. Hell, I’d volunteer myself if I weren’t a TIF.”
“Human volunteers is how we got to this place.” The reminder was mild and yet felt as gritty as dust in her throat. Her involvement in everything before the Fall, her role in it all, wasn’t a secret. Every member of the resistance that joined them knew that she and her original team had started the countdown clock on the end of humanity’s free will. It had been her hubris and her unquenchable desire to see just how far she could go, what technology was truly capable of, that had been their downfall.
Founding the resistance, devoting what was left of her life to undo what she had done, was her penance.
“There are too many unknown factors, Taryn, and we’re already stretched thin. This has the potential to sideline people we need on the ground. Is the potential of what Adrián can achieve worth the very real loss that we will suffer when—if—it goes wrong?”
“You know I can’t answer that question for certain. If we had perfect foresight our jobs would be a whole lot easier,” Taryn said, and then gave a heavy sigh as she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. “What I do know is that there will come a day when we have to apply this technology to a city, or a country, or the entire world. Now I’d do that today if it was what it took to win this war, but if Adrián thinks improvement is possible I’m inclined to believe him. This could mean saving millions more in the long run.”
It was sensible. Taryn was always sensible, and Talia was certain that was why she was here rather than Adrián once again arguing his case. The Spaniard’s temperament had never been suited to the nuance of negotiation.
She exhaled, the weight of it all settling heavily on her shoulders. There was no good answer here, but if they could save more lives… “Very well. But,” she continued before Taryn could reply, “we don’t start this until next month. We just had a win: let them celebrate it. I’ll set up time with everyone so Adrián can present his proposal, and we can go from there.”
Taryn couldn’t help a self-satisfied smirk at this response, but she bit it down the best she could. She just nodded, picked her weight up off the console, and paused a moment before leaving.
“I was serious about celebrating,” she said, voice a little softer and less businesslike. “Come have a drink. Seeing you there will be good for everyone’s morale.”
Talia shot Taryn a wry smile, ignoring the foreboding lodged in her sternum. “Just for an hour.”
WHEN: After the Lammu mission
WHERE: Command
WHAT: Taryn makes a request on Adrián’s behalf
WARNINGS: Some discussion of like, mass casualties in war, but it's pretty mild.
Hours after the mission, most of the crew of Mnemosyne had filtered out of Command and back into the common areas to share celebratory drinks (or, Taryn reflected privately, whatever it was the kids did these days). It wasn’t altogether surprising that Verin was still there, though. It was the first place Taryn thought to look for her.
“You should be celebrating,” Taryn said, knowing full well that Verin was not prone to strong emotions of any sort let alone positive ones. “This is very good news.”
She looked up from the sheaf of papers she’d been studying — notes on mission specifics, things that could have gone smoother, areas for improvement. There was always something that could be improved upon if one looked hard enough, and she’d spent the last two decades doing just that. Even with the unqualified success of this mission, her brain still sought for ways to move faster, more efficiently.
Celebrating would only come when there was nothing else to be done.
“It is, but we could have been faster with the relocation, and node destruction still had blowback,” Verin replied, but set the papers down.
“Always something that needs improving,” Taryn agreed, although with a sharp sentiment in her tone. “I’d give you a harder time about that, but I’m also here on business. Aldana said you’ve been denying his requests.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Did he now?”
“Yes, he did,” Taryn said, situating herself so she was leaning up against a console adjacent to the table Verin was using for her files. “I don’t want to get into the weeds with you on what’s right or wrong. I doubt that’s an argument I’m likely to win.”
The sentiment was heartfelt and without resentment. Throughout their efforts with Dislinked, she’d always respected Verin for her pragmatism and mental acuity. But as deep as that admiration ran, it posed a problem to her now. She wasn’t a woman who was easily convinced of anything, let alone something that she’d already previously made her mind up on.
“Adrián thinks he can get those margins down if he can fine-tune the neuroclast,” Taryn continued after a moment of silent contemplation. She turned her eyes away from Verin to instead appraise a nearby digital screen, with its readouts of the mission results. “Now’s not the time to deny him anything he needs to accomplish that. Even human volunteers.” She put particular emphasis on the final word. “We’re already asking people to risk their lives every day. We all understand the stakes. He’s not going to sugarcoat the risks to any potential test subjects and it’s critical this work gets done. Hell, I’d volunteer myself if I weren’t a TIF.”
“Human volunteers is how we got to this place.” The reminder was mild and yet felt as gritty as dust in her throat. Her involvement in everything before the Fall, her role in it all, wasn’t a secret. Every member of the resistance that joined them knew that she and her original team had started the countdown clock on the end of humanity’s free will. It had been her hubris and her unquenchable desire to see just how far she could go, what technology was truly capable of, that had been their downfall.
Founding the resistance, devoting what was left of her life to undo what she had done, was her penance.
“There are too many unknown factors, Taryn, and we’re already stretched thin. This has the potential to sideline people we need on the ground. Is the potential of what Adrián can achieve worth the very real loss that we will suffer when—if—it goes wrong?”
“You know I can’t answer that question for certain. If we had perfect foresight our jobs would be a whole lot easier,” Taryn said, and then gave a heavy sigh as she tilted her head back to look at the ceiling. “What I do know is that there will come a day when we have to apply this technology to a city, or a country, or the entire world. Now I’d do that today if it was what it took to win this war, but if Adrián thinks improvement is possible I’m inclined to believe him. This could mean saving millions more in the long run.”
It was sensible. Taryn was always sensible, and Talia was certain that was why she was here rather than Adrián once again arguing his case. The Spaniard’s temperament had never been suited to the nuance of negotiation.
She exhaled, the weight of it all settling heavily on her shoulders. There was no good answer here, but if they could save more lives… “Very well. But,” she continued before Taryn could reply, “we don’t start this until next month. We just had a win: let them celebrate it. I’ll set up time with everyone so Adrián can present his proposal, and we can go from there.”
Taryn couldn’t help a self-satisfied smirk at this response, but she bit it down the best she could. She just nodded, picked her weight up off the console, and paused a moment before leaving.
“I was serious about celebrating,” she said, voice a little softer and less businesslike. “Come have a drink. Seeing you there will be good for everyone’s morale.”
Talia shot Taryn a wry smile, ignoring the foreboding lodged in her sternum. “Just for an hour.”