This series of stories, as I am going to add more to this as I go along, will be focused around two of the more, interesting, politicians in Zoids: Chaotic Century and Zoids: Guardian Force, the Madam President of the Helic Republic Louise Camford, and Prime Minister Homaleff of the Guylos Empire, who I have given the name Meinrad. They both periodically show up through out the series, and tend to have a more, mature, view of the world, or at least a more world weary one, which as I got older became more appealing to me then Van and Thomas's bickering, and also because I got the feeling that if they ever were developed more as characters the possibility of them becoming either good friends or more would show up. So it lead to the idea of these short tales, filling in gaps where in the episodes they never really explain certain things. The next one should be up fairly quickly, as I'm already working on it. Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Zoids, and am making no profit off of this.

Title: Dreams of Peace

Rating: T

Word Count: 1,337

Characters: Homaleff, Burkhard, Rudolph

Episode: The Doom Machine

Notes: I was watching The Doom Machine and realized we never really got to see why Homaleff was out on the road with his guards, and also because in a few earlier episodes he looked ready to murder Prozen for his stunts. So I wrote this as kind of a way to get a feel for him in that transitional period between Prozen being in charge and Rudolph's return, and he came out...well he came out like this. The rating is because I'm being safe and Homaleff at one point does swear and his thoughts get, kinda dark and sarcastic.

"I still don't see why we're out here, I mean we passed the palace several hours ago, why didn't we just stay there?"

"Seriously, I think he's seeking a change of scenery, after all Prozen's coronation is tomorrow, do you really think he wants to stick around for that after the last few weeks?"

The idle chatter across the comm. slowly changed from the reason for being on the road to the latest advance in Rev Raptor modifications, as half of the unit currently marching down the road consisted of the red raptor Zoid. The other half, consisting of Molga's, inserted their comments at witty intervals, an attempt to lighten the mood of the lone Red Horn and its pilot on all fronts as soon the Rev Raptor pilots conversation had devolved into bets on whose Rev Raptor was the fastest and who could punt a Molga the farthest, earning several half-hearted growls and even a dare from one of the larvae Zoid pilots to try and see what would happen if they tried. Even as the soldiers bantered back and forth and their Zoids started to hiss and click, the lone Red Horn and its pilot stayed silent, eye's not really focused on the road or the group of smaller Zoids in front of them.

Images of a bright eyed boy running around the woods, laughter on his lips and several panicked adults had filled the silent pilot's mind, of the boys grin as he caught a butterfly or somehow managed to trip up multiple adults in one go without trying. Of the boy, his eyes filled with tears and small frame trembling when his grandfather had died, of himself comforting him when he had managed to elude his caretakers and he had known where to look. They were enough to bring an ache to his chest, and a sympathetic grumble from his Zoid, who seemed to pick up on his pilot's mood even as he all but guided himself down the road. Those images, those memories, were far to stinging on top of a loss just as great, the loss of the boy's grandfather, and they were what he was running from. For if he stayed in the Empire, through a rushed funeral for the boy and then the coronation of the most selfish, ambitious cunning man he had ever seen in far too many years for him to count, he was damn sure he would strangle the selfish, ambitious and cunning bastard himself, in public no less, to prove a point.

Under Prozen the Empire had no peaceful future ahead of it, no hope of no more childless, parentless households, of intact villages and no fear.

It was a thought that had him chilled to the bone, and simultaneously far more tired than he would ever admit to being if asked. No hope meant that any words he could say were meaningless to the people, which would make his job far more difficult than it already would be underneath Prozen, the ache in his hands and fingers were a silent reminder of that. Of course he could run from it all, for a time, like he was doing now, but sooner or later he would have to go back. If only to, in some way, insure the dream of the late Zepplin dynasty of a peaceful and long lived Guylos Empire lived on, even if in only a handful of soldiers who could pass it on.

"That is of course, assuming I live past his coronation." He muttered softly, resting his head on his seats headrest, eyes closed, and a small smile on his lips as his Zoid grumbled his protest at the thought. Leave it to Burkhard to be the optimist when his pilot had all but resigned himself to his near death. "If I do, I'll make sure to come out myself and retouch your paint job, polish your canopy and sharpen your horn."

As Burkhard growled his pleasure at the thought, a sound he felt as well as heard in the cockpit as it was more of a rumbling, low pitched sound meant for him only, he noticed a blip on his sensors. The drop in chatter over the comm. told him the others had picked it up as well, and with little discussion, they all moved into the nearby woods, fingers poised on triggers and eyes locked on to the road.

As the blip moved closer, it soon became apparent that their target was a lone Gustav hauling two Zoids under tarps, and it had Burkhard ready to charge head long into the fray by himself, if the slight tug on the controls was anything to go by. But caution was the better part of valor, or at least was courteous to the assassination plans of the soon to be Emperor, and he allowed the Rev Raptor's to jump out first, then the Molga's, then himself and Burkhard in the rear. What he saw when the Gustav's cockpit, nearly stopped his heart, and he urged the aging Red Horn to the front of the pack, opening the cockpit as soon as possible to hault the spiky haired boy and to draw the attention of the bright eyed boy in the Gustav still.

If he had been in lesser health he was positive he would have collapsed from a heart attack. If he had been anywhere else, he was positive he would have cried. The one thing that he could do he did, and that was gather the boy up in a tight embrace, and Meinrad Homaleff would be damned if he let go of the young prince, for right then was the only time he was positive it was real. That the Empire could be saved, and the ache in his hands wasn't for naught. The happy rumble from Burkhard and the Rev Raptor's, along with the excited click's of the Molga's told him he wasn't the only one thinking that.

"You remember where the Prime Minister's residence is?" He asked the boy, not letting go for fear of it being a dream, or some nightmare concocted by Prozen through some sort of odd and no doubt painful experiment.

"Yeah, it's a few hours behind you right?" While the boy's voice was muffled against Homaleff's jacket, the questioning tone was easily picked up.

"That's right, gather up your friend's there, and follow us back, we can talk there without fear," he sent a worried glance around the immediate area, though he had faith in Burkhard or one of the other pilots alerting him to any sort of trouble if it arose.

Homaleff slowly released Rudolph, the relieved smile never leaving his face, even as he climbed back into Burkhard's cockpit and had to remind his pilots to cut the chatter for a bit in case the Gustav behind them had a question. After all, it wasn't ever day nine Imperial Guards were honored enough to escort not only the Prime Minister but the Crowned Prince at the same time, and if the Crowned Prince got lost, all nine of those guardsmen knew they would be much happier working under Prozen then the enraged Prime Minister in his Red Horn.

But with the Crowned Prince back the guardsmen grinned and carried on with their job, the friendly banter absent at the beginning of their return trip, but their Zoids all seemed to have more spring in their step and a few heads seemed to bob to an invisible beat that didn't quite fit the normal head movements of their Zoids. And even if a Rev Raptor accidentally kicked a Molga and the pilots started to argue twenty minutes in, Homaleff could only grin, and Burkhard rumbled his amusement. For the first time sense Prozen had declared himself the next Emperor, the world didn't seem so dark, and maybe, just maybe, the Empire would see the peace that so many had fought and died for.