Chapter 1

"11:00 high! Break formation and engage. Don't let them get near Colony 8!" Sergeant Stephen McAvoy yanked his joystick, swinging his FF-4 Toriares fighter into position. In front of him, a wing of Zeon Dopp fighters sailed sluggishly toward the distant battle around Island Ilfish Space Colony 8. Mackenzie keyed on his machine guns and lined up the aiming reticule on his HUD (Heads-Up Display) on the leading fighter. Slowly he let out a breath and squeezed the trigger. A line of bright yellow tracers streaked through the blackness, making a beeline for the Dopp. The rounds tore through the tail, shredding it and tearing apart the fighter's rear. The engine lit up, exploding in a burst of purple smoke and flame before dying in the vacuum. The other Dopps soon followed as the rest of the FF-4s opened fire.

McAvoy took stock of the fight around him. His sector was mostly clear, but all around were the yellow spherical flashes of beam weaponry and exploding starships. He let out a breath. All of Side 2 seemed to be lit up with the flames of combat. The battle seemed to be going in the Federation's favor. Most of Zeon's equipment was outdated and the Federation had the advantage in numbers and training, but this attack had really caught them flatfooted. One minute it had been business as usual, and the next a swarm of Zeon fighters were firing on Colony 8. L4 was all but filled with them by the time the Feds scrambled their fighters. McAvoy sat back in his seat. This didn't make any sense. What were they trying to accomplish? There was nothing here worth attacking. Even if they managed to drive the Federation out, they would have captured nothing but a handful of civilian colonies with no real military significance. So what was their game? His earpiece crackled as one of his wingmen came over the radio.

"Boss!" he yelled. "Colony 8! Look at it!"

"What?" McAvoy responded, shifting his gaze toward the massive station. The hulking colony looked the same as before, with explosions and flames all around. However, something was off. McAvoy couldn't quite figure it out. Then it hit him. "My God," he breathed. "It's moving!" It was true. The continent-sized space station was slowly shifting away from its normal position. McAvoy's jaw dropped in disbelief. It wasn't possible. The station still had civilians on board. They never moved a colony without evacuating the residents first. Either the fighting was growing so intense as to warrant an emergency maneuver, or, more likely, "It's Zeon."

"What?" asked the wingman.

"It's Zeon. It has to be. There's no protocol for moving a colony during combat. This must be what they're after."

"But why? Where are they taking it?"

McAvoy frowned. "I don't know. But it can't be good. Come in, Command! This is Lynx 1!"

A female voice came over the radio. "Go ahead, Lynx 1."

"Requesting permission to intervene at Colony 8. Zeon is moving it."

"Permission granted, Lynx 1. Stop that colony at all costs."

McAvoy grinned. "All right boys," he said. "You heard them. Come on! We've got lives to save!"

The response was immediate and unanimous. "Yes, sir!" The fighters formed a V formation and sped toward the moving station. As they neared the colony, McAvoy noticed a long line of tiny blue jets erupting from the side. He keyed the magnifier on his display, zooming the image in. The image was blurry, but it was obvious that whatever was producing those jets of flame was not part of the station. They were painted with the traditional Zeon olive drab green. McAvoy radioed his squadron.

"Everyone see those jets on the left side? That's our target. If you have missiles left, use them. Get those things off of there if you have to ram them!" The fighters sped closer and closer to the flames. McAvoy took another look at the image on his screen. Gradually, the image began to focus. The green pixelated blur morphed and shifted, revealing something that made McAvoy catch his breath. A line of over a hundred giant green robots were pressing against the colony wall, the thrusters on their backpacks pushing with tremendous force. McAvoy rubbed his eyes. He hit the image capture button on his switchboard and sent the image back to Command. This was a weapon he'd never seen before. Command would need the intel. If he had his way, there wouldn't be any parts left to analyze later. "Right!" he called. "Everyone, single file behind me. Let's make a run at them." Immediately the fighters responded by forming a straight line. One by one they soared over the line of machines, guns flashing and missiles streaking at the enormous machines. Sparks flew off of the robots' armor before the smoke and flames of the missiles enveloped them completely. The fighters completed their run and looked back to see the damage they had inflicted. McAvoy strained his eyes as the smoke gradually cleared. His heart sank into his stomach. Out of the hundreds of machines, only three were disabled. The guns hadn't left so much as a scratch, and most of the missiles had been harmless. What's worse, everyone in his wing was now out of missiles. "Right!" he said. "Everyone, back to base to rearm! It's going to be a tough slog. These guys are tough."

The fighters turned back toward their ship. As McAvoy came about, his cockpit lit up with a bright purple glow. He looked up from his instruments to see an enormous glowing robotic eye staring back at him. One of the green robots was hovering right in front of him, holding a huge rifle! A yell of surprise tore from his throat as he yanked back on his joystick, sending his fighter into a steep climb. The robot tracked his movement. He jammed his foot into the left pedal, turning hard left and rolling. Something big impacted his right wing, tearing straight through and missing his cockpit by inches. The damaged fighter began to roll crazily, oblivious to McAvoy's desperate commands. Suddenly, his fighter slammed to a stop, smashing his face into his control panel. He looked up, dazed. The purple glow was back, cast by the single eye. He glanced out the sides of the cockpit, looking for an escape, only to find that the FF-4 was trapped in the grip of the machine's manipulator hand. The eye seemed to glow brighter as the machine lifted its other arm, raising a tremendous battle axe. The blade began to glow bright orange, as if superheated. The machine tossed the fighter straight up like a ball. McAvoy's stomach turned from the sudden force, and he vomited into his helmet, clouding his visor. Through his foggy vision, he saw the axe blade descending on him. He closed his eyes tight, bracing for the impact.

Bing!

"Now arriving at Colony 13: Main docking bay. Please remain in your seats with your seat-belts fastened until the shuttle has come to a complete stop at the dock," said a soft female voice. Stephen sat bolt upright, smacking his head on the row of seats in front of him. He grunted and sat back, rubbing his forehead. He opened his eyes. He was on a civilian shuttle headed for Side 2: Colony 13. He let out a long breath. It had all been just a dream. A nightmare. He had been reliving the Battle of Loum, his first real fight; a baptism by fire. Stephen groaned and stretched his muscles, pushing the tense memories away somewhere deep. The shuttle jostled gently as the voice came back over the speaker. "We are now docked at Colony 13. You may now release your seat-belts. Please stand back from the automatic doors."

The doors opened with a hiss of releasing pressurized air. The passengers rose to their feet and moved toward the front of the spacecraft. Stephen followed the small mob out of the doors, feeling his feet drift from under him under the effect of the low gravity. He grabbed the handrail and pushed himself through the door, maneuvering around the less experienced space travelers still struggling to situate themselves. He floated easily out of the spacecraft and drifted toward the terminal exit. People bustled past him on either side, hurrying to their flights. All around were people waiting and staring eagerly at the space behind him, waiting for loved ones to follow. Stephen looked around sadly. He couldn't see her. He hadn't really expected her to show up, but he was nonetheless disappointed. He sighed, drifting past the crowd of tense greeters with his eyes trained on the passing floor tiles. He pulled his debit card out of his pocket, steering himself toward the rental car kiosk.

"Steve! Steve, is that you?"

Stephen spun around. There she was, right behind him. Lucie Carson. Her long, brown hair drifted weightlessly behind her. Stephen felt his heart swell. Even after two years of dating and a third of engagement, the mere sight of her took his breath away, and she had never looked more beautiful to him than at this moment. She saw his face and smiled bigger than he had ever seen. "It is you!" she cried, stretching out her arms. Stephen grinned, watching her struggle against her weightless momentum for a moment. He chuckled. His fiance rarely came to the spaceport and wasn't used to moving in low gravity. He planted one foot on the floor and pushed himself toward her. They collided hard and he heard her gasp at the impact. He had expected her to throw her arms around him. Instead, she clasped the sides of his face firmly between her hands and kissed him deeply. Stephen's felt his ears burn red hot as he returned the kiss. After several moments, Lucie pulled away and gazed into his eyes. "You're home!" She said, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. She hugged him close, her grip tight and desperate. "You have no idea how much I worried. When I heard about A Baoa Qu and didn't hear from you I thought for sure you'd been killed! Don't ever scare me like that again!"

Stephen squeezed her firmly. "I'm sorry," he said. "After the victory, They asked me to assist in collecting all the Zeon weapons. I didn't have a single minute to myself for over a month. Everything had to be collected, tagged, catalogued, and either stored or destroyed. The process is still going on now, in fact. I contacted you as soon as I could."

"I know," said Lucie. "You told me all that over the phone. I'm just glad you're home."

Stephen smiled, putting his hands on Lucie's shoulders and pushing her to arm's length, gazing into her bright green eyes and gently wiping away her tears. "Come on. Let's go. I want to see the neighborhood again."

She laughed with a slight sniffle. "OK," she replied, throwing a comedic salute and winking. "Let's get you home, soldier. It's time to receive your debriefing."

Zeon Captain Jed Davis pushed himself out of the shuttle. The tie around his neck floated freely behind him, flapping around in an irritating manner. He tugged at it, muttering under his breath. He couldn't remember the last time he'd worn civilian clothes, and he definitely hadn't missed them. Business attire had never suited him. The collars rose too high and chafed at his neck, the ties made it harder to breathe and swallow, as well as gave enemies a potential handle to strangle with, the pants were too fragile and fancy, making him constantly fear getting them dirty, and worst of all they restricted his movement, making them extremely awkward in low gravity. He grumbled again. Did the Federation seriously expect him to just go back to civilian life after everything that had happened?

Three men exited behind him. Davis smiled at them. Nimoy, Shatner, and Doohan, three extremely loyal ex-Zeon soldiers. His team. "Well, boys, we made it," he said. "Welcome to Colony 13. Get the barrels offloaded and let's get started moving in. Once you get that done go out and relax. Have a drink, take a nap, get laid, or whatever makes you happy; we're going to be here for a while so get comfortable. I'll find us a place to dig in."

The plainclothes troops grinned. Shatner spoke first. "You got it, boss." He pushed himself toward the shuttle's cargo hold, Nimoy and Doohan following close behind. Doohan winked as he passed his commander.

"But only if you say please," he said sarcastically.

Davis laughed. "Ah, shut up and go unload the cargo," he replied with a smile. Doohan waved and went after Shatner.

Davis turned toward the spaceport exit when something hit him hard in the stomach. He looked down to see a young boy, about five years old, pushing himself away. He looked up at Davis, his eyes wide and frightened. Davis smiled down at him.

"Careful," he said gently. "If you lose control like that you could get hurt." The boy said nothing, simply staring. "Are you here with your parents?" asked Davis. The boy nodded. "Where are they?" The boy said nothing, his eyes beginning to water. "Is this your first time at the spaceport?" Again, the boy nodded. Davis set the boy down on his feet then pointed at the wall. "Do you see those moving handles?" he asked. The boy followed Davis's gesture. A long line of handgrips ran the length of the wall. Slowly, the handles moved down the line, pulled along by an internal conveyor belt. The boy looked up at Davis and nodded. "When you're in low gravity," said Davis, "the best way to get around is to use those. Just grab one and let it pull you to where you need to go. If you grab that one and follow it to the end, you'll find a customer service desk. Tell the clerk your name and let him know that you've lost your parents. He'll give an announcement over the intercom and your parents will find you. Got it?" The boy nodded, a hint of a smile hovering over his face. Davis put his hand on the boy's back and gave him a gentle push toward the handles. The boy grabbed one and began to float down the corridor. "Good luck!" Davis called after him.

The boy looked back and waved with his free hand. "Thanks, mister!"

Davis waved back, then turned and looked around him. People were everywhere, floating in every direction. Children turned somersaults, laughing and squealing at the thrill of weightlessness. Parents chased after them, trying to keep them under control. Business people rushed around, moving quickly with the practiced ease of frequent travelers. Tourists wobbled uneasily, their gravity adapted bodies confused by its absence. Davis's expression darkened. So much life. So much activity. All of it about to disappear. He shook his head. No, he couldn't think that way. Such thinking would make him lose his nerve. He had to be cold now. These were not people. These were the animals who had taken his home and freedom from him by siding with the Earth Federation. All of them would pay. Maybe now, they feds would finally listen. Once they realized Zeon would never stop fighting, surely they would give up and grant them their independence. With determination, he pushed himself toward the exit. He whispered to himself.

"Sieg Zeon!"

"I think it's disgusting. The war has been over for a year. Why didn't they just let you go home?" Mrs. Carson took Stephen's mug from the coffee table and walked into the kitchen. Stephen put his arm around Lucie, hugging her close to his side while letting himself slouch slightly on the sofa.

"You don't just sign up to serve in the military for the duration of a war," he called after Mrs. Carson. "I signed up for four years, and they just gave me an early discharge."

"An early discharge?" she echoed. "What happened?"

Lucie felt Stephen tense up a bit, then relax. "Distinguished service," he said evenly. "They told me I was better suited to a mobile suit than a desk, and they didn't need me anymore."

Mrs. Carson walked back into the living room, carrying a refilled coffee mug. She handed the steaming cup to Stephen and sat in the recliner across from the couple. "Ah," she said. "So they gave you an Honorable Discharge."

Stephen tensed up again. "Yeah, more or less," he answered. "I mean, there weren't any special commendations or anything. They essentially just fired me. But they didn't court martial me either, so I guess it's technically 'honorable.'"

Mrs. Carson sat back in her seat, sighing. "So you were at A Baoa Qu, right? Did you happen to see that pilot everyone's talking about?"

This time Lucie could sense Stephen shake as his muscles contracted, but once again he relaxed. "You mean Amuro Ray? I only caught a glimpse of him. The battle covered a huge area, and I was defending my carrier, not attacking the base. But I did get a decent look at the Gundam. It's quite the piece of hardware."

Mrs. Carson cocked her head to one side. "I thought you piloted a gundam, too."

Stephen chuckled. "Well, sort of. I pilot a GM. It's design is similar, but it's a bit different. A GM is basically a cheaper Gundam designed to be mass produced. It's not as powerful, fast, or durable, but they can make a ton of them for less money."

"Ah," said Mrs. Carson. "So you got the short end of the stick, did you?" She smiled with a naive kindness.

"Actually, I was one of the lucky ones," said Stephen, his tone wavering a bit. His smile remained, but the soul behind it had vanished. "They could have assigned me to a Ball unit. Those crazy things are garbage. Slow, clumsy, weak firepower, and armor that a child could poke a hole through. The boys nicknamed them 'mobile coffins.' Trust me, being in a GM is something they all envied us for."

Mrs. Carson was silent. Lucie gently stroked Stephens arm and planted a kiss on his cheek. The soul seemed to partially return to his face. She turned to her mother. "Let's talk about something else," she suggested.

"Yes... good idea!" said Mrs. Carson. "Stephen, did you see the new cafe they opened on Hedgeworth? They'd been talking about it opening since the war started, but when the coffee supply started to dwindle they put it on hold. There was talk for a while that it would start out by selling synthetic coffee. Can you imagine?"

Stephen nodded, then stood to his feet. "Pardon me," he said, his face going dark. "I... I think I need to use the restroom." He walked out of the room, leaving the two women alone. Mrs. Carson looked at Lucie, puzzled.

"Did I say something wrong?" she asked.

Lucie sighed. "It's all right, Mom. Stephen's probably just tired from his trip. Still, I think it's probably best to avoid talking about the war with him, just in case."

Mrs. Carson shrugged. "You're the nurse, sweetie. I'll take your advice."

Lucie smiled. "I appreciate it." She looked at the empty space beside her. Something was bothering Stephen. She could see it in his eyes. He had seen horrible things that she could never imagine. She pushed her worrying aside. It was fine. He was home, now. He could leave whatever was eating him behind. Yes, she assured herself, everything would be fine now. If she just gave him a little time, he would be back to normal before she knew it.