(Archangel's Amazing Adventures, Side Story 1: The Regent of Vector)
For those times where there is a lot you want to express, but cannot do it in the primary story, there is always a side story. This is one of those cases: Natarle Badgiruel and Flay Allster, both departed from the Archangel, and I will not leave them unheard from. There is much I still want to convey about Terra, including a particularly nasty backstory segment that did not show up before the Archangel departed. As such, it is time to put all this to the typing and bring some conclusion to these two characters.
Though it has been three, almost four years, I have not forgotten my concepts of this story and have not abandoned them. Now, I put in the last word on this chapter as is appropriate. My intention is to make these shorter and more poignant chapters than common for AAA, roughly 10K words per chap. Length of story total is unknown at this time.
ZZZZZ — Disclaimers / Hazard Warnings — ZZZZZ
GENERAL DECLARATIONS (These apply to all sections, and other declarations may be added in the chapters)
Stravag does not own any part of the Gundam franchise. If I did, you could rest assured GSD would have been a lot bloodier than it was. Not quite as bad as Zeta, but close (har har har). And Stella probably would have survived (not Shinn, though), and…
Also note that Stravag does not own any part of any other included works. I intend no offense or copyright challenge to any included works, I'm just tossing things together in a semi-logical fashion here…
Writing note: numbers in parentheses, like this: (0) mean check the footnote for something else I think goes along with the thought. Could be informative, could be humorous, or both.
BAAAAAD LANGUAGE WARNING: Much as in real life, there will be foul language in some sections. Even the best of us let fly a four-letter word when really pissed off, startled, or else. Natarle is not the worst in the Archangel Crew, not by far, but will earn some score there.
VIOLENCE WARNING: It is fairly safe to say, regardless of this being a magical mystery tour crossover, or as a direct cause thereto, there shall be an amazing amount of violence. Get used to the thought. Expect strange conclusions to some fights, and expectable conclusions to others.
RELATIONSHIP WARNING: I may normally be fairly light on this subject in my writing, since more of my focus is on the political and military dimensions of the conflict at hand, but in this case there is no political dimension and only some military dimension. Expect to see some canon pairings, some non-canon pairings, and some very, very strange pairings. Fate does weird things to those it favors.
ANTI-POLITICAL-CORRECTNESS WARNING: To strive to be politically correct serves no purpose, for real life makes no such distinction. I will not do so. Death before dishonor. End of story. Please don't ask me to explain this one.
FLAY WARNING: 'nuff said.
And NEG, THERE IS NO CHARACTER BASHING IN THIS STORY! PERIOD! Every character is entitled to some props even if their only purpose in the story is the classic image of deus ex machina. AND THERE WILL BE NO SLASH IN THIS STORY UNLESS IT IS CANON TO THE SERIES IN QUESTION!
And now, on with the story!
Archangel's Amazing Adventures, Side Story 1: The Regent of Vector
Chapter 01: The Silent Regent
(2 June 988, 1030 Hours)
(Republic of Vector, Capital City, Eastern Side)
"I will have none of it, given your reputation, young lady," the fusty old baker commented with a stern expression.
Flay nodded contemplatively. It was not an unheard response for her, especially in Vector where it was easy to check her background with the Archangel Team. Roughly half the city knew the story of Kira Yamato and Flay Allster, and the other half would pick it up fast enough if they had need to ask.
Rejection had been hard on her, but the cold reality slap-to-the-face effect of being discharged dishonorably from the Warship only served to make things worse in the end. Flay was, by definition, clinically depressed, after coming off a 'high' of psychosis that she could never really execute. Since her discharge, she had drifted from job to job, never employed for more than three weeks at a time, homeless more than not, effectively destitute with the loss of her position on the Archangel.
At the least, years of a hard life had broke her of any measure of arrogance she once held. She wasn't properly humbled, just complacent and disheartened by her continual shifting of fate.
"Thank you," Flay answered meekly before she turned away from the baker's counter.
Outside on the busy streets of Vector's East End Commercial District, Flay looked around for any shop owners she had not thus far asked for a job this week. Thirty seconds of looking around brought her to the conclusion that she was out of options on this block. After a quick sigh, she turned south and began walking for the next block.
The next block south held a different merchant sector, this one mostly of merchandise and not foodstuffs. Flay figured she had a better chance here, given that her past failures were non-damaging (a failure to cook properly cost the business the material, not so much in merchandise). She had hit some of the stores for a request, but most she had not asked in more than a month, so she headed into the first one on the east side of the road.
It was only four seconds inside the door before she got the answer, and that even without asking. "No need to ask, Allster. I am already full staff," the more kindly proprietor said.
"Thank you," Flay answered, then turned to the door and was out on the street in seconds.
She considered where to go next, wanting to minimize movements and thus wasted energy. Given she normally found or received one meal a day when unemployed, energy was something she did not want to waste. Vector was not a particularly charitable city, so she was thinking about taking a hike to Tzen or Maranda to try her fortunes there, away from the city where the Archangel ruled in deed if not name.
She turned south to continue her search, but make only a pace before a random voice stopped her. "Job-hunting again, Flay Allster?"
Flay turned around to see who was asking, though she found herself rather surprised to see it was nobody she had ever met in her life. "It's all I can do," Flay answered after a moment of staring at the man with the silver hair and strange trenchcoat.
"I don't think you're looking for a job, I think you are looking for a purpose," the silver-haired man said. "You're not going to find a purpose here, in these stores," and he waved a finger at the line of shoppes across the road.
"Probably not, but at least I live for a few more days," Flay answered tiredly.
"And then what? Work for a few weeks, get kicked out, start the cycle over again?" he asked after he took a step closer to her. "This may not be dying, but it certainly isn't a living." After a moment of non-reaction from Flay, he grunted. "Look, you want to do something that isn't a dead-end, or no?"
That caused something of a spark of reaction from Flay. "What are you offering?" Allster asked after a few moments of thinking about it.
"I heard you were trained as a pilot for a while." His comment caused another flare of reaction from the former Archangel crewmember. "I need someone who understands pressure and procedure, two things pilots are good at. In return, I am offering a job and full living accommodations on my airship. Sound like an offer?"
"What is the job?" Flay asked. Given he mentioned 'his airship', that made who she was speaking to fairly obvious: Setzer Gambiani, the infamous wandering gambler.
"Casino Operator."
After a few moments, Flay realized that operating an Airship's casino would be a step toward what she really wanted — the flexibility to make her own decisions, denied first in the brig cell, and thereafter in her inability to find stability in Vector. "I will learn," Flay decided.
"You will have much to learn. Come, the airport is not far."
-x-x-x-
(10 June 988, 1200 Hours)
(Republic of Vector Capital Fortress)
"This is the first and loudest problem we are going to have with the bureaucracy," Natarle complained. "All these persons running for Council Seats, with two exceptions, are persons I would not trust to lead a straight march to Madame Jearle's Whorehouse."
"Madame Jearle is actually on the list for the Council Seats, such as it is, Commander," her personal Siren summon noted, looking over the list.
"And she is one of those pair that I would trust, the other being Mokkden, the lumber mill operator from the Southeast. The rest? At best, corrupt, at worst, vultures circling in preparation for a death I shall prevent."
The Siren sighed, then set down the list. "With friends of this caliber, we have no need for enemies."
"Sad but true," Natarle confirmed.
"Milady Natarle, reports are in from the western mining operation. Do you want it on the left stack, or right?" Her Carbuncle asked.
"Right stack, thank you." It was Natarle turn to sigh. "Is there any other decent figures, industry or professional, that we can tap for the Council?"
"I can think of none, Milady," the Carbuncle answered.
"Same, Commander. Anyone capable of the duty is already using that capability in personal gain," the Siren answered.
"So, we are stuck with a wildly corrupt council, effectively, unless the Outlands can deliver unto us pure candidates for the Council," Natarle half grumped. "And, as a check, I can prevent the Council from enacting overtly corrupt policies with veto powers."
"And they will assuredly block your initiatives by defunding them," the office Political Specialist countered from the doorway.
"Better a case of corruption causing dysfunction, than dysfunction allowing rampant corruption," Natarle noted.
"I know you said historically this is best way to avoid rampant abuse of power, but..." the Political Specialist trailed her sentence off.
"No, it cannot be avoided," Natarle leaned back against her desk. "I modeled the system after America, only with more lockdown on the government, because historically it took America the longest to go completely in the tank — 160 years for the onset of major failures, and 220 years for effective collapse into a cycle of self-destruction. My home state, the Atlantic Federation, started corrupt and only got worse as the years went by. No sense modeling it after that failure."
"These things are inevitable," the Siren commented. "Even among the Summons, the term 'dynastic cycle' is in use. A dynasty rises, lasts a few centuries, collapses into ruin. We are phlegmatic about such things, and simply wait for the next major power to ascend to continue the cycle. No need for war, really."
"I wish it were that simple with humans," Natarle sighed again. "We can expect the same thing here, in about 300 years or so. I can only hope what comes out on the far end of that next revolution is honorable to the task."
"We will all be dead and gone by then, memories and dust if we are lucky," the Carbuncle noted. "The future is for the future. We need to worry about the here and now, and what to do about the corruption to come."
"And that is the problem all in one thought," Natarle brought the conversation full circle. "If we had only one more," she considered.
"If we had one more, Commander?" Mina asked from the doorway. Natarle knew the Helmswoman would be one of the few to bail, given she had a daughter to worry about and the life of adventure was not appropriate for a former waitress that jumped onto the ship simply to escape Twycross.
"One more council member that was not directly corrupt," Natarle completed the thought. "If I had one more, plus the outlanders giving us a full deck on our side of the line, we would have the ability to really clean up this town and get the Republic heading in the right direction."
"One more...what does it take to become a Council member?" Mina asked.
"Residence in your district for a year, and since you are an Archangel Team member you fall under those provisions for eligibility, which means you could apply if you wanted for...District 7, Tomnius is your major foe. Insanely corrupt bastard. I may have to give you security during the election cycle, he is a known underworld figure."
"I'll do it, on one proviso," Mina said.
"Name it," Natarle replied.
"If he takes me out, see to my daughter for me. If he takes my daughter out, I will see to him."
Natarle hesitated for a few moments. "I will definitely see to your daughter if it goes that far. Welcome to the race of politics."
-x-x-x-
(15 June 988, 2300 Hours)
(Airship Blackjack, parked south of Zozo)
Flay learned fast how to work the tables and operate as both a croupier and as a manager. On the off-shifts, she tended to do more managerial work for Setzer, on the heavy shifts she ran a roulette table.
Setzer had been right about Flay, but not for the reason he initially fronted. She wasn't really looking for a purpose, she was looking for flexibility, and looking for a way to rebuild the life that was effectively destroyed by the war on her homeworld. It may not have seemed intuitive to an outside observer, but a Casino Operator position gave Flay the manner of flexibility she needed to move forward in this arena.
Of course, being good at something also tended to help generate flexibility. Flay was very good at detecting cheats, scammers, criminals, and scoundrels at her games, almost overnight bringing the casino revenue in line with house expectations. In game management, she certainly had the skills to run everything Setzer offered, and with a few more daring croupier on the staff the tables were always active.
"Black 24," Flay reported the result of the roulette spin. "You, 'spikes', don't think I am not watching your betting action. Grab that lady's winnings next to you, and I will have your arse down in the engine room to be mulched," Flay warned him.
"I'm on the level, here," he responded indignantly, though nobody else at the table believed him.
"Uh-huh," Flay answered sarcastically as she finished up paying out and collecting in the house's winnings. She only paid out 400 this round, but took in 2950, a fairly light haul at this table. "Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen," Flay said before she began the wheel spin for the next round. As she always did, she made sure all the bets were on the level; she paid special attention to 'Spikes' to make sure he was not trying to swindle his rivals or scam the house.
Once the bets were out on the table, Flay dropped the marble onto the wheel surface for it to begin making the trek around the spinning wheel. It always took roughly a minute, though eventually the marble would lose position, drop down into one of the slots, and ride it out. "Red 13," Flay declared the result.
There were only a few stacks to push out, some 630 total, but more than a few to pull in with her bridge rod, a total of over 6500 gil worth of chips. Once the winnings were disbursed, Flay set things up for the next run by setting the wheel to spinning. "Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen," the 'Lady of the Tables' requested.
A short burst of Thompson caused a wave of shouts and screeches from the patrons of the casino, but Flay was the first to react properly by slamming her security barrier closed on the roulette table. Once that was accomplished, she looked toward the shooter to assess the situation.
"This is a raid! Nobody move!" The lead threat shouted, bringing his Thompson down from where he had shot a burst into the ceiling to bring it level with the crowd. Three in black jumpsuits, one armed with a Thompson, one with an Enfield, and one with a mace (1) that looked pretty wicked with spikes and a flanged head.
"Anybody that moves will be slain! If you resist, you and the man next to you will be shot! Now, everyone down to their knees!" the rifleman shouted.
"You! At the roulette table! I want that glove!" the Maceman said.
"What, this?" Flay waved her left hand at the guy.
"Yeah," he said.
"Sure, here," Flay stripped it off with a practiced gesture. "Consider yourself cursed if you can keep it," she said before she threw it to him.
"Cursed? What?" After a moment, the glove polymorphed into semi-luminescent water and flowed through his fingers to land on the floor. On the ground, it reformed into her glove.
"What the hell?" the submachine gunner asked, nudging it with his foot.
The glove proved to be the perfect distraction for Flay. Unlike the three Magic Knights, Flay always considered the glove (and the kodachi within) a backup weapon, not a primary. Her preferred primary, and something very easy for her to acquire after her first steady payday, was a 1911A1 from the new production line in Vector. The two thugs in black never even saw her draw it, so entranced were they by the glove.
The shots were stupidly easy for Flay — less than five yards in both cases. Tap, tap, one in the chest and one in the face to the punk with the Thompson. Traverse right, tap, tap, one in the heart and one in the left lung of the guy with the mace. Again, the shots brought forth more screeching from the patrons of the casino, though Flay was too ingrained into the combatant mindset to allow that to bother her in a crisis situation.
Flay looked up over the top edge of the roulette table to see the rifleman, and silently cursed her bad luck on his position. He was still on the raised balcony that surrounded the casino area, though he did not have a shot because of the table. Similarly, she did not have a shot with her pistol — the distance was over 25 yards, technically doable but not a guaranteed shot for an otherwise normal person. The other option — the Thompson — was technically out in the open, and Flay had no difficulty imagining how easy a shot she would have presented should she go for it. Movie heroics tended to get real people real dead in these situations, and jumping for the submachine gun was pure cinematic glory, not a valid plan in the here-and-now.
Before she ducked back down, a blur of black descended from the stairs behind the last bandit, culminating in an impact and another wild shot into the ceiling. The last bandit slid partway down the stairs, a pair of daggers in his back and the casino security officer jumped from his back partway into the room. There were some shouts as the black-armor-clad security officer / mercenary stood up, checking his surroundings, though Flay knew he was harmless to the patrons.
Allster stood up from behind the table, her hands visible and her 1911A1 on the floor and out of sight. "Shadow, that was the last of them. Area should be clear," Flay said.
"Understood," the ninja mercenary answered. "These two...your handiwork?" he kicked the maceman tentatively.
"Aye," Flay answered. "Idiots were distracted by my glove, so I punched holes in both," she commented. "Speaking of idiots, the punk with the spike hair headed for the door, just lifted winnings from four at this table."
"On it," Shadow answered coldly.
"What gives here?" Setzer asked before he had clear view to the deceased. "Oh, bandit raid?"
"Aye, sir, though put down ruthlessly quick," Flay reported.
"Huh, these were gunshots, not blades as Shadow uses. Who drilled them?" Setzer asked, looking around the patrons. He had expectation that roughly half the persons in the room were armed in one fashion or another.
"Actually sir, your Roulette Operator did," the off-duty Mayor of Zozo answered, waving his finger at Flay.
Setzer looked to Flay, who had just retrieved her pistol from the floor. He said nothing immediately, just watched as the 'Lady of the Tables' did a 'reload with retention', where she dropped the partial magazine into her left hand between pinky and ring finger, rotated her hand slightly to center the pistol over a fresh magazine at her index finger, and rammed it home. The pistol went back into her 'concealed' back holster and her partial magazine went into a magazine pouch on her back left, also mostly concealed.
"I gather from your expression, good sir, that is not common pistol practice?" a high-roller asked Setzer.
"No, but then again, she is a combat veteran from the Archangel Team. She learned from the best."
Without even trying, Setzer had put a serious dent in Flay's bad reputation. Some would continue to disrespect her, but the story at the forefront of most people's minds was her slaying of bandits trying to rob a casino.
-x-x-x-
(18 June 988, 2015 Hours)
(Fortress Vector, Mobile Weapons hangar)
"This is the video from King 3, engaging hard target with primary gun," the operations analyst said. The reel tape played through for several minutes until the target came into view. King 3 stopped, sighted, and took the shot with supreme accuracy. "This was a direct violation of engagement requirements, King 3. Explain yourself."
"Sir, I was behind partial cover and had no threats in the vicinity. I saw no need to continue moving and chance missing the shot when it was unneeded, sir. The penetrator slugs in use by the Rex units are 400 gil apiece, and will bury themselves 100 yards into solid rock if you shoot at a mountainside; missing is a costly mistake, especially when it can be avoided, Captain!" the pilot of King 3 answered.
"Cheeky bastard," the Captain / Operations Analyst groused. "Okay, violation of training intent, though with the maintenance of the spirit of the Rex units. Fair enough, Commander?"
"Aye, decent enough work for our purposes, though you need to get used to taking moving shots with the primary gun, King 3," Commander Badgiruel noted. Her performance was already logged and critiqued, though she had indeed failed the moving shot on her course she had immediately switched over to TekMissiles and unloaded her machine's silos into the hard target. It was not as spectacular, but she kept moving and the massive firepower solution still did the job in the end.
King Formation was a play on the 'Rex' part of the name Magitech Gear Rex, in that Rex translated from latin into King. Of the Rex units built by the Empire, four survived the engagements on the Southern Continent in a state capable of being repaired. Per the treat, more could not be built without financial penalty and building a copy for both Figaro and Doma, so Natarle recommissioned the four surviving frames and salvaged what she could from units five and six. In all reality, with the world headed for peace at a rapid rate, the four salvaged units would likely never be needed. Natarle planned to keep them as aces, just in case they were needed, but so far she was not seeing any enemy that would warrant their use.
"Yes, Commander," the chastised pilot answered.
"Since Unit 4 was on hot standby, no footage from it. So, I think the only thing that needs to be said here is the premise of keeping moving. Speed may not be armor, but standing around like a dipdunk whilst the enemy takes shot at you...not a good way to reach retirement age." The pilots chuckled briefly. "Debriefing concluded. Dismissed."
Natarle was the first out the door, as would be her position in the unit. Once clear of the debrief room, she went left, then right, then right again, and down the stairs into the hangar for the Rex units. It was not somewhere she often visited, but she did do training missions once a month as was needed for the Rex units.
The hangar existed in the northern mountain ranges of Vector, close enough that the Rex units could reasonably respond to an attack on the city but not close enough to conjure fear of the Empire from the Vector citizens. In all reality, the definitely would not see combat while the Archangel was nearby Vector; for anything that could come down the pike, that one Warship would be overkill. The Magitek Gear Rex units would be the Republic's best defensive armor option after the ship left, of course, but that day was still some time into the future.
Natarle leaned against the catwalk rail and stared across the hangar to King 2. They definitely showed of some influence from the Mobile Suits and the Battlemechs, particularly the chicken-walker legs of the Mad Dog and the arm-cannon design ethos of Clan Omnis in general. The rest was Magitek on a wholly unnatural scale compared to the smaller personal units, though the units converted well to diesel-electric after some rewiring. Ironically, the fire rate of the main gun improved by the jump to diesel-electric, and did not specifically require input from a lightning-magic Esper to run any more.
Staring at the unit under maintenance was good for another sigh, when she realized she was procrastinating on something she needed to do. Technically, her hedging on the whole 'will I / won't I' about retaining her position as CIC Commander on the Archangel was bad form; the longer she put it off, the harder it would be to find a replacement. Still, her heart was no longer with the ship; it had been her home, but now there was nothing left in her real home world to look forward to. After a hellish tour such as they had, Natarle expected summary execution from the Atlantic Federation. If the EA would not tolerate Coordinators any more, they sure as hell would not tolerate a mismatch crew of magic-users, Magic Knights, and foreign powers aplenty.
She did not notice the new arrival immediately, but she did notice King Edgar lean up against the catwalk rail next to her. "Hard to believe, they designed these things on a wild-ass guess and a purpose of shooting your ship down."
"Desperate men, desperate measures," Natarle judged. "I wish the ship luck, though, in coming adventures. They will need it."
"You do not intend to go?" Edgar asked.
"After two years here, learning the summoning arts, building a government from whole cloth, I find I have no desire left to go home. There is nothing remaining for me on that world except death and destruction. At least here I can build something useful."
"And here I thought I would have to plead a case to convince you to stay," Edgar groused.
"Oh? How so?" Natarle asked warily.
Edgar wagged his thumb, something of a nervous twitch of his. "I was to do the usual run on honor, duty, charity, that sort of thing, but those are stories you could just as easily give lessons upon to most residents of this world," King Figaro noted with a wry smile. "I find myself now considering something a little more lofty." Natarle was not directly looking at the King, and missed what actions he was taking by hand, but the glint of a reflective object did catch her attention — when she looked to the object, she found herself stunned to be staring at a rather significant ring.
"What? You — me?" Natarle asked in clear shock.
"Aye, I ask your hand in marriage, Natarle Badgiruel," Edgar asked formally. "I ask not for matters of state, but because I have found no lady more captivating in the world than you."
"That's...wow, thank you," Natarle said. "I accept."
-x-x-x-
(21 June 988, 0210 hours)
(Imperial Teleporter Network, Control Facility Observation Booth)
"This chapter is written; now the actors depart the stage," Locke Cole said.
"Hard to believe that ship has gone the distance, and still has farther to go," Edgar noted.
"Thine fortunes are elsewhere," Lord Cyan Garamonde noted.
"Teleporter Control, this is Archangel, we are in position and ready for the jump," Kuzzey Buskirk declared over the radio.
The Lead Teleporter Technician clicked down the talk switch on the radio console. "Archangel, Teleport Control, we are powering up the system now. Fifteen seconds." Other technicians were doing the major inputs, though it did not last long. "Archangel, Teleport Control, systems are ready. Good luck and the speed of the Gods to you, saviors from another world. Jump initiated, detonation in three, two, one, n—" he choked up when the ship disappeared. "It is done," the lead tech said to nobody in particular.
"This is not their world," Edgar said by way of consolation. "Where they go, though, it is far worse than even the Empire."
"They walk into the chaos of Existence; may God look over them in coming trials," Doom said reverently.
"They will need it," Poltergeist said. "In the past couple hundred thousand years, Existence has become a downright unfriendly place to be. I certainly wouldn't want to be drifting from dimension to dimension in this day and age, who knows what you'll come across?"
"The ship Archangel has its own guardian angels, mind you," Jaide the Goddess noted. "Something about the ship...I do not want to say it reminds me of the Crystal Executor that entombed us in stone, but something on that ship is not far off that Executor."
"You mean a hitchhiker?" Natarle asked the Goddess.
"Maybe. I couldn't pin it, but I could tell something was in the ship," she answered contemplatively. "Maybe I was sensing the ship itself, maybe I was picking something else up."
"It is their story, now, hitchhiker or not," Natarle said definitively. "Our story continues for ourselves, in the here and now."
"Well said," Locke responded immediately. "If you shall excuse me, Highness, Commander, I have a search to resume."
"By all means, Locke," Edgar answered, stepping aside to allow the 'treasure hunter' to pass.
"Our duty here is done," Doom noted. "I, we, have business with the Executor...or whoever has taken her place. We shall be here on planet for a few more days, but our next stop is elsewhere. We have debts to reap, and lives to restart."
"Good luck and godspeed," Natarle nodded respectfully to Doom. He teleported away first, followed closely by Poltergeist, leaving only the lady among the three.
"Be of good cheer, Commander Badgiruel," Jaide said. "You walked away because you no longer saw a goal with the ship, but a goal here. Do not hold it against yourself; your duty is what you choose to be your duty, not what others think it should be."
"Aye, thank you," Natarle said to the Goddess. "What will you do, out there in the new worlds?"
"Of this, I do not know," Jaide answered. "Doom can sell his services as a reaper; likewise with Poltergeist, but as a mercenary. Myself? I have only raw magical power, no real purpose. I am sure I can find a few things, but..."
Natarle smiled, sensing the trepidation in the divine being across the short gap from herself. "Do not fret, milady. You shall find something, even if just as a symbol somewhere, though I am assured you will do better still. You can admit your mistakes, and that puts you decades ahead of many."
"Thank you, Commander. Congratulations to you and the King," she nodded to Edgar. "I must be off, we have preparations to make before we leave."
Without further word, Jaide departed the room by way of teleportation, likely to the Eastern Gate and thereafter into the land of the Espers. All that remained in the room were two of the teleport techs, Natarle, Cyan, and Edgar.
"And this is where I am supposed to say something, but...nothing comes to mind," Commander Badgiruel grumped. "I will certainly miss them, miss the ship, but Jaide was right. That is no longer my goal or my duty."
"Thine goals are around you, now," Cyan noted. "By your leave, Highness, milady?"
"Thank you, Lord Garamonde," Edgar answered. Once Cyan continued, Edgar moved to a new subject, and one altogether more pressing for the Republic of Vector and the Kingdom of Figaro. "Now, how goes the election cycle?"
"It goes well," Natarle answered calmly. "The actual elections will be held on the 27th, and inaugurations on the first of July."
"And your chances, love?" Edgar asked.
"I don't think I will win," Natarle admitted. "If not, at least I have started it on the right footing."
-x-x-x-
(24 June 988, 1630 Hours)
(Airship Blackjack, In flight from Mobliz to Maranda)
The operations pace on the airship was fairly lax — of a day, Flay typically only actively worked ten hours and had the other fourteen to herself for sleep, eating, shower time, or recreational. Granted, outside of the casino, there wasn't much in the way of recreation on the ship, but the ship itself was plenty of recreation. Simply standing out on the foredeck of the airship, watching the terrain go by (in this case, the veldt southwest of Mobliz) was plenty different from her prior pursuits of jail-cell artwork or scraping from one job to the next.
"It's a different world up here, eh boss-lady?" the blackjack dealer asked as she stood to the ship's rail.
"Different, definitely, Epona," Flay answered the technically subordinate Table Staffer. Flay was the ship's greenhorn, but she was also technically the Casino Operator, not just another table dealer. Setzer had put her in charge of the casino, since he could not find anyone capable of flying the ship that he trusted.
"What was your world like?" Epona asked after a few moments of watching Cephaler being chased down by ChickenLip packs.
"Beautiful, like this, but twisted at a political level," Flay admitted after a moment of considering how to phrase it. "It's taken me this long to see where I went wrong, but it's obvious now. Gestahl was no different from the monsters of my homeland, and I'm glad I walked away." Flay sunk lower, to the point that her head was almost touching the rail. "I was part of that nightmare. Oh God, was I part of that nightmare. I lost my father to the war, and I tried turning my boyfriend into a butchering machine for it. Oh, good Gods, did I go wrong."
"Whoa," Epona grumped. "Did not mean to touch this off, sorry," she admitted before she pushed away from the rail.
"If you don't want to go, don't," Flay said emphatically. "I wasn't...trying to push anyone away."
"No, it's just, I knew you had some mess back there, didn't want to push on it, though," Epona answered calmly.
"No, you're not, it's just...my life is, or was, or still is, such a mess, and you have a right to know. We're all on this ship together, at least until it lands again. Might be a bit rough of a drop from here," Flay said, gesturing over the rail toward the ground below.
"It's your life, boss. If it don't come knocking, I'm not going to worry," Epona said after she rejoined Flay at the rail.
"Sure?" Flay nudged.
"I've heard enough of the rumors to piece it together," the Blackjack dealer commented. "Shit circumstances, you pushed on your boyfriend until he folded, then when he rejected you, you went ape. Captain locked you in the brig until the war was over, then booted you off the Archang — oh, no, I forgot!"
"Forgot what?" Flay asked in confusion at her sudden panic.
"I didn't tell you a couple days ago! I'm sorry!" Epona said, still covering her mouth in shock.
"Seriously, what are you talking about? Tell me what?" Flay asked.
"The Archangel — it left for its next destination three days ago, before sunrise." Flay looked out over the Veldt again, but said nothing for several minutes. After the silence became unbearable, Epona had to ask. "Are you mad at me, Flay?"
"No," Flay answered calmly. "No, I'm not angry about this in any way. Just...regretful. Another chapter in my life, another thing I never got to do. I hope they aren't too pissed off at me for not seeing them off, or even apologizing for how badly I screwed Kira."
"Kira...your boyfriend?" Epona asked after a moment's silence between them.
"I don't know what we really were, and that's half the problem. We weren't boyfriend/girlfriend, not really, but we were...something. And I hurt him badly, and now I can't apologize for it." After a moment of listening to the wind whistle by, Flay sighed. "I accept this, though. That life is over, and today is today. Time for me to act like it."
-x-x-x-
(1 July 988, 0800 Hours)
(Republic Of Vector Capital Fortress, Southern Muster Grounds)
"I, Natarle Badgiruel, do so swear to uphold the constitution of the Republic of Vector, and defend the citizens, the lands, and the Constitution from all threats, foreign or domestic, and to uphold all laws fairly, with justice and honor."
"Congratulations, Commander Badgiruel," General Leo said after she completed the oath. Natarle received the ceremonial sword that Leo had prepared for the ceremony, a common broadsword with an inscription on the blade that matched the oath she had sworn.
Natarle turned to the gathered crowds of citizens of Vector — mostly humans, but also a leavening of Espers in that rank. More than a few of the aerial-types were perched on the old walls of the fortress, where they could see the action but save the floor space for the ground-bound audience. Somewhere in the crowd was also her two summons — a Carbuncle and a Siren, who were personally vested in the successes of the Republic of Vector. She had offered her summons a position in the dignitaries box, but they politely refused.
"Citizens of the Republic! Welcome to the beginning of our new future, the birth of a free nation released from the shackles of the Empire!" She had to wait a few seconds for the cheering to subside, which was expected. "Today, we complete the full transition to the new Republic government, and hereafter we decide our destinies by the ballot box, not the sword." Again, she had to pause for the cheering, though she could also recognize some from the Espers.
"As I see it, for the next five years, the major goal of the Republic is to improve the economy and the living conditions of the citizens. Our secondary goal is to improve relations and strengthen friendships with the other nations of the world. We are no longer conquerors, we need to act like the neighbors we properly are."
Natarle took the obligatory pause to listen to the cheering, though she also observed thoroughly. The Espers were the main focus; weapons of war from long ago, they were looking for a way to make sure the Empire did not happen again, and also looking for a way to fit into the complex political and economic structure of the world. She knew intrinsically, however, they would have to find that path on their own; Regent Badgiruel could keep Vector under control, but the Espers were their own game.
"In common practice from my former homeland, a President would use these speeches for personal political gain, or to push their own initiatives for national political gain. I refuse to play those kinds of games; I have no agenda to push, though if you have suggestions I shall listen. The only way to correct the problems that exist in the Republic is to know what the problems are."
Natarle listened for the Espers, and could hear some of the Palidor and Aska. Their voices were distinctive, as were the much larger Phoenix and Bahamut, and Natarle could pick them all out amongst the cheering. That more than most was enough of a display that the Espers approved the direction things were going.
"This is our future! These will be times that try our resolve, but we can build a new nation, an honorable nation, for our children and our children's children!"
Natarle could scarcely hear her own thought process over the cheering and roars of some of the Espers. On that, she knew she had the right of it — a world was wearied of the Empire's policies, and the citizens of that Empire were ready to build their own futures by their own rules.
Author's Chapter Afterword:
On the face of it, this chapter does not look like much. That is deliberate — this story, much like every other story of mine, has a warmup period before the brown material conflicts with the ventilation devices.
In this case, though, this is all the grace period that will be had. Starting next chapter, a background element of the Returner-Empire conflict comes to the fore — Unfortunately, nobody that would have had foreknowledge of this feud-to-be survived the raid or the skirmishing afterwards, and the primary 'deal broker with the devil' died by way of Newman's sniper rifle.
Now, on to the meat of the chapter. You didn't see Flay doing anything in the main AAA line after she was booted off the ship, and for a reason. Murrue ordered her to stay clear of the ship or the crew, and that is what happened. Here, you see the tail end of that, a depressed lady going from job to job, achieving nothing of note. Setzer gave her an option to get out of the morass and into a career path that moved her away from the slums, and so far she has stepped in the right direction. Whether or not she holds that path, only time shall tell.
Natarle is the meat of the chapter here. I intended this section to mostly fill in the behind-the-scene gaps in the last Gaia chapter of AAA. I think this is the breaking point with the old material, though; the coming chapters are divorced of the Archangel, but not of its influence. The greatest thing the Archangel gave the world, even above warfare techniques and technologies, is the understanding that they can make a difference, they have a hope, and they have their sovereignty. That will be the difference that makes all the difference; all that remains is to see how it is applied.
Right now, I don't need to mention anything else. Stay tuned for more coming along; I have added this story into the rotation until it is completed, though it should be short.
NEXT UP: A ghost from Emperor Gestahl's past comes back to haunt everyone, human and Esper alike. Of course, Natarle knows how to deal with ghosts...
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Footnotes:
(0): Or you can not read the footnotes, and sometimes miss what I meant by a given turn of phrase or concept. Your call, but I recommend you read them. I put the footnotes here for a reason.
(1): Mace is a medieval weapon used to crush the armor a soldier would wear...and by extension also crush the soldier below that armor.