Chapter Two
Much has been said of the value of the military robot. Robots don't get sick. Robots don't want money, or family life, or rights of any kind. Robots don't need air, or water, or food. Robots can handle greater extremes of temperature and higher g-forces. Nobody mourns when a robot dies. Who cares if they can't think? How smart do you need to be to fire a gun? Or drop a bomb? And if you really must have a human pilot in the loop, let him pilot by datalink from a nice safe bunker. Nobody has to die.
Even if you believe all that, there's one thing a human pilot has that no robot will ever foreseeably have. A human pilot can be loyal. A human pilot cannot be reprogrammed in the midst of a battle. He cannot be turned against his comrades by a few lines of code. Unlike all our military technology, the living, breathing soldier cannot be subverted by some hacker in a basement with a high-spec rig and murder in mind.
Science has yet to create the equal of a human mind, or a human heart, except by the facilitation of natural processes. If it ever did so, if it could ever create a machine and make it truly think, and truly feel, such a thing could never be a weapon alone.
If we gave a machine a heart, it would be as human as we are. But for our flesh and blood, we are ourselves machines.
George Glenn
Then
Onogoro Island, Orb Union, June 16th, CE 71
The sky was blue. The sun was warm and bight.
The wind was hot; the only sound the roar of explosions.
Orb was burning.
Hundreds of kilometres off the coast, warships of the Earth Alliance fired volley after volley, filling the sky with missiles. The deadly projectiles cut through the air, turning the sky white with their contrails, falling down upon their targets. Closer to the score, escort ships fired their guns, trying to force the defenders back so that their own troops could land.
Mobile suits, painted a perverse blue white and red, leapt from their transports, their thrusters bearing them safely down. They fired as they descended, emerald beams hissing through the air to destroy all they touched.
But the defenders did not retreat. The infantry manned their bunkers and trenches, the sands turning red as they loosed their gunfire on the incoming landing craft. Linear tanks and mobile railguns fired again and again, selling their lives dearly. Above them all stood the mobile suits, Orb's new Astrays, their orange and white colours bright in the sun. They stood like warrior heroes of some forgotten age, colossi before the darkness, striking down all that came upon them.
But the Earth Alliance forces would not relent. The sight of their fellows being mown down on the beaches, or blasted apart in the sky, hardened their hearts. It made them all the more obstinate, all the more hateful, all the more determined. Orb was defying them, and for that Orb would pay dearly.
A few did not hate Orb. To those few Orb was just another enemy, just another set of targets. To a more substantial minority, the five ruling Houses of Orb were race traitors, criminals who harboured the hated Coordinators in their country. But to most of the soldiers of OMNI, Orb's crime was nothing so ideological, nothing so esoteric. Orb's sin was neutrality.
"You are nothing," Orb seemed to say. "You are nothing to us. Your hopes and your dreams. Your beliefs and your convictions. Your anger and your pain. Your grief and your suffering. These things mean nothing to us. We will not help you. We will not spill our blood for the sake of your victory. Your cause is not our cause."
It bred a terrible rage within them, the rage of the ignored, the despised, and the betrayed.
The passions of the Orb soldiers were no less. To them it was a fight to the death, to defend their homeland from those who would destroy it. To them, the OMNI soldiers were murderous bigots, jealous of Orb's peace and prosperity, destroyers of that which they could not have. They knew what would happen to them if they fell into OMNI's clutches. Not one Orb soldier surrendered on that terrible day.
But Shinn Asuka did not know that.
In truth, he was not really thinking about anything. He had a more immediate concern, that of getting himself and his family down to the docks, to the ship that was waiting to take them to safety.
They were in front of him, hurrying down the uneven path, through the trees that lined the hillside. His mother and father, and his little sister Mayu, struggling and gasping to keeping up. She was still in her school uniform, so suddenly had they been forced to flee.
He glanced to his right. There in the valley was the naval base, adjacent to the civilian port to which they were hurrying. The base was wreathed in smoke, shot through here and there with bright flame. Still the orange and white mobile suits stood their ground, firing their beam rifles as the missiles fell.
Still it seemed distant to him, like it was happening to someone else. This was war as he had never seen it, so close that he could feel it, smell it, taste it. But the enemy did not seem to be targeting the hill, or paying them any attention at all. Perhaps it was as his father had said a moment ago, with that forced smile. Perhaps they would only target the military facilities after all. Perhaps they really only wanted the mass driver, like the talking heads on the news had speculated.
The family halted suddenly, as a massive shape swooped in towards them like a raptor on the wing. All fell to the ground as the turquoise-painted mobile suit soared overhead, buffeting them with the slipstream. Shinn could feel his father's hand holding him down, hear his heavy, terrified breathing. He was no longer a little boy, a child who thought his father like unto a god. But the knowledge of his father's fear, of his powerlessness, unsettled him all the same. Something exploded nearby, the heat of the blast washing over them. Shinn could hear Mayu screaming.
An instant later they were up and moving again, the proximity of the battle giving their flight a new urgency. Shinn glanced behind, and saw another mobile suit swooping in to face the turquoise machine. The new one was white and blue, wings spread like an angel of death.
"Come on!" his father growled, and the family pushed themselves all the harder. The port was already in sight.
Shinn saw something bounce away from Mayu.
"My mobile phone!" she cried, stopping suddenly as it bounced down the hill.
"Just forget about it dear!" their mother protested, as Mayu pulled on her hand.
Shinn leapt, halting the argument before it began. He could see the pink device clearly, sitting just in front of a tree a few metres down the hillside. In the space of a moment he reached it, and bent down to pick it up.
Then he was falling, tumbling down the hill in a wind of burning heat, the explosion roaring in his ears. He landed hard and lay still, stunned.
"Are you all right!" came a man's voice from behind. He felt himself being hauled to his feet, and he stared in stunned disbelief at the blasted, burning crater that had once been the hillside.
"Mom? Dad?" he muttered, his brain still addled. "Where's Mayu?" But he could see nothing on the hillside but debris and shattered trees.
Horrible, irresistible curiosity drew his eyes down. Down to the rocks near the bottom of the hill, to the human hand lying stretched out from behind one of them.
"Mayu!" Shinn darted forward, praying to any god who might be listening that it wasn't what it appeared to be.
It was a human hand and arm, blasted off just above the elbow. Shinn could not stop himself from looking further, to the lumps of cooked and blasted flesh riddling the crater.
And the blood…
Shinn fell to his knees, reaching out to touch the severed hand, not wanting to believe its meaning. But something inside stopped him, even as it drove home the truth, spreading it like ice water into every fibre of his being.
He looked up, up into the sky, where the mobile suits duelled, not knowing, and not caring.
Shinn screamed.
Now
Girty Lue, approaching the Debris Belt, October 3rd, CE 73.
"You completed your mission?"
The face on the screen put Neo in mind of a classical statue. It was deathly pale, its neatly-combed hair the colour of snow, its features so smooth and finely shaped as to have been carved from marble. It regarded him through dark, narrow eyes.
"We have the three prototypes, Lord Djibril. But there was a fourth prototype we didn't know about, and the Minerva's acceleration is better than we anticipated."
"I suppose we'll have to settle for that." The face was expressionless, to the point where even Neo could not read it. It was, all things considered, a good sign. "Was the fourth superior?"
"I would say not, Lord Djibril. From what I could see, its superior performance was the work of the pilot, not the machine."
"So it is with Coordinators." Neo suppressed a smile. He was certain that would get a rise out of him. "I trust those three didn't give you too much trouble?"
"No trouble at all. They did their part as well as could be expected. They are considerably more obedient than the first generation, and work better as a team. Apart from Auel using a block word on Stella, their performance was flawless."
"Very well. The machines?"
"We've finished the data downloads. They're everything we suspected they'd be and far more. You were right to order this mission, my Lord."
"The Coordinators will not rest until we are either destroyed or enslaved." Once again, Neo could sense that dark, deadly vehemence. "We need to accelerate our plans, and the technology of those mobile suits will prove useful. Make sure that you bring them home intact, Neo."
"Once I've got the Minerva off my back that should be no problem." Neo allowed himself to smile. "The debris belt is a dangerous place, after all."
"Do not fail me, Neo Roanoke." The screen went blank. Neo sat back in his seat, conflicting thoughts and feelings running through his mind.
They had managed to get away, at least for the moment. He was more than a little proud of that trick with the gas tanks. The enemy had been forced to expend potentially lethal shots blowing them away, and the bright flash had almost certainly blinded their scanners and ruined their targeting solutions. It had given him the precious moments he had needed to get a good lead on them.
It wasn't over yet. That ship would chase him to the ends of the solar system, either to retrieve or else destroy what he had stolen. He knew it, in a way that very few people in all the solar system could hope to comprehend.
It was a common superstition among spacers that ships were in some way alive, that they had souls or personalities of their own, knowable only to those who could read the signs. Most non-spacers scoffed at such esoteric babble, thinking it more fitting of an older, darker age where the true nature of the universe was not so clear. Others saw it as an outgrowth of a human tendency to anthropomorphise, seeing human qualities in inanimate objects, a means of expressing their feelings.
Neither of those explanations applied to Neo Roanoke. What he saw, what he felt in that ship was no artist's intuitions, nor some spacer's superstitions. He knew that ship, as he knew his own body. There was pride, power, and confidence about it, all entirely justified. It was a proud and noble lion, whereas the Girty Lue was a crouching, cruel leopard, poised to strike and kill. Neo would have been pleased to command the Minerva, to have such power at his fingertips. In another life he might have done so.
Neo did not let himself be hampered by regrets. What could never be could never be, and there was no point in getting upset about it. He knew that he was above such pettiness, such petulance. What might have been had no bearing on what was.
It was an important fact to remember, especially when dealing with Extendeds.
He thought of the trio, sleeping in their biobeds, their every thought and feeling under constant observation. Few could have believed, had they seen them in action, that they had begun their lives as ordinary humans. They had been conceived, gestated, and born as the majority of their fellow humans had been. They had begun their lives as humans.
Until they drew the attention of the Extended project.
Neo did not know any of the details. Bruno Azrael was as picky about who he shared information with as his cousin had been, meaning that few outside the project knew where the subjects came from. Most of Phantom Pain's inductees were orphans, acquired by legal and bureaucratic legerdemain. But even then there would be a paper trail, something that someone sufficiently determined and with the right connections could trace. That was something neither Blue Cosmos, nor Phantom Pain, nor the Azrael family could afford in the case of the Extendeds.
A scornful smirk creased Neo's face. Such was their fear, such was their hatred, that the leaders of Blue Cosmos had been willing to do anything to find their perfect weapon. But despite all their wealth, all their power, and all their determination, they had been unable to achieve it. And so long as they held the baseline human form sacrosanct, they would never be able to.
But not all of them had seen it that way. Some of them had been able to bend the rules a little, or at least put them in perspective. Those whose hatred of Coordinators far outweighed their love of Naturals. Those whose hatred was so strong that nothing was held sacred, not even their own doctrine.
Djibril had been chief among them. And now Djibril was in charge of Blue Cosmos. And like Neo, he did not see any reason to continue the Extended project, busted flush that it was. Doubtless Bruno Azrael was whispering and plotting behind his back, but Neo expected no better of the man. Ultimately it meant that the remaining Extendeds were nothing more than leftovers, resources to be expended.
Neo hardened his heart. He would not allow himself to pity them. He would use them without restraint, and destroy them without hesitation. Their existence was not his doing, their suffering was not his burden, their doom was not his crime. Their salvation was beyond his power, and nothing could be done.
Such was their fate.
The intercom buzzed, drawing Neo from his thoughts.
"Roanoke."
"We're coming up on Darien, Commander. ETA ten minutes."
"Thank you Lee."
Time to put his trap in place.
Minerva
The door slid open.
The familiar sights, sounds, and smells of a mobile suit hangar assailed Cagalli as she stepped out of the lift. Athrun was close behind her, a presence for which she felt profoundly grateful. Durandal stepped out to her left, accompanied by Rey za Burrell, a young man with long blond hair and suspicious eyes. They drifted effortlessly to the parapet of the observation walkway.
"I'm sure you're aware of the ZGMF-1000, the ZAKU," Durandal gestured at the mighty shapes, one red, one green, standing festooned with cables amid tall maintenance gantries. From the observation walkway where she stood, Cagalli could see the entire deck clearly.
It made her already much-abused head ache. The medics had done their best, but the bump she had taken inside the ZAKU's cockpit continued to irritate her.
"And then there's the Impulse, utilising a unique launch system. Durandal directed their attention towards a series of elevator platforms stacked at one end of the hangar. Each one carried one of that particular machine's interchangeable sections, with the Core fighter positioned logically at the top.
"I understand," Durandal turned to face her with evident pride, "that you had the opportunity to see it in action."
"Yes," Athrun answered for her, his tone uncertain. "We did."
"According to the designers," Durandal went on conversationally, "this is a completely new, highly efficient system. Then again," he gave her a superior smile, "I'd be the first to admit I'm not exactly knowledgeable in these matters." Cagalli did not hold his gaze for long. There was something in those eyes that set her teeth on edge. And that blond myrmidon of his was making it worse, looking at her as if she were giving off a bad smell.
"But I take it that the Princess does not much care for this?"
Cagalli knew he was trying to annoy her. She knew that he was trying to provoke her, to goad her into mouthing off so he could shoot her down again. Knowing it didn't make it any easier to take.
"Well you seem happy about it, Mister Chairman." It was the best answer she could think of. Deflect the issue, buy herself some time.
"It's not that I'm happy about it," Durandal mused, pretending to have been caught off-guard. "My feelings stem from the thought of how hard everyone is working, of how far they have come through so much adversity, and gained such strength."
"Such strength…" Cagalli chose her moment. "You said that strength is necessary because there will always be conflict, Mister Chairman." The smile fell momentarily from Durandal's face, as if he was wondering what she meant.
"Yes," he replied, the smile returning.
"Then how do you explain what happened here!" Cagalli demanded, letting her anger have its head. "Because of your new mobile suits, your nation has suffered terrible damage!"
"Representative!" Athrun almost barked. Cagalli knew she was treading on a tightrope, but was too angry to mince words.
"And therefore, you believe that we shouldn't have any power at all?" If the Chairman was in any way offended by her words, he made no show of it. In fact, he seemed merely amused, as if confronted by a presumptuous child.
"Why are such things necessary in the first place!" It was more than anger. It galled Cagalli that he didn't even pretend to take her seriously, and over such a serious matter. It enraged her that he could be so blasé, so cavalier. Did all the promises, all the pledges, mean nothing to him? Was all the killing a matter of indifference? Did Gilbert Durandal really not see that his actions were bringing the world closer to the brink of Armageddon? Or did he really just not care?
"We made a vow not to repeat the tragedies of the past!" she went on, her feelings too strong to be controlled. "We vowed to make a path we could walk on together!"
"That's true." Durandal could not have sounded more patronizing if he had patted her on the head. "However…"
"Idealism has always been House Athha's speciality, hasn't it!"
The words cut through the atmosphere like a blade. All turned towards its source, a young man in the red uniform of a ZAFT pilot, standing on the lower level. His hair was purple, his face turned away.
"Shinn!" blurted out of the green-uniformed deck personnel floating nearby.
"Shinn!" barked Rey, his evident outrage the first emotion other than low-grade suspicion Cagalli had seen on his face all day. As the blond myrmidon leapt the parapet, the boy called Shinn half-turned his head, revealing a tolerably handsome face, one gold eye gazing up at her in black and bitter loathing. Cagalli was transfixed, horrified and bewildered in equal measure.
"Enemy vessel detected! All stations to Condition Red! All pilots stand by!"
The voice from the PA, and the buzzing of the klaxon, defused the confrontation. Rey reached the lower floor, grabbing Shinn by his lapel. Shinn fought him off with a hiss of anger, then launched himself away.
"I'm very sorry Mister Chairman!" Rey stood to attention, looking up at the walkway. "He will be disciplined for his actions!" Rey snapped off a salute, then headed off after Shinn.
"My sincerest apologies Princess." To Cagalli's surprise, Durandal actually sounded serious. "I happen to know that young pilot, however distantly. He's an immigrant from Orb, and as such that kind of statement was the last thing I expected from him." Durandal closed his eyes, as if he genuinely found the whole thing rather embarrassing.
Cagalli looked away, wondering what she or her family had done to enrage the young man so.
Girty Lue
It was vast.
The O'Neill Island-3 cylinder was the largest free-floating orbital structure ever to be constructed by human hands. Like a great many of the Cosmic Era's wonders, it had been conceived centuries earlier. In the heady days of the First Space Age, when intrepid men and women had been hurled into orbit atop massive chemical rockets, the necessary technologies had not existed. Were it not for the Reconstruction Wars, such things would have come into being much sooner.
The O'Neill cylinder up ahead, just past the asteroid, was practically identical in concept to the hundreds of others orbiting the Earth, including Orb's newly-repaired Heliopolis. A gleaming cylinder, just over thirty kilometres long and eight kilometres in diameter. Three long strips of the longitudinal wall were translucent, each with a mirror array as long as the colony hinged at its end, reflecting sunlight inside. Rotating at forty times per hour, the cylinder would have provided hundreds of thousands of inhabitants with an environment not much different from that of Earth. The unique conditions inside would have been perfect for all manner of research, development, and construction. An O'Neill cylinder was a boon beyond compare to any state that could build and maintain one.
But not Darien.
Great Britain had poured all of its efforts into the colony's construction. Its leaders had sold Darien as a gateway to the future, the means by which their small country might once again achieve greatness. All of Britain's wealth had been poured into the project, and when the wealth ran out, they had begged and borrowed, living on hope and promises. The dream had just been too shiny, too bright and pure, for anyone to question it.
Now it drifted in the Debris Belt, a gutted wreck long since stripped of anything remotely salvageable, a reminder to future generations of the perils of hubris. The hopes and dreams of an entire nation reduced to a piece of refuse. The repercussions of that disastrous failure were playing out even then on the Earth below, in a crisis that might bring about the final war.
Captain Ian Lee did not much care. Like most who wore the black and grey uniform of Phantom Pain, he was beyond being emotionally stirred by such things. The relevant part of him had been wrung dry long ago. Not much remained of the hopeful, idealistic young man who had joined the Atlantic Federation space forces thirty years earlier.
How much had changed since then? The forties, when the space race seemed to be getting faster and faster. The decade that had seen so much hope, and so much change.
The decade when the Coordinator population hit ten million. And it all went downhill from there.
Lee did not allow himself to be bothered by it. Whatever sympathy he might have felt for the Coordinators had died long ago. The bright, burning hate had similarly been expended, burnt out in any one of a thousand battles. All that remained was what Phantom Pain had told him, not long after he accepted their job offer.
The Coordinators were doomed, yet they refused to accept their fate. They refused to face facts, to admit that there could never be a pure-bred nation of 'new humanity' enthroned among the stars. The Coordinators were a dying race, unable to reproduce among themselves, condemned to die childless amid their glory, or else swallow their pride and join with Naturals. But their pride was too great, too overweening. In their hubris, and their hate, they denied the horrible truth. They had girded themselves for war, fashioned a weapon of terrifying potency, sought to destroy the Earth that had given them life, to exterminate those who were their only hope.
For Phantom Pain, and for Ian Lee, there was but one option. For the sake of all humanity, for all those who lived upon the Earth, the false nation of the Coordinators would be destroyed.
He glanced sideways at the younger man seated in the chair next to his. Neo Roanoke sat straight, his blond hair cascading from underneath the helmet that concealed the upper half of his head, his face expressionless.
He knew who that man was. For that matter, he knew what that man was. He was one of very few people privy to that information. What was more, he had a pretty good idea of what that man intended to do.
It did not matter.
"Distance to asteroid?" he asked aloud.
"Distance fourteen hundred and closing!" replied the helmsman.
"Status of hangar deck?"
"Deck reports all units ready," replied his Combat Operations Officer.
"Including those three?" Lee could not stop himself glancing again at Neo.
"Yes sir."
"Combat Ops, order all mobile suits to launch. Helm, lay in a course below the asteroid. Prepare to put Colonel Roanoke's plan into effect."
"Deck reports starboard catapult online! Port catapult online! Systems show green…launching!" Through the bridge's forward viewport, Lee could see two tiny shapes emerge from the Girty Lue's open bow doors. Then two more, and then only one.
"Mobile suits away! Datalinks are green! Closing hangar doors!"
"I just hope your pilots are up to it," Lee said in a low voice that only Neo was close enough to hear.
"Come now Lee," Neo replied, giving him an indulgent smile. "Sam Alvarez may be an epicure, but he's one of the best pilots I've seen."
"It's not Lieutenant Alvarez I'm worried about."
"You mean those three." Neo sounded almost disappointed. "Wasn't their performance a few hours ago proof enough?"
"There's a lot riding on them doing their jobs right," Lee retorted, in no mood to be palmed off. "I've seen too many Extendeds screw up to have any confidence in them."
"First Generation Extendeds," Neo reminded him. "You have to admit, those three are far superior performers. And if anything goes wrong, I'll go out there myself. Happy now?"
"Very well." Lee decided he was getting nowhere. Neo's skill in the Exus was not to be sneezed at, but he didn't feel any better for it.
Nobody had expected space warfare to turn out as it had done. For decades it was almost holy writ that space wars would be fought by robots. Such thinking was the product of the late twentieth century, when people had begun to object to the fact that war generally involved the destruction of human life. They had wanted clean wars, painless, lawful, and above all, just.
Military robots reached their apogee, and their nadir, in the Reconstruction Wars. Few had tried to use them ever since, and for good reason. In the face of modern cyber-warfare, to give robots weapons was to have those weapons turned back against you. There had been many terrible incidents, magnified in the public imagination by books like Yuri Goto's Silicon Heart, Bloody Hand, and movies like the Robot Rampage series, and the more highbrow Night of the Iron Men.
In the Cosmic Era, wars were fought by human beings, albeit clothed in advanced technology and aided by robots in certain contexts. The particulars of space warfare had been laid down decades ago, back when the old Moebius mobile armours were state of the art. Those particulars had not much changed with the coming of the mobile suit. They were just better at it. Mobile suits might be expensive, and the death of a pilot tragic, but even the most expensive mobile suit was cheap compared to a warship, in material and operational terms. That meant that damaging a warship with mobile suits before the main clash, even if some of them were lost, was economically worthwhile.
Lee knew, both from his training and from experience, what happened when an unsupported warship faced a warship with mobile suits in support. If those three Extendeds screwed up and got themselves killed, or allowed themselves to be lured away, the Girty Lue would be at an extreme disadvantage.
"Passing asteroid!" called the helmsman. "Entering range for anchor target!"
"Cast anchor as you bear!" Neo called. It was his plan after all. "Launch the decoy after firing." He smirked. "Get the timing right on this."
"T-minus eight seconds!" counted the helmsman. "T-minus seven…six…five…four…three…two…one…firing!"
Lee could see the anchor fly, the tiny light of its rocket engine racing away towards the vast bulk of the asteroid, looming menacingly in the forward viewport.
"Anchor has impacted! Anchor is holding!"
It was like something out of a very old movie, or an acrobatics act. Having cut engines several minutes earlier, the Girty Lue had drifted towards the asteroid on momentum, aiming itself with vernier thrusters. Neo's idea was to use the anchor as one might swing on a rope or trapeze, maintaining momentum while sling-shotting around the asteroid. It all depended on making sure that not too much strain was put on the high-tension anchor cable.
Lee felt the ship begin to swing. He winced at the sound of metal straining, wondering what the yard crew would say when they got back to base.
If they got back to base.
Shinn Asuka gritted his teeth.
He was angry. He was furious. That they had to ferry Cagalli Yula Athha around was bad enough. But for her to keep on spouting that pacifistic claptrap, to the Chairman's face, in the presence of ZAFT soldiers, was more than he could tolerate.
"They haven't changed!" he thought, gripping the Impulse's joysticks a little too hard. "Damn them! Damn them all to hell!"
She was no different to her father. Her father, Uzumi Nara Athha, who had condemned Orb to burn rather than compromise on his precious ideals. Uzumi Nara Athha, who had betrayed those very ideals by building mobile suits for the Earth Alliance, then stonewalled when the inevitable betrayal came. Uzumi Nara Athha, who by his own cowardice and incompetence had cast his nation into the flame.
And still she spouted those ideals. Still she talked about treaties and obligations and promises, as if those things really meant anything. She would have the PLANTs throw away their weapons, leave themselves naked and defenceless before a hostile world. She had the gall to browbeat the Coordinators for staying out of a war that was not yet their own, for failing to weep copious tears as the Earth Alliance, which had caused them so much misery, tore itself apart.
All because her precious Orb might be in danger. All because she was scared. Scared of the new world that was coming, a world in which Coordinators might be a little bit better off.
Shinn knew which one he would choose.
"I didn't score so well in debris battles," grumbled a familiar voice. Shinn glanced down at the comm display, which confirmed it to be Luna.
"They must have seen us by now," he replied, his focus returning. "Stay alert."
All right, he shouldn't have said it out loud. He could accept that his conduct in the hangar was not what was expected of ZAFT soldiers. Rey had given him enough of an earful about how he had embarrassed the Chairman, and how he would have to apologise for it later.
He would apologise to the Chairman if the Captain insisted. But nothing would make him apologise to the Athha. Not the threat of the brig, nor even of being kicked out of ZAFT. He had been told more than once that his anger would cost him, but it was better than the alternative.
Shinn glanced around, peering through the drifting debris for any sight of the enemy ship. Silently bemoaning his field of vision, he tweaked the Impulse's head, moving his perspective up and down, left and right. Still nothing, except for Lunamaria's red ZAKU and the two green ZAKUs that had launched along with them.
For a moment Shinn was mystified. The space around him might be filthy with wreckage of every conceivable variety, but he should have seen something. Unless someone on the Minerva had gotten the calculations wrong, the enemy ship should be right in front of him. It couldn't have gone far, not with that much junk floating around.
So where was it?
Shinn felt sick. It was the same sick, cold feeling he had felt on that terrible day two years earlier, the knowledge of a horrible truth. The enemy had evaded them. Bogey One had managed to give them the slip, and could be just about anywhere.
He glanced down at his scanner screen, and resisted the urge to switch to active scanning. If the enemy hadn't seen him already, they certainly would if he did. ZAFT doctrine held that stealth was to be maintained until the last possible moment.
But what was the point if he couldn't see them? Surely there was no advantage?
A sudden flash of colour on his screen decided the matter for him.
"Heat flare!" he yelled, jabbing frantically at the scanner console and hauling on the joystick with his other hand. Spinning Impulse round, he could see the enemy mobile suit diving in, drum-shaped gunpods launching from its back.
Chaos.
Luna and Dale were also breaking, but Shawn was just a fraction too slow. Shinn could only watch, stomach clenched, as the Chaos and its gunpods bracketed the green ZAKU in a hail of emerald bolts. One of them hit, then another, then another, until the ZAKU vanished in a sphere of light.
"Shawn!" Lunamaria screamed over the comm. Shinn gritted his teeth.
"Scatter!" he ordered. "Take them one on one!" Gaia and Abyss were diving in too, forcing Lunamaria and Dale to evade. Shinn focussed his attention on Chaos, only to be distracted by a beeping from his scanner console. He looked down, and his brow furrowed in surprise as he saw what was unmistakeably a warship contact.
"Bogey One?"
Minerva
"Three heat sources! Bearing six-two mark seven-five!" called the Sensor Officer.
"Active scanners! Identify!" Talia Gladys managed to maintain her composure. To her relief, and pleasure, her bridge crew were doing likewise, even her CIC Meyrin Hawke.
"Contacts are mobile suits!" Meyrin called back, as the data scrolled across her screens. "Negative transponders! Registry is checking…Chaos, Gaia, and Abyss!"
"Find Bogey One!" Talia snapped. "Find that ship now!"
Though she did her best to conceal it, her heart was pounding like a drum, her nerves stinging in fear and anticipation. The enemy Captain had deceived her, and could be just about anywhere. The only thing she knew for certain was that he had to be close by, for there was no way he could get away quickly through all that debris. He had either rigged for cold running in order to slip away unnoticed, or else he was under power and stalking her.
Talia cursed herself. She should have seen it coming. Instead, in her haste and desire not to lose track of the enemy, she had blundered right into a trap.
It was him, so a part of her insisted. Him, whose gaze she could feel boring into the back of her head. Him, who had waltzed back into her life and turned it upside down.
She halted the train of thought, damning herself for a petulant fool. It didn't matter how many Heads of State were sitting on her bridge, and it mattered even less what had passed between herself and one of them. She was the Captain, the master and commander. She should not have allowed herself to feel pressured, or to let her feelings cloud her judgement.
"Countermeasures!" she ordered. "Ready a full spread."
"Heat bloom, two-nine-five mark four-six!" barked the SO. "Range five-hundred k and closing!"
Talia gritted her teeth. The enemy was behind her, and mere seconds from weapons range.
"Countermeasures fire on my mark!"
"Energy spike!" yelled the SO, sounding close to panic. "Enemy is charging guns!"
"Fire countermeasures!" The flares leapt from their silos, detonating in bright flashes as Bogey Oneopened fire with its beam cannons. The flares burned bright, their penumbra intersecting in a halo around the Minerva, diffracting the deadly beams as they passed. But they could not stop them all, and Talia felt the ship shudder.
"Damage report!"
"Glancing hits aft! No damage reported!" Talia controlled her breathing, willing her heart to still. They had gotten lucky, but she knew only too well that their luck could soon run out.
She thought fast. The fighting Captain in her wanted to break away from the asteroid and face the enemy head-on, letting the Minerva use its maximum firepower. But such a course would be risky, either committing the Minerva to a long, easily-predictable turn, or else executing a spot-turn and hoping the enemy didn't blast her before she could bring her guns to bear. The alternative was to stick close to the asteroid, getting around and out of Bogey One's line of sight long enough to change heading and deploy Rey.
"Reload countermeasures! Bring us in close to the asteroid!" She felt the inertia shift as the Minerva's heading changed slightly, easing into the canyon that ran the circumference of the asteroid. With any luck, the enemy would have trouble discerning them against such a backdrop.
"Multiple contacts! Missiles inbound! Impact T-minus sixty seconds!"
"Captain!" Commander Trine was looking as stressed as she felt. "Shall we launch countermeasures?"
"Negative!" Launching them now would be an amateur's mistake. The flares would stop the missiles, but the effect would fade before new countermeasures could be loaded and launched. That would be just the opening Bogey One's beam cannons needed. "Ready turrets to intercept!"
"Turrets show green! Missiles closing! T-minus thirty seconds!"
"Captain!" It was Meyrin. "Captain, there's something wrong with the missiles! Their course isn't quite right!"
"What do you mean?" Talia hoped for Meyrin's sake that it was important.
"The angle's too deep! They'll hit the asteroid instead of us!" For a fraction of an instant, Talia wondered what it could possibly mean.
It clicked.
"Hard to Port! Maximum thrusters! Get us away from the asteroid!"
The Minerva's CIWS turrets opened fire, sending streams of tracer out into the void. Some of the missiles were struck, the g-forces tearing their weakened frames apart. But others pressed on, racing past the Minerva and ploughing into the asteroid. They detonated on cue, even as the Minerva's vernier thrusters ignited, showering the ZAFT warship with rock fragments. The rocks rent and tore at the warship's armoured hull, denting and cracking it. But the Minerva soared free, curving away into open space.
With some of the sensor arrays damaged by the rocks, and the rest blinded by the shower of fragments, they did not see the two mobile suits emerge from the canyon ahead of them. The two machines, one red, one black, pushed themselves off the asteroid like swimmers, firing their engines to bring themselves into range. Approaching along the Minerva's blinded starboard side, no one saw them coming. The red machine still wore the same IWSP Striker Pack it had worn a few hours earlier, while the black machine wore the 'Launcher' version, its main feature a single 320mm Agni beam cannon.
The pair fired as they passed, particle beams and railgun rounds tearing into the already damaged armour with lethal accuracy. Whole compartments were blasted open, the escaping air hurling unfortunate men and women into the void. The starboard launch tunnel took a hit, erupting in a shower of sparks, though by some divine mercy the explosion did not spread into the hangar deck. The two machines fired, and fired again, until momentum them past the Minerva and out into space.
Shinn was fighting for his life.
With Shawn and Dale gone, it was three on two. But whereas Gaia seemed to have fixated on Lunamaria, the other two were persecuting him.
He threw Impulse into a rolling spiral, the shots from Chaos's gunpods flashing silently past. Chaos did likewise, trying to get back on his tail and bracket him with the gunpods as it had Shawn less than a minute earlier.
Explosions blossomed across space to Shinn's right. It was Lunamaria, her M1500 Orthros beam cannon tearing up the debris, but without any apparent effect. Shinn found himself wishing she hadn't brought the heavy gun. Destructive as it was, it was practically useless against small, manoeuvrable targets like mobile suits, especially high-performance machines like the stolen prototypes.
It was nobody's fault. They were supposed to be chasing Bogey One, and she had Shawn, Dale, and himself as escorts in any case. It should have been more than enough.
Shinn gritted his teeth as he rolled again. Who were these enemies? Who could be so capable as to take down trained Coordinator pilots that easily? Who was making him fight for his life?
Who was making him fail his friend?
He glanced around, looking for a way out. His gaze fell on a large cylindrical module, probably left over from some even older space station. An oblong corridor was cut into it, seemingly running the length of the module.
Seemingly.
Shinn boosted for the module, knowing he was out of options. He dived down the corridor, the long metal walls seeming to loom around him. Neither of his assailants followed.
"Okay, if I can just…"
"Shinn!" It was Lunamaria. An instant later her red ZAKU crashed through the translucent smaller wall, slamming back-first into the opposite wall. Shinn pressed down his right foot, the verniers firing to aim him side-ways on, facing the translucent wall. He keyed for the beam cannons, the two huge weapons swing up under the Impulse's arms into position at its hips. As he passed over the stricken ZAKU Shinn fired, the deadly beams lancing out through the hole and so very nearly hitting the incoming Gaia. The black mobile suit broke sideways and blazed away, its chance lost.
"Thanks Shinn! I owe you!" Lunamaria sounded like she meant it.
"Can you move?" he asked, giving her red ZAKU a quick look-over. It didn't seem damaged.
"I'm okay."
"All right, straight out this way, we'll head for the Minerva."
"Right!"
Shinn boosted the Impulse out through the hole, Lunamaria following after.
Minerva
Talia gripped the armrests hard, her fingers digging into the upholstery, as Arthur read out the report.
"Starboard catapult offline. Starboard main engines offline. Starboard Tristan and tubes inoperative."
"Engineering reports reactor is stable. Power distribution seriously compromised."
"Medical reports heavy casualties."
"Hull ruptures on all decks to Starboard. Ruptured compartments confirmed sealed. Multiple fires on deck seven through fifteen. Fire crews report fires are contained."
She had failed. She had screwed up, big time. Her ship was maimed, several of her crew dead, and two mobile suits were on their own.
It was her fault. She was in command. She had not considered that the enemy might try an ambush. She had underestimated Bogey One.
Her fault.
"Don't we have any more mobile suits?" Durandal asked, speaking for the first time since the battle had begun.
"We're out of pilots!" Talia snapped, and instantly wished she hadn't.
She should not have let it slip out. She knew that others felt the same way, that they were wanted to give that boy behind her a piece of their minds, but that did not make it right. Be he Alex Dino or Athrun Zala, sending him into battle in a one-armed ZAKU was utter lunacy.
"What is Bogey One's status?" she managed to ask, through the dark clouds of self-hatred fogging her mind.
"300 k and closing, decelerating."
They were coming in for the kill. They would close to within one hundred kilometres, at which distance they were almost guaranteed to hit even against countermeasures, and either pound the Minerva to scrap or cripple it enough to close and board. The latter was always risky, but a reasonable choice when the enemy was seemingly helpless.
Seemingly helpless.
"Cut power to all systems."
"Captain?" Arthur was incredulous, and he wasn't the only one.
"That's an order, Arthur!" Talia snarled. The force of her tone was enough to make him obey.
"Let them think we are crippled. Let them think we are helpless."
"Meyrin."
"Yes Captain?" She sounded so very young.
"Listen to my orders very carefully. Rig countermeasures for time delay, then prepare to fire them straight at Bogey One. Also, rig the Neidharts in the Port tubes for contact detonation. Did you get all that?"
"Yes Captain."
"Send word to Engineering," she turned to Arthur, who was looking at her as if she had sprouted horns. "Have them prepare to transfer reactor power directly to the Port Tristan on my order and not before. Time will be of the essence if this is to work."
"Yes Captain."
Girty Lue
"Target is powering down!" called the SO. "Target is drifting!"
"What's the status of their reactor?" Lee asked.
"Reactor appears online!"
"Tactical! Status report!"
"Capacitors at point eight! Tubes are reloading!"
Lee tried hard to control his impatience. It was a rare thing to have an enemy so completely at bay, just waiting for the killing blow. He knew they had taken serious engine damage, for he had seen Alvarez and his companion score their hits. That the Minerva was also losing power meant that the ship's power distribution network had been damaged also.
An overconfident or sadistic Captain would drag it out for as long as possible, savouring the moment of victory. But Lee had no such intentions. He wanted to get the matter over with before something happened.
"Enemy is launching countermeasures!" A last gasp of defiance no doubt, or an attempt to buy time.
"Status of their weapons?"
"No change!" Evidently they weren't trying anything. If they meant to fire the beam cannons, the energy spike as they fed power into the capacitors, or even straight into the guns, would have been detectable by now.
But then, why were the countermeasures taking so long to detonate?
"What's the status of those countermeasures?"
"Captain," the SO sounded confused. "They're coming this way?"
"This way?" Lee was incredulous. Why would they…?
The countermeasures detonated, filling the viewports with blinding light for the instant it took for the windows to darken.
"Evasion! Raise bow forty degrees! Engines to maximum!"
The Girty Lue's massive hull rotated, aiming the bow upward to escape. Out of the blinding glare came four tiny shapes, speeding inexorably onward. The Neidhart missiles, flying blind to avoid the effects of the flares, tore into the Girty Lue's underside. One penetrated the aft section, coming dangerously close to the starboard engine cluster, but failed to detonate. Another struck the central pylon, punching up through several decks before detonating. The third hit the Port forward section, blasting through into the launch catapult, and but for the heavy blast door would have turned the hangar deck into an inferno. The final missile struck the ventral Gottfreid beam cannon turret on the same section, blowing it up and detonating the full-charged capacitor.
The Girty Lue lurched to starboard as the entire lower half of the Port forward section blew out. Dozens of crew members were blasted to ash in the blink of an eye, while their comrades elsewhere were sent flying into bulkheads with bone-cracking force. It was only thanks to the heavily-armoured bulkheads, designed for just such an eventuality, that the explosion did not spread to the other turrets and their capacitors.
But it was not over yet. As the stricken Girty Lue rolled over, the Minerva aimed its one remaining Tristan turret straight at the Girty Lue's vulnerable belly. The beams struck true, perforating the already wounded warship.
Minerva
"Multiple hits confirmed! Enemy is withdrawing!"
Talia felt as if she was sinking into her chair. The icy claws loosened their grip on her heart. They were out of danger.
"You did it Captain!" Arthur proclaimed, eyes bright.
"I did nothing!" Talia snapped back, frustration and shame rising to replace the fading terror.
"Nothing," she thought, "but get caught with my pants around my ankles." Arthur looked crestfallen.
"Please excuse my presumption Captain," Durandal spoke up. As she turned her chair to face him, she saw that smile on his face. "But I feel I must add my approbation to that of the Commander. Your manoeuvre was as daring as it was deadly, and there can be no doubt that it saved all our lives."
"I feel the same way," Cagalli added. "Thank you, Captain Gladys."
"If you please, Chairman, Chief Representative," Talia changed the subject. "Matters are not yet concluded." She turned to Meyrin. "What's Shinn and Lunamaria's status?"
"Their batteries are running low, Captain," Meyrin replied, glancing over her screens. "Impulse is at eighteen percent, the ZAKU Warrior at eleven percent. They seem to still be in combat with Chaos, Gaia, and Abyss."
"Recall them, and order Rey to prepare to launch."
"Yes Captain."
"Alas, poor Neo," quipped Samuel Alvarez, watching the Girty Lue's predicament with a smile on his face. "I knew him well Soryu."
"We should intervene, sir," his companion replied, his voice betraying no emotion. "It would be troublesome if we had to return home in our mobile suits."
"That it would, little dragon," Alvarez replied, using his companion's old nickname. The thought of having to drift all the way back to the Moon did not appeal. "Besides, I like the idea of Neo being in my debt for once."
"Yes sir."
"Then again," Alvarez regarded the Minerva for a moment. "They don't seem to be going anywhere." As if to press the point, Alvarez' console began to beep rather insistently.
"The recall," he said, trying not to sound disappointed. "We had best go."
"Yes sir." As they boosted towards the retreating Girty Lue, Alvarez wondered at his companion's cold efficiency. He sometimes wondered if there was anything in all the universe that could elicit an emotional response from him.
Then again, it wasn't all that surprising. Not considering who and indeed what Kensuke Soryu was.
"Good shooting, by the way," he said by way of a compliment.
"Thank you sir." Still nothing. "Your shooting was…effective, sir."
"Effective, Soryu?" An opinion was better than nothing.
"Effective, sir." And that was about all he was likely to get out of the man. Alvarez was about to issue a witty comment when his comm crackled, the noise been suddenly followed by a stream of abuse.
"And good afternoon to you Auel."
"You damn useless epicure!" the blue-haired Extended's voice shrieked from the speaker. "Where the hell where you? You were supposed to back us up!"
"We were a tad busy," Alvarez replied, in an exaggerated casual tone he just knew would drive Auel up the wall. "Carrying out our mission."
"We lost those two because of you!" Auel yelled. "And you let the ship get smashed up too! Now Neo's gonna be pissed!"
"Oh dear," Alvarez drawled sarcastically. "And there was me thinking you could handle one or two mobile suits."
"I'll get you Alvarez!" Auel roared. "And your little dragon too!"
"That's enough Auel," Sting Oakley's voice interjected. "You think you're the only one who's frustrated?"
"And how about you, little lady?" Alvarez turned his attention to Stella, ignoring their argument. There was no reply.
"Pretty girl," he commented, mostly to himself. "But no personality."
The Debris Belt
Junius Seven.
Specifically Junius Seven Beta, the 'lower' of the two hemispheres that had once made up the Junius Seven colony. It had begun its life as a resource asteroid, one of hundreds launched towards the Earth from the asteroid belt before the Reconstruction Wars. It had been picked clean in the early years of the Cosmic Era, then carved into a hemisphere to form one end of a Productive Location Ally on Nexus Technology colony, as they were known at the time.
It had been an agricultural colony, one of the ten that made up the Junius City of the PLANT state. It had been one of several repurposed for food production in CE-69, part of an effort by the newly-founded ZAFT organisation to render the PLANTs functionally independent from Earth.
Of course, to the Earth Alliance such a move was intolerable. Its response was to order Oppose Militancy and Neutralise Invasion or OMNI as the EA's military arm was known, to deploy the warship Roosevelt to Junius Seven as a show of force. It had not remained a show however, for the ZAFT warships present had no intention of putting up with such behaviour. Officially no one knew exactly what happened next, beyond that one of the Roosevelt's complement of Moebius mobile armours had somehow been fitted with a nuclear missile, which was not on the ship's manifest and which no one could remember being loaded, stored, or fitted. The footage of what happened next had become iconic, as iconic as the old nuclear detonation videos from the twentieth century, documentary evidence of man's inhumanity to man.
So much blood had been shed over that terrible tragedy. There had been so much said, and so much soul-searching. Had the crew of the Roosevelt really not known what they were doing? What about the pilot of the Moebius who fired the deadly shot? Rumours abounded as to his, or in some cases her fate. Some said he had killed himself in a fit of remorse, while others thought he was a Blue Cosmos plant, no doubt proud of what he did. Most likely he had died in battle, like countless others in the war that followed, becoming just another name on a war memorial.
The man looking upon Junius Seven Beta knew about all that. He could even accept it. But it didn't matter. What mattered was that over two-hundred-thousand Coordinators had been killed in the blink of an eye, most either incinerated in the blast or asphyxiated in a few, mercifully painless minutes as the air rushed out, their bodies left to drift, inviolate, among the ruins of their homes.
What mattered was that Naturals would always hate Coordinators. No amount of understanding would change that fact.
So the man thought as he looked upon Junius Seven Beta. It looked to him like some giant overturned jellyfish, with the high-tension cables snaking out behind it like long gossamer fronds. It was anything but absurd, though.
To him, it was not a question of national honour, or avenging the murdered innocents. It was more than that, far beyond that.
It was personal.
"Solar wind velocity is constant," came a familiar voice from the comm. "Estimated thirty seconds until clear level S-three is achieved."
"How is unit nine?" he asked.
"It'll be done shortly sir."
The man scanned his eyes over the work. Only someone as close as he was would be able to see his comrades, his brothers and sisters in the final mission. He could see their mobile suits every now and again, moving between the tree-like cables, keeping an eye on the robots as they completed their work. The mobile suits were the best, in his opinion at least. ZGMF-1017M2 GINN High Manoeuvre Type II, improved versions of ZAFT's iconic GINN mobile suit. The man was grateful to his benefactors for providing them. To him, GINNs were true ZAFT mobile suits, not like the new ZAKUs. Those mechs were tainted, too much like the copycat mobile suits of the Earth Alliance. Better the GINNs, the pure work of free Coordinators.
They were painted black and purple. Very appropriate.
The man felt a shiver of rage as he thought of what had happened. It was unbearable to him, as it was to his fellows, how weak and corrupt ZAFT had become since Patrick Zala's murder. It galled him that he had felt hope, hope, when that snake Gilbert Durandal had swept the traitorous Clyne party aside and took power. He had actually believed that Durandal would set things right.
Instead of which, he had set about bending ZAFT to his own dark will. With lies, libels, and dark secrets, he had driven the last true patriots from the ranks of ZAFT, the few who might resist his so-called reforms. Reforms that tainted ZAFT with the archaic and sclerotic structures and rituals of the Earth forces, the forces he and his fellows had run ragged so many times.
And even they had turned upon him. The moment he dared voice his concerns, his so-called comrades had begun to whisper behind his back. Fascist, they called him. Nationalist, they muttered when they thought he could not hear. Zalaite.
What they called him in disgust, he would wear with pride. To bear Patrick Zala's name was no disgrace, for the path he had set out was the right one. The Coordinators were one race, indivisible and inviolate, the sons and daughters of George Glenn. They must either remake the world for their children, or else be utterly destroyed.
"Presence of colloidal particles confirmed," came the voice again. "Permission to start countdown."
The man did not hesitate. There could be no going back.
"Initiate countdown."
"Initiating countdown." He could see one of the robots nearby, standing over what appeared to be a black slab set into the central column. It reached out with insectile legs, pressing the buttons on the enormous keypad, the numbers shifting on the screen.
"Flare motor activation in ten…nine…eight…seven…six…five…four…three…two…one…nominal particle level achieved…Flare motor activated."
The blue light on the flare motor's screen winked out, replaced by a red glow as the device came online. Within seconds the others did likewise, glowing like malevolent eyes in the darkness.
"Junius Seven has begun to move."
The man raised his GINN's right hand to its head, in ironic mimicry of the military salute. He glanced down at his console, where the photographs had been taped. One showed a young woman, eyes bright with joy and hope. Another showed her in the arms of a young man. The third showed that same young man, clad in the green uniform of ZAFT.
"Alan…Christie," the man whispered. "It won't be long now." The man, who had left his name and his life behind, looked up at the shape that had haunted his nightmares for three long years. Junius Seven, the symbol of all that he and so many others had lost.
"Now go! Our tombstone!" he roared, a dark and terrible exultation drowning out his regret. "Fall upon this deceitful world! Fall upon those who have forgotten the cries of sorrow! Fall upon those who deny the truth!"
Jovian Dawn
Daniel strode along the corridor, hand snapping to his brow to return the salute of a passing crewman.
He knew he should be keeping his countenance under better control. He should not be walking fast or looking worried. But it wasn't something he had the time to deal with.
Not after what he had heard from the bridge.
He reached the end of the corridor, the doors sliding open to permit him access to the vertical transit tube. He glanced up and down, then stepped with practiced ease into the tube. Outside the rotating section that provided the corridor with gravity, Daniel needed only to grab the rail and pull himself up.
Except once he did so it was no longer 'up', but straight ahead. It was one of space travel's little peculiarities, and growing up in the Kingdom of Jupiter had given him more than enough opportunity to get used to it. All the same it still amazed him sometimes how much ground one could cover while weightless.
As such, it was only a matter of minutes before he approached his destination. The bridge was located inside a tower located about two thirds of the way along the main hull. The bridge itself was located at the centre of the tower, well-protected by layer upon layer of armour, ranging from the thin outer layer to the metres-thick inner layers.
As Daniel reached the lowermost deck of the tower, a figure floated out into the tunnel. As he drew closer, and the figure glanced down to look at him, he realised who it was.
"Captain!" he called, halting himself next to her and saluting.
"Prince Daniel." Captain Juno Moneta returned the salute with a slight smile and a twinkle in her eyes. She was about his own height, with black hair and skin slightly darker than his own. "Would you care to accompany me?"
"Yes Captain." The pair floated along in silence, and Daniel started to feel awkward. He had come to greatly admire the Captain over the two-year-long voyage, and not simply because of her record. Juno Moneta had already been the most respected and decorated Captains in the Royal Jovian Space Fleet when she was chosen to command the Jovian Dawn. But it was during the voyage, when he lived, and trained under her authority, that he had come to understand how and why she had come so far.
He wanted to believe that she respected him in turn, or that she at least found him worthy. The only indication he had was that she had not issued any complaints regarding his conduct or progress in over a year. And he knew from experience that, while entirely respectful and not stooping to emotional blackmail or bullying, she was not shy about saying what needed to be said. If she had a problem with him, he could count on her to say so, as he could with his companions.
She had not said anything. She had given him neither praise nor criticism. Was that a good sign? He could not say, and would not lower himself to fish for compliments.
He wondered if he would find it in himself to ask her the question, whether she would allow him the opportunity to prove himself once and for all.
All at once they reached the corridor leading to the upper bridge deck. Captain and Prince eased themselves effortlessly into the corridor, the artificial gravity provided by the rotating sections pressing them onto the deck. The door slid open as they approached.
"Officer, pre-sent! The Royal Marine guards snapped to attention as they passed. Juno returned the salute, and Daniel did likewise. He felt a little self-conscious as he followed Juno to the map table, where the Jovian Dawn's senior officers were waiting. He could feel the gazes of the bridge crew upon him, at least those who could see him. He knew that he was invisible to those on the lower bridge, where most of the duty stations were located. He took the time to glance at those watching him, returning their salutes so as to let them return to their duties. He could not bear the thought of causing a disruption.
The assembled officers turned and saluted as they approached. Most of them, like Juno, wore the uniform of the Royal Jovian Space Fleet, consisting of dark blue jacket, pants, and beret, with black collar, belt, cuffs, and boots. Some of those present wore black jackets, with while berets, collars, cuffs, and belts, marking them as members of the Royal Jovian Space Marines. He recognized Colonel Vissari Messa, with her short blonde hair and hard eyes, commander of the Jovian Dawn's three-thousand-strong Marine Brigade. And not just any brigade, but the legendary 3rd Brigade, whose battle honours ran from Arcadia Dome to Tannhauser Gate. Some of the Marine officers wore the gold lanyard marking them as proven battlepod pilots.
"Report," Juno said, returning the salutes as she stepped up to the map table.
"Opticon has detected movement in the debris belt," replied Commander Ilumina Ark, her second-in-command. "One of the larger objects has shifted in its orbit."
"Show me," the Captain ordered. Commander Ark stepped up to the map table's main control panel. An instant later the table shimmered into life, the image centring on a vast hemisphere that looked as if it had been carved out of an asteroid.
"How large is it?" Daniel asked.
"Opticon scaled it at eight kilometres in diameter," replied Lieutenant Desantos, the Sensor officer. "Estimated mass is over one hundred gigatons."
"Project estimated orbital shift," ordered Juno. The table responded, a bright line extending from the hemisphere and stretching around the planet. Around and around, in an inward spiral. Daniel felt his blood run cold.
"Bitter Rain," someone whispered, saying aloud what all of them were thinking.
"Captain Moneta," came a stern voice, breaking the mood somewhat. Daniel looked up to see who it was.
Feretrius Brand, Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary, wore a look of mild irritation as strode up to the map table. He was an impressive sight, with a lantern jaw, long patrician nose and high forehead, his neatly arranged hair a sophisticated shade of grey. His relatively pale skin marked him as being of Founder stock, while his grey eyes attested to a keen intellect and sharp presence of mind. Just to look at him was to understand why he had been chosen as Jupiter's ambassador for the mission. No one else in the Kingdom had the credentials, or the experience, of which he could boast.
"Ambassador," Juno acknowledged Brand with a nod. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
"I trust this is important, Captain." Brand managed to conceal his irritation, inclining his head to Daniel in quick greeting. "I know you would not…by his grace…"
The last he uttered as he saw the object's course on the map. Daniel began to wonder whether the ambassador's reputation as a useless prig was undeserved. He was nothing if not quick on the uptake.
"As you can see, ambassador," Ark explained, for what must have felt like the umpteenth time. "That particular object is entering a decaying orbit."
"I see." The ambassador's customary sang froid reasserted itself. "It would appear we came all this way to witness an extinction-level event." No one laughed.
"I can't believe they would let it fall," Daniel said, speaking for the first time. "Surely they must have noticed by now."
"We've detected course corrections by multiple contacts." Lieutenant Takano, the Tactical Officer, tapped at his panel. Four ship icons winked into being, each one at the end of a long curving line representing its previous route. Two were in a pair, diverting from what looked like a patrol orbit, while two more approached from different directions via the debris belt.
"Have you identified them?" Juno asked.
"They look to be the same types as those defending the hourglass colonies." The lieutenant gestured at the pair. "I'm sure the others are warships too, judging by the configuration."
"They are responding," Juno mused. "But will it be enough?" There was a long and rather awkward pause.
"Captain," Daniel broke the silence, looking Juno straight in the eyes. "We did not come all this way to watch the Earth die. We should intervene."
Daniel could feel her eyes upon him, and those of all the others. Despite his status, he knew that he was present on the Captain's sufferance, and that she had been far more tolerant than he had any right to expect. Part of him wished he had not spoken, that he had not drawn their attention. Though he did not sense any hostility or scorn, it did not make their gazes any easier to bear.
"Lieutenant Hirata," Juno mercifully turned her attention to the Navigation Officer, generally known as the Nav. "Can we get there in time?"
"At maximum acceleration we can be there in a few hours," the Lieutenant replied. "But that's taking risks with the orbit. One mistake and we could fly right into the planet."
"I hardly think," Brand interjected, "that officers of his Majesty's Space Fleet are incapable of so simple a manoeuvre as approaching a planet at a degree of speed."
"With respect, ambassador." It was obvious that Lieutenant Hirata did not appreciate Brand's tone. "It's not as simple as it sounds. We must calculate our acceleration and deceleration precisely to avoid coming up short or overshooting. That we have to start from a course correction only makes it harder, since we'll need even more Delta-V to break out of our existing orbit." The Nav tapped at his keyboard, and a glowing line snaked across the image, showing the Jovian Dawn's intended path.
"Are you saying it can't be done, Lieutenant?" Juno's gaze was as cold as a neutron star.
"No Captain. But our best chance is if we start the course correction within the hour. It's only going to get harder after that."
All eyes were on the Captain. They all expected a decision, and those who knew her well knew what the decision would be.
"Lieutenant Hirata, send your flight plan to Engineering. Intercom, order all stations to prepare for emergency course change and acceleration." With that, the assembled officers turned and headed for their posts. Juno turned her eyes to Daniel, who had not moved.
"You may remain on the bridge if you wish, your Highness." The coldness in her eyes was replaced with warmth, and a touch of amusement. "Full acceleration is a rare experience, and not to be missed."
"Thank you, Captain." Daniel drew himself up. The time had come. "Captain, if it should happen that we enter combat, I ask your permission to sortie. Please permit me to defend this ship."
Juno did not reply straight away, and Daniel began to fear that she would refuse. Under Jovian law, his safety was her responsibility, and as such she had certain rights over him. One of those rights was that certain courses of action, which included piloting a battlepod into action, required her express permission. It was her right, and her duty, to refuse him if she thought it necessary. Daniel understood, but that would not make the humiliation any more bearable if she did. To go into battle, to share the danger, was the only way he could prove himself, that there was that something inside him that had no name, but that all soldiers knew well.
"I authorise it, your Highness." Juno almost smiled. "In the event of trouble, please lend us your aid." Daniel snapped his heels together and inclined his head.
"Yes Captain! Thank you Captain!"
"That will do, your Highness," Juno admonished, her smile widening at his momentary eruption of boyish enthusiasm. Daniel instantly controlled himself.
He did not notice the look Colonel Messa was giving the Captain.
Orb Union
The night sky was clear, the moon high and bright. It was warm, made pleasant by a gentle breeze. Waves lapped gently up the beach, leaving white foam as they slid back down again.
The sight of a young man and woman walking hand in hand along the beach might under most circumstances have given the scene a picture-perfect quality. All the more so if one could see them up close. The young lady was beautiful, so much so that she had been considered one of the most beautiful in all the Earth Sphere. Her hair was long and pink, her figure graceful, her skin as smooth and white as ivory. The young man was uncommonly handsome himself, his finely-sculpted face and soft brown hair giving him an air of warmth and gentleness, while the sparkle in his eyes spoke of the joy of youth.
They were both beautiful. It was their destiny to be beautiful, for so they were also intended to be. For they were both Coordinators.
So Lacus Clyne sometimes thought. Even then, walking arm in arm with her beloved, the sand warm under her feet and the breeze cool on her face, the though still occurred to her. How much of Kira Yamato's perfections, his virtues and qualities, the things about of that made her love him, were the product of genetic engineering?
It was a question that anyone who loved a Coordinator had to face. But Lacus had known the answer for a long time. While any number of things about Kira could be the product of his genes, so it went for any other person. Kira was who Kira was, regardless of how he came to be. And Lacus Clyne was Lacus Clyne.
And Lacus Clyne loved Kira Yamato.
Yes, she was Lacus Clyne, no more and no less. She had left her old life behind, choosing to live with her beloved Kira in his homeland the Orb Union, along with their mutual friend Reverend Malchio and his veritable tribe of war orphans, to whom she and Kira acted as surrogate mother and father. So they had lived, in what amounted to a common law marriage, for nearly two years. And Lacus knew she wanted nothing more than to live that way forever, that she and Kira could live out their lives in something approximating to peace.
But would the world let them?
"Kira?" She looked up at her beloved, who was a little taller than her. His face was grim, his eyes distant. "Kira?"
"Oh, sorry." His face softened as he looked back at her, his frown replaced by a bashful smile. "I was…distracted."
"You were thinking about everything that's happening," Lacus said, her own countenance darkening. "You're letting it get to you."
"I can't help it," Kira admitted sadly. "Everything was supposed to get better after Jachin Due, and the new treaty. But now everything's getting worse but for different reasons."
"History doesn't repeat itself," Lacus replied, reciting an old axiom. "It merely rhymes."
"I thought the war between Earth and the PLANTs was bad," Kira went on. "But now it's the Atlantic Federation versus Eurasia. I don't know which is worse."
Lacus didn't know either. She understood and shared Kira's frustration at how things were turning out. It was as if no one had really learned anything, as if they had put aside one enmity only to embrace another. She had known things would get hairy when the JOSH-A scandal erupted, but not like this.
"It's not our problem," she said, injecting a little force into her tone. "It's not something we can do anything about."
"I know," Kira agreed, still sounding more sad than angry. "I'm mostly worried about Cagalli. We hardly see her any more."
"She's got a lot to deal with right now." That was an understatement. Visits from Cagalli and Athrun had dropped off noticeably over the past few months, and on the rare occasions when they did show up Cagalli had seemed tired and stressed. Lacus did not envy her position, trying to protect her country in the face of a cataclysm that might destroy human civilization. She could tell instinctively that Cagalli was buckling under the strain, and that it was hurting Athrun too.
Lacus wondered at times how things were going to turn out between those two. She longer dared ask when the two of them would find the time to get married, and she suspected they never would, at least not for a while. Cagalli was born to wear a crown, figuratively speaking, and had vowed to her martyred father that she would put Orb's needs above all else. Were he anything less than completely devoted to her, Athrun would have walked away long ago.
As they approached the log cabin that was their home, the couple saw the children clustered around a telescope set on a tripod, each clamouring for a turn. Lacus' bevy of brightly-coloured Haros bounced and chirped around them. Kira and Lacus both smiled at the scene, enjoying the distraction, and smiled wider when they saw who was keeping order around the telescope.
"Mister Kira! Miss Lacus!" called a blond-haired boy of about twelve years, waving to them.
"Prayer!" Kira called cheerfully back. "They haven't eaten you yet?"
"Mister Kira, you should come and see," Prayer Reverie gestured to the telescope, and Lacus saw the seriousness in his blue eyes. All at once the children started calling out to them too.
"Kira! Come and see! Come and see!"
"It's the ship!"
"Come and see the ship!"
"All right all right!" Kira chuckled as he headed for the telescope. Lacus followed after, though her eyes were on Prayer. She had not known him long, and knew little about his past, save that he was another of Reverend Malchio's wards. He had a good and friendly nature, and was very helpful in taking care of the children, who all adored him.
But there was something in those blue eyes, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
"Hey," Kira commented, evidently impressed by whatever he was seeing in the telescope. "That thing's fast."
"What is it?" Lacus asked, curious.
"It's the ship Lady Cagalli told us about," Prayer explained gravely. "It changed direction and accelerated quite suddenly."
"Check out that engine flare," Kira went on. "The whole planet's gonna see it."
"But why?" Lacus asked, concerned. "Why now? It wasn't due to make lunar orbit for another three days."
"Guess they had a change of priorities," Kira commented, straightening up.
"Do you know what that might be, Mister Kira?" Prayer asked.
"No idea," Kira admitted, nonplussed. "But whatever it is, they're going flat out."
Lacus didn't know either.
And that worried her.
My apologies that this took so long. I've been very busy recently.
Just to explain after a question regarding Daniel's companions. Ninin Pulu-Lemo is Elpeo Puru, Damien is Domon Kasshu, while Hannon Gable is Zechs Merquise. The companions are shout-outs to those respective characters, who appear as a team in Gundam Musou, hence Zaru's suggestion. Ninin is, as I see it, how Puru might have turned out had she made it to the age of fifteen.
As for the battle, I changed the events of the Minerva's duel with the Girty Lue for a couple of reasons. One was that I didn't want to have to follow the events of the original anime too closely, as it would be boring to write if nothing else. The other was that the Minerva getting stuck behind all those asteroids and standing still didn't seem quite right (the big one landing in front seemed especially contrived). I also feel that Talia's turnaround was an opportunity to show what she's capable of under the right circumstances while bearing in mind her lack of experience.
One last thing to cover is the Jovian Dawn's speed. I want to make clear that the Jovian Dawn is capable of travelling considerably faster than it is currently doing, hence being able to reach Junius Seven within hours. Before now it has been decelerating gradually in order to approach Earth slowly, and as such be less likely to spook the Terrans.
As for Prayer Reverie, I'm not going to spoil it for you, save that I know about X Astray and what apparently happened to him there. The truth will be revealed in time.