EPISODE 1: THE LIONESS AND THE PHOENIX
Anaheim Skunkworks Mobile Development Facility
Classified – Codename: WHITE STAR
Security Clearance: Top Max
9-December-U.C. 0105
02:33
Surveillance Status: Active; Moderate Threat Alert
Since the Archduchy of Zeon's Operation: Darkest Summer in August, U.C. 0100, the once gleaming-blue surface of Planet Earth has taken on a distinctly lifeless, choked, grayish hue…the thick layer of dust and soot thrown seemingly permanently into the atmosphere by the multiple mass impacts across the planet. In the distance, near the visible rim of the globe, a brief, brilliant light flashes silently and intensely for a minute, burning through the thick haze to provide a momentary glimpse of the dark seas below…evidence of Project: New Dawn in operation – the Shambala Republic and the Earth Federation's joint effort to restore the Earth's ecology. Even with the application of the latest technology, the consensus of the scientific community is that at least a century will pass before the Earth's ecosystems return to pre-drop conditions.
The cosmos is silent and vacant, as it has been for an eternity. Earth's immediate orbit, however, is littered with countless pieces of debris from twenty years of warfare. Derelict space colonies. Wrecked spacecraft. Mangled hulks of scorched mobile suits drift high above the globe…some to eventually be burnt to cinders after their orbits decay and they are drawn by the planet's gravity through a fiery descent through the atmosphere…others to float forever in the eternal darkness.
Amidst this veritable Sargasso, it is little wonder that eyes, both flesh and electronic, might miss two drifting figures, minute relative to all that surrounds them.
The first figure, slender and feminine, drifts gracefully ahead of her companion, a lean, wiry male. Their normalsuits, helmets, and visors are as black as the cosmos around them, unmarked by any color that might betray their presence, and coated with Minovsky particles to mask them from non-ocular sensors. No sound is heard by either of them other than their shallow breaths within the confines of their helmets.
The two figures drift closer to their objective…a space colony formerly in the Side 1 orbit left adrift in the aftermath of a battle between the Earth Federation Forces and the Archduchy of Zeon Forces during the final months of the One Year War. To all appearances, the colony, formerly a residential/light industrial colony known as Moffett, is nothing more than a derelict…its operational life having ended the day its steel and reinforced glass shell was penetrated by the rounds of Zaku machineguns and GM beam spray guns. As far as Moffett's history as the home of 850,000 civilians and a light industry base, that remains the truth…but Moffett has experienced a secret afterlife during the past five years to which only a few dozen souls are privy…
The female figure magnetizes herself to the massive armored hulk of the ruined space colony, an action mimicked by her male companion an instant later. The willowy, normalsuited female then extracts a small electronic tool from a pocket in her boot and opens an electronic systems access hatch embedded in the colony's hull.
A series of quickly tapped figures into the small electronic tool reveals a concealed entryway…surprisingly and paradoxically well-kept when juxtaposed against the battered ruin surrounding it.
The two figures drift through the long passageway, which runs perhaps 600 meters long into the bowels of the abandoned colony. Within the hundreds of colonies like Moffett that have been devastated by war, one would expect to find malfunctioning power and life-support facilities, ruined cities, the wreckage of burned out mobile war machines, and the like…
Hidden deep within Moffett's decayed exterior, however, is a bustling, state-of-the-art construction facility…with normalsuited technicians rushing about with tools, large and small, into and out of a hangar compound…a large, cavernous concrete and steel edifice whose roof is marked with the cryptic letters "SNRI."
The female points towards the hangar, and her companion nods. Stealthily, they keep to the shadows, out of the view of the workers…their adeptness at avoiding detection suggests that they have taken part in such maneuvers many, many times before.
The stealthy duo alights on the concrete wall of the bunker/hangar, and slowly makes their way towards a side entrance. Stealing inside, they spot their objective at last.
Suspended by a dozen alloy cables from the ceiling of the hangar is a massive mobile armor. Silver with black trim, the mobile armor is aerodynamic and sleek in profile despite its considerable bulk. It is clearly a war machine designed to be equal parts capable of overwhelming a foe with superior force as it is outmaneuvering a foe with superior speed and maneuverability.
Surrounding the mobile armor is a squad of twelve men armed with Earth Federation Forces' issue automatic rifles.
The female points towards the mobile armor and her companion quietly makes his way towards it. At the same time, the female removes another item from the pockets of her normalsuit, and lets it drift inconspicuously in the low gravity environment. A minute later, after the object has drifted a hundred meters away, the female extracts a final item from her normalsuit…a small silver Walther handpistol.
The draw, the aim, the shot, all executed in one fluid motion, with one result…an explosion on the far wall of the hangar that sends work crews scrambling and screaming in a sudden panic.
The female figure takes advantage of the confusion caused by her incendiary to approach the idling mobile armor.
Just as she is about the board the MA's open cockpit, she is spotted by one of the dozen armed guards.
"You!" the guard bellows, leveling his rifle at her, "Move away fr…AWP!"
The guard is felled by a single shot from the female's handpistol, the bullet lodging it into his brain having entered almost bloodlessly between his eyes.
The young woman seals the bullet-resistant canopy of the MA as she drops lightly into the cockpit seat. Already, the in-flight computer of the mighty war machine is displaying operating data onto the Heads Up Display (HUD). Behind her, in the engineering/navigation/in-flight control station, her partner continues bringing the systems of the mecha to life.
"Engine power at 85% and climbing," the young man reports, "We are fifteen seconds to critical mass."
"Roger," the young woman acknowledges, "Guidance and weapons systems online."
"We're set," the young man says, "Power output at 100%."
"Power to thrusters," the young woman orders.
"Roger that," the young man says, complying.
The rogue crew of the mobile armor sees the Federal Forces security team firing its weapons futilely against the armored mass of the mobile armor. The occasional pelting of the reinforced cockpit by a stray bullet fails to alarm either the pilot or the engineer/navigator.
"Deploy weapons?" the engineer asks.
"Negative," the pilot replies, "We aren't here to kill people. We have our objective; let's go."
So saying, the pilot moves the thrust lever into the 100% position, sending the aerodynamic mobile armor blasting out of the hangar and, seconds later, punching out of the hull of the former Moffett colony.
Scarcely thirty seconds have passed before the engineer/navigator notifies his partner in the pilot/mecha commander's seat, "We've got four bogies ahead. Identifying: Jegan-VI types, beam rifles, Vulcan cannon, heatseeker and electronic tracer missiles…twelve apiece."
"Disregard," the pilot replies, "We're not engaging them unless we have to."
"I think that option's just been taken off the table, babe," the engineer replies, "Those bandits have just unloaded two dozen stiff ones at us."
"Deploy suppressors," the young woman responds calmly.
"Suppressor deployed," the young man responds, fingering a series of controls built into his monitor/console.
A series of plasma flares is deployed from the internal nacelles of the mobile armor, drawing away the heatseeker missiles, but leaving the electronic tracer missiles…a half-dozen on them, closing in on the mecha.
"Minovsky suppressor systems aren't in synch," the engineer remarks, "Enemy missiles closing on our six. Impact in seven seconds."
"Give me more thruster output," the pilot orders.
"Roger," her partner replies, "You've got overdrive thrust."
The pilot thumbs a button on her control stick and the mobile armor lurches forward, its thrust greatly outpacing the speed even of the pursuing missiles.
"This baby's fast," the engineer remarks, clearly impressed with the mecha.
"Zero knots to Mach 6 within thirty seconds outside of planetary gravity," the pilot remarks, "As fast as it gets without the use of an M-Booster system."
"That won't help us much if the threat's coming from in front of us," the young man replies grimly, "Enemy targets ahead: a Magellan-class gunship and a couple of more Jegan-VIs."
"Slam on the brakes and give me combat mode," the pilot orders.
"Reverse thrust engaged...weapons systems to combat mode," the engineer responds.
Powerful retro rockets fire, slowing the forward momentum of the mobile armor before it collides with the enemy warships and MS units.
The pilot activates the targeting systems built into her normalsuit helmet, the Magellan bracketed in her gunscopes.
With the press of a slender thumb, a torrent of ordnance rushes forth from the mobile armor, slamming hard into the Magellan-class warship.
The mobile armor, however, is quickly assailed by the beam rifles and missiles of the Jegan-VI squad, with the earlier pursuing squad if Jegan-VIs moving in to reinforce the defensive line. Ten Jegan-VI units total.
"Switch us to mobile suit configuration," the pilot of the mobile armor instructs.
"Roger," comes the reply from the engineering system, "OMEGA Gundam mobile suit configuration engaged."
The mobile armor's modular sections fold, twist, swivel, unlock, and relock in new positions, shedding the shape of a sleek mobile space craft to assume the anthropomorphic armored warrior…a mobile suit…a GUNDAM.
The Omega Gundam raises its arm-mounted shield, shaped in the familiar elongated quadrilateral configuration that has characterized the majority of previous Gundam-class and Earth Federation Forces frontline combat mobile suits in general, but only in its frame. The reinforced, triple-layer of Gundarium that usually fills the shield's bulk is curiously missing…leaving a gaping vulnerability.
The incoming beams and ordnance close in upon the shield that is not a shield, and the empty space between the quadrilateral lights up a light, incandescent green…a framed field of focused Minovsky particles that disperses or disintegrates upon contact the incoming torrent of beam energy and solid ordnance.
With the graceful, fluid motion of an expert marksperson, the Omega Gundam retracts its shield and raises its powerful mega beam rifle into firing position. The pilot locks three targets in her helmet's targeting scope and squeezes off three rapid beam shots in succession.
Three Jegan-VI units rapidly collapse upon themselves and balloon into bursting shrapnel. The rest, their having witnessed the Omega Gundam's devastating display of force, turn to flee, vectoring away from the scene as quickly as their thrusters can propel them.
The pilot of the Omega Gundam has the fleeing targets bracketed within her gun sights. The opposing units have absolutely no hope of escaping…not from the Omega Gundam's vast array of superior weapon systems.
The pilot relents, removing her thumb from the trigger, converting the mecha back into mobile armor configuration, and bolting away in the opposite direction from the fleeing Earth Federation Forces MS.
"Not worth it, eh?" her partner chimes in from his station.
"Not necessary," the pilot replies, "I don't want more to die than absolutely necessary. That's always been our operating philosophy."
"Right," comes her partner's reply, " It's a good thing the Federal Forces don't have a greater presence here in the Earth Sphere these days, or there'd have been no way in hell we could've pulled this off. Check out the power on this monster! I still can't believe the Federation chose to build this thing here in the Earth Sphere rather than out closer to their new core in the Outer System…or at least at Side 7."
"SNRI wasn't counting on anybody discovering their operation here," the pilot responds, "They've been discreet. They must have been out here working for at least four years, but we only discovered what they were up to four months ago."
"My apologies," the engineer replies archly, with a tone of mock offense, "But you've always said you preferred it when I took things…a little slower…"
The pilot's gloved hand momentarily alights across her belly before she answers, "We haven't got much time. This is vital to all our futures, and we need to get it resolved quickly."
16 December, U.C. 0105
Near the Frontier 1 Space Colonies, a new development that began construction a decade earlier at the Sun-Earth L2 point, located 1.5 million klicks outside the Earth Sphere.
The remains of two Temptation-class space shuttles drift listlessly across the SEL2 orbit, shredded and blasted metal drifting along parts of decompressed human flesh…all that remains of the 1,392 men, women, and children who had been passengers of the two spacecraft a scant two hours earlier. Three more shuttles, each bearing approximately 700 souls, and for the present, intact and undamaged, drift nearby…surrounded by five formerly Zeon-affiliated Geara Doga mobile suits. Magnetically affixed to the hull of each shuttlecraft is a cobalt limpet mine, similar to the ones that had annihilated the two wrecked shuttles.
"Absolutely unacceptable," responds Gerard Kincaid (previously Captain Gerard Kincaid of the Archduchy of Zeon Forces, Serial # 1175332) to the Earth Federation negotiators' latest offer for a peaceful end to the prevailing standoff, "You will release all political prisoners and provide both the funding and armaments we requested by 05:00, or we will kill the people on the remaining space shuttles. You already have the blood of 1,400 on your hands from refusing our demands. You know we have the will to carry out our threats. Do not contact us again until you are prepared to agree to our terms."
Kincaid kills the communication. The Federal Forces' negotiators, including Frontier 1 Defense Guard commanding officer Col. Truong Nguyen, exchange knowing glances. The terms that Kincaid and his group are demanding can't be met, but there are those 1,400 lives…
Col. Nguyen passes on the word, "Cen-Strike, you have the green light."
Aboard his RX-78S Strike Gundam, Major Eric Gardner (SNRI, Earth Federation Forces) carefully lines up the targets in his sights…the cobalt limpet mines that threaten the space shuttles are bracketed within green electronic targeting markers.
Gardner's pulse and breath are hardly a hair above resting as he adjusts his scopes.
Game's on the line, Eric, Gardner tells himself mentally, You don't fuck these up. Never have before…not gonna start today.
Confident, ready, Gardner thumbs the trigger switch three times.
Three shots erupt from the Strike Gundam's weapons pack…not missiles, not a stream of superheated Minovsky particles, not Vulcan rounds…but an anti-explosive effluent that would render the cobalt limpet mines useless upon contact.
Three heartbeats. Three hits. Three neutralized explosives.
Gardner knows that it isn't over. In fact, it's barely started. The explosives have been taken out of the discussion, but that still leaves five heavily armed mobile suits, each of which could easily shred a shuttlecraft.
The veteran SNRI officer takes aim with the RX-78S's beam rifle, cutting loose with a searing crimson beam that misses the lead Geara Doga unit (Kincaid), but incinerates one of his confederates.
Kincaid's furious response comes through the communications network to Col. Nguyen, "You've just murdered these people, Colonel!"
The passengers aboard the three space shuttles cry out in horror as they see from viewports the Geara Dogas bringing their beam rifles to bear upon them. Terrified children cling to their parents, final prayers are offered, and some stoically await the end.
A moment in time, frozen, in darkness and silence – life and death separated between the ticks of a second.
Huntress eyes have scanned the field and locked into targets…the gleam of distant starlight upon silver-hued alloy.
The inaudible drawing and exhalation of a breath, three gentle squeezes of a small, feminine hand upon a joystick trigger mechanism.
Three flashes of red lightning, so swift as to barely be perceptible.
Three mobile suits, lanced through precisely in a manner that guarantees the deaths of their pilots, but produces no explosion that would threaten the safety of the passengers of the three space shuttles.
A moment passes before Kincaid realizes that he is completely alone.
Alone in the eternal blackness of space.
Kincaid squeezes the trigger on his Geara Doga's joystick, determined to bring down whatever is menacing him, or the space shuttles whose human cargo his enemies hold so dear.
The weapon, however, has been cleaved cleanly in half, energy sparking from its wrecked muzzle.
Kincaid directs his mobile suit to reach for its beam saber, but barely has it extracted before a red blade of Minovsky particle energy has burned through the reinforced hatch of his Doga's cockpit, vaporizing him instantly.
The red blade is extracted and tucked within the backpack nacelle of a massive, gleaming metal armored form.
Dark, intense eyes burn with the fire of retribution…
The passengers of the shuttles, confused, still fearful, and unable to believe that they remain alive, gradually take to the viewports.
The face of a young boy, no more than ten years of age, arcs into a wide smile as he recognizes the silvery armored form looming beyond the viewport, lit by the rays of the sun.
"The White Phoenix! It's the White Phoenix!"
White Phoenix…the phrase brings smiles and exultations of relief among the 687 individuals – families immigrating to Frontier 1, business people and jobseekers looking for new opportunities, tourists and diplomats – whose ordeal, they know, is over.
The visor of a helmet is raised, revealing wide, expressive, dark eyes with the burning intensity of a predator on the hunt.
A glimpse…and she vectors away into the eternal darkness of space.
"Cen-Leader to Defense Guard Command," Major Jolie Minh-Miguel reports grimly, "Shuttlecraft secured. Enemy targets eliminated."
"Good work, Major," Col. Nguyen returns, "Any prisoners of war to interrogate?"
"Negative, Colonel," Jolie replies, "Couldn't risk it with the shuttles in jeopardy."
"Understood," Nguyen responds, "On behalf of my personnel and our colonies, thanks go out to the SNRI for its assistance, Major Minh-Miguel. Frontier 1 Defense Guard Command out."
Jolie receives a hailing signal from her mission partner, Major Eric Gardner, whose RX-78S Strike Gundam pulls up behind her White Phoenix Gundam.
"Mission accomplished, Major," Eric says cheerfully, "That didn't go so badly, eh?"
Jolie says nothing for a long, agonizing minute, and then finally says, "Tell that to those people on the two shuttles that were destroyed before we could get there. You saw the bodies, Eric. There was a woman…she was terrified, and so was the little boy clinging to her. We failed them, Eric."
Major Gardner says nothing. Civilian casualties always hit Jolie hard…not that Eric finds them easy to take, but Jolie seems to take them personally.
Jolie sighs, "Let's get out of here…I promised your fiancée that I'd only be borrowing you for three weeks, and we've been chasing ex-Zekes around Frontier 1 for four months now."
Eric grins, "Chieming is very understanding and patient. After all, she's put up with you for years without complaining."
Jolie snorts.
The familiar mass of the Earth Federation Forces' space battlecarrier Amuro Ray looms ahead of them. Within minutes, they have docked with the warship, and within the hour, the mighty vessel's M-Boosters flare to life, propelling it towards the Earth Sphere.
Five days later, the Amuro Ray docks with Side 7's Green Oasis Colony, the Earth Federation's final bulwark in the Earth Sphere. Green Oasis remains the headquarters for the Earth Federation Special Forces, now part of a far more diverse and extensive organization titled the Strategic Naval Research Institute (SNRI), whose range of functions include special combat operations, intelligence-gathering, espionage, black-ops, and mobile weapons development (including the Newtype Corps Program, of which Major Jolie Minh-Miguel has been designated as program director).
Having disembarked from the Amuro Ray, Jolie and Eric stride down one of the long corridors from the gangplank to the main terminal area, each carrying a small black valise in hand. Eric holds forth cheerfully on the joyous prospect of an extended break after their recent four-month tour of duty.
Jolie characteristically says little in response, listening to Eric's sunny banter without any remark or response other than a wry, reluctant grin more out of tact than amusement.
At the far end of the terminal, Jolie and Eric spot Captain Chieming Noah, Jolie's Executive Officer on the Centurion Team.
"So you two finally decided to come home," Chieming says with a bright smile that belies her arch tone, "I was seriously beginning to wonder if you guys were having an affair behind my back."
Eric wraps an arm around Chieming and replies lightly, "Well, I definitely wanted to, but Jolie wouldn't cooperate, so…"
Chieming elbows Eric in the ribs…hard!
"All right, all right…kidding," Eric says, "I wouldn't leave you out, babe. I think a threesome would…"
Jolie cuts in, "Your phone's flashing, Major."
"Damn it," Eric groans, then answers, "Major Eric Gardner, SNRI. Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."
Eric's expression turns serious as he listens intently for a minute before responding, "Yes, ma'am. I'll meet with you right away."
"Col. McKenzie, I'm guessing?" Jolie ventures.
"Yeah," Eric replies, "Priority 1 Security Alert."
"Let's go, then," Jolie says.
Eric says, "She only summoned me, Jolie. Didn't say anything about wanting you to report."
"Weird," Jolie comments, finding the lack of a summons for her oddly disturbing, "It's just as well. I could use some downtime."
Eric turns to Chieming, "Why don't you go with Jolie? Whatever it is will probably only take an hour or two. Can't imagine Christina sending me on another assignment right away."
"Hurry back," Chieming says mischievously, "Jolie will have eaten me alive if you take too long."
"I would," Jolie deadpans, "Except I don't eat meat anymore."
Major Gardner boards a jeep sent for him by Col. McKenzie for the ride to SNRI headquarters at Garrison Noah. Another jeep, driven by Chief Warrant Officer Rayann Zhang, one of the Centurion Team's newly inducted recruits, pulls up to the curb.
Chief Officer Zhang, a fresh-faced sixteen year old, disembarks from the jeep and salutes the two senior officers, "Major Minh-Miguel, Captain Noah, ma'am!"
"At ease, Chief," Jolie returns the salute.
"Welcome back, ma'am," Rayann chirps, wide-eyed.
"Thanks," Jolie returns somewhat wearily as she and Chieming board rear seat of the jeep.
"To the base, ma'am?" Rayann asks, shifting the gear into "Drive."
"No," Jolie says, "Not right now. Take us to the condo."
"Yes, ma'am," Rayann answers dutifully.
As Rayann pulls the jeep from the curb, Jolie turns to Chieming, "What's today's date, Chibi?"
Chieming hesitates a moment before answering quietly, "December 24. Christmas Eve."
Jolie says nothing for a long moment, her eyes cold.
"Rayann," Jolie says at last.
"Yes, ma'am," Rayann responds expectantly.
"Take us down to the veteran's cemetery," Jolie says somberly.
"Right away, ma'am," Rayann answers, merging into traffic.
Jolie sighs, "Ten days late. I'm always too late."
Twenty minutes later, Jolie lays a bouquet of fresh flowers upon a flat gravestone from which extends a burning torch…an eternal flame. She fingers the engraved letters on the limestone surface lovingly, feeling the words…
BELOVED HUSBAND AND FRIEND
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL JONAH MIGUEL
SPECIAL FORCES
CENTURION TEAM
May 14, U.C. 0080 – December 14, U.C. 0100
"HIS LIGHT WILL SHINE FOREVER"
Jolie stands quietly over her late husband's grave, gazing solemnly at the gravestone, as she has every Christmas Eve for the past five years.
Chieming stands respectfully, quietly at Jolie's side, offering her own silent tribute to her fallen friend and former commanding officer. She steals a glance at Jolie…particularly her dark, soulful eyes. Chieming can see a myriad of emotions within those eyes…regret, emptiness, perhaps even a hint of anger…but not a single tear. Not a single one all these years.
They stand there quietly for a long, long time, until a distant church bell peals seven times.
"Chieming," Jolie whispers at last.
"I'm here," Chieming says reassuringly.
"Let's go," Jolie rasps, stepping away from her husband's gravestone towards the jeep parked on the driveway, aboard which Rayann has fallen asleep.
Approximately thirty minutes later, the jeep drops Jolie and Chieming off at the Utopia Towers, a luxury condominium complex located near the cultural and commercial center of Green Oasis City, a good eight kilometers from Garrison Noah.
Jolie has an officer's residence suite reserved for her at the base, but has opted for off-base civilian housing…and why not? Utopia Towers is one of the newest, most luxurious condominium complexes in all of Side 7. A gleaming, aerodynamically-shaped eighty-story skyscraper, Utopia Towers offers a panoramic view of Green Oasis City and Garrison Noah, as well as such amenities as a private park, tennis courts, gymnasium and spa, full-size swimming pools and Jacuzzis, and even a first-rate restaurant and coffee shop on the ground floor.
Jolie occupies the penthouse of the tower – one of the most expensive pieces of real estate in the Earth Sphere – something whose monthly rent or mortgage would be beyond the monthly salary of most Earth Federation Forces officers, but Major Jolie Minh-Miguel is not "most Earth Federation Forces officers." In light of her unique abilities, Jolie is the most valuable asset that the Earth Federation Forces have, so keeping her happy (including supplying all the creature comforts that she could want) is part of the price that the Federation is willing to pay to maintain this asset.
The private elevator car opens into penthouse, and Jolie and Chieming step forward into a spacious, modernly furnished den area. They are greeted by Ms. Davies, Jolie's maid.
"Ma'am," Ms. Davies, a tall, slim Englishwoman of about forty, says deferentially, bowing her head to her employer, "Welcome home. It's so good to see you and Miss Chieming again."
"Good to see you too, Cynthia," Jolie says, habitually addressing her domestic by first name, "Missed you…and your cooking."
Ms. Davies smiles as she places steaming cups of freshly brewed tea on the coffee table in the den, "I have a vegetable casserole in the oven…should be ready in another ten minutes."
"Cyn, I don't know what I'd do without you," Jolie says sincerely, but wearily, "Thank you."
As Ms. Davies steps into the kitchen to monitor the casserole, Jolie and Chieming flop into the comfortable sofas in the den.
Jolie reaches for a cylindrical ceramic container on the table, from which she extracts a single cigarette (Chieming not being a smoker), inserts the ciggie loosely between her lips, and lights it.
Jolie closes her eyes as she exhales a column of smoke.
Chieming watches her friend quietly for a moment before remarking, "You seem tired."
"I am tired," Jolie admits, emphasizing the verb, "How long have I been on this combat treadmill now, Chieming? Seven years? Eight?"
"You can get off anytime you want to," Chieming offers candidly, "Or at least you can when your current commission runs out next year."
"That's what I told myself three years ago," Jolie sighs, "But I reenlisted."
"Of course you did," Chieming observes with a wry smile, "What else would you have done with yourself if you hadn't?"
"That's a damn good question," Jolie confesses, flicking ash off the end of her cigarette into an ashtray.
Chieming leans forward towards Jolie meaningfully, "You should go and find the answer to that question while you're still young enough for it to matter. You're not going to be twenty-four forever, you know?"
"You're probably right," Jolie allows, "Maybe…"
Chieming sighs, "You just aren't the same anymore."
"Don't I know it," Jolie says bitterly.
"What I mean is," Chieming begins, "You were always so sure about what you wanted and how you were going to get it. But now…"
"Now, I don't know which way to turn," Jolie finishes.
Jolie rises from the sofa and ambles towards the mantel over the fireplace. On the mantel are various framed photographs…of the Centurion Team, of Jolie and Jonah when the two of them were just teenagers, and, acquired by Jolie during a chance meeting a year earlier with a retired Earth Federation Forces officer who had once served with her father, a photograph of 1Lt. Dominic Minh in his youth…a fresh cadet out of the Federal Forces Officer's Academy.
Jolie gazes pensively at the photographs of her late father and late husband, "My entire family was military…and they gave their lives in the line of duty. Maybe that's going to be my fate too."
Jolie's broodings are cut short by Ms. Davie's announcement that dinner is served.
At 21:00, dinner long since consumed, Jolie again sits in the den, clad in a cotton bathrobe. She has a glass of burgundy on the coffee table, lit cigarette in ashtray, and a hardcover edition of Tolstoy's War and Peace in hand. The book was a gift to Jolie from her best friend and one-time commanding officer, Athena Ibaz (now known as Deputy Prime Minister Minerva Zabi of the Shambala Republic).
For three years now, Jolie has been attempting to get through the text, but remains mired in the first of the work's four component books. Jolie finds the novel dauntingly dense and yet, surprisingly, has also found herself able to relate to a number of its characters and themes.
Chieming emerges in the den, seemingly surprised to find Jolie there, "You've got your face buried in that book again?"
"I'm trying to finish it," Jolie answers dryly, turning the page.
Chieming grins, "This is one battle you aren't winning. You've been 'trying' for three years now, and I think you've maybe gotten through fifty pages so far."
"It's a good read," Jolie remarks.
"Probably," Chieming replies, "But wouldn't you rather go down to the club tonight?"
"Why?" Jolie asks.
Chieming glares at Jolie.
"Let me change, then," Jolie says with a reluctant sigh.
Jolie disappears into her bedroom and opens her dresser, finding a closet full of identical Earth Federation Forces uniform jackets, skirts, and overcoats.
"Damn," Jolie grouses.
Chieming, entering the bedroom, asks, "What's wrong?"
Jolie points at the row of identical uniforms inside her closet.
Chieming cannot suppress a giggle, "Time to update the wardrobe?"
"Time to throw the whole damn lot out," Jolie snarls as she pulls on a freshly ironed uniform jacket, "I've got to stop by at Fendi or Armani one of these days."
Chieming extends a green box wrapped with a red bow towards Jolie, "Until you do…Merry Christmas!"
Jolie smiles as she accepts the box, "You really shouldn't have, Chibi. I didn't even get you anything this year…"
Chieming nods, biting her lip, "I know, but you're forgiven because you protected my Eric out there, like you always do. You brought him back alive and well to me again, and that's the only gift I need."
"'Your' Eric, huh?" Jolie says, smiling at last, "You two are getting serious, aren't you?"
"Serious enough that we've been engaged for a year," Chieming says warmly, blushing.
"Don't wait longer than you have to," Jolie says cryptically, throwing an overcoat over her uniform before turning her attention back to the box, "So what did you get me this year? A paperweight to chuck at you or Amy or Rayann when I'm in a bad mood?"
Chieming laughs, "Just open it and you'll find out."
Jolie tears through the wrapping. Within the box is a long, white woolen scarf.
"This is great," Jolie enthuses, draping the scarf over her neck, and putting her officer's hat on her head, "How do I look?"
Chieming grins, "Like a certain Special Forces officer I used to know…name of Athena Ibaz."
"Perfect," Jolie replies, as she leads the way to a night on the town.
The White Phoenix Nightclub, formerly the Andromeda Nightclub, is located at 254 Ahrgama Boulevard in the heart of Green Oasis City's fashionable entertainment district. Amidst the garish neon lighting of neighboring clubs, the White Phoenix's relatively demure exterior décor, rendered in a tasteful, early 20th Century art deco style, evinces an understated elegance that belies the energy within the club's walls.
The old Andromeda Nightclub was once frequented by young Earth Federation Forces' officers from Garrison Noah, including the original Centurion Team, before the Phobos War. In U.C. 0102, Jolie bought the establishment from the Andromeda's owners, had the club redecorated, and reopened it a year later as the White Phoenix Nightclub.
During the past two years, the White Phoenix has grown into one of the trendiest hotspots in the Earth Sphere – a place to see and be seen among the hipsters and jet set. The entertainment (including live bands, DJ/dance nights, and, in the early morning hours, blues, jazz, and acoustic music showcases) covers a vast spectrum of tastes, and many visit the White Phoenix just on the chance that its famous proprietor, the Federation's hero of the Phobos War, might just show up on some random night…as she is known to do five or six times a year.
Jolie and Chieming are greeted by two handsome young doormen at the entrance to the club, and then step inside.
The interior of the club retains the cosmic-themed décor of its days as the Andromeda, although Jolie has added some unique flourishes such as select paintings by her late husband, Jonah Miguel. A number of the club's guests are young Earth Federation Forces officers and cadets, but a larger number are stylishly dressed young civilians (few over the age of thirty). Saturday night, predictably, is disco night…and a pulsating beat emanates from the club's mighty amplifier system, the groove shaping itself according to the DJ's directives.
Jolie nods approvingly; business is everything she could hope it could be.
The club manager, a young Greek man named Philip, greets Jolie and Chieming with a charming smile as he spots them, "Major Minh, Captain Noah…good to have you here."
"Business looks great tonight, Phillip," Jolie says, letting Philip take her overcoat, hat, and scarf and guide her and Chieming to a private booth, "You've done a terrific job here."
"Thank you, ma'am," Philip answers, "but it's your notoriety that draws them in."
As if to affirm Philip's remark, the club patrons who spot Jolie turn excitedly to offer toasts to her, applaud, or accost her for autographs.
"See what I mean?" Philip grins, fending off the crowd from Jolie.
Jolie does find herself taken aback by the attention from people she's never met (and a number of which she doesn't care to get to know), uncomfortable with the celebrity status that has gradually snowballed around her since the end of the Phobos War.
Philip finally succeeds in leading Jolie and Chieming to a private booth reserved for Jolie's use towards the back of the club; two security men stand guard to assure that they are not disturbed.
"It's wilder here than I remember," Jolie observes as she pulls out a bottle of champagne from a silver ice bucket, pouring a glass for Chieming and another for herself.
The two friends exchange a toast, and Chieming responds to Jolie's observation with, "It only seems that way to you because you don't get out much these days."
"The place felt much more intimate when it was the Andromeda," Jolie says, looking at some old photographs on the wall that are a part of the nightclub's décor, photographs of people long gone…
Behind Jolie and Chieming looms a large painting – an abstract mural of gradually deepening blue…"Blue World," by Jonah Miguel.
"It is Christmas Eve, remember," Chieming adds, "The people here are probably even more hammered than they normally are."
"You know," Jolie muses, "Maybe you were right. Maybe I should consider not reenlisting when my commission expires. I could run this place full time."
Jolie takes a sip from her flute of champagne and begins to relax for the first time in…even she isn't sure how long. Maybe she can just sit back and enjoy this for a while…
Maybe…
The appearance of Colonel Christina McKenzie, Director of SNRI, and Major Eric Gardner chase such pleasant thoughts away.
Jolie scowls as they approach.
Eric sidles up to Chieming, planting a warm kiss on his fiancée's cheek, "Miss me?"
Chieming replies, "Not so much as I hope the enemy does."
Col. Christina McKenzie, an attractive, red-haired woman in her early forties, takes a seat next to Jolie. The Director of the SNRI is among the most formidable officers in the Earth Federation Forces, and a good, trusted friend of Jolie and Chieming.
That does not necessarily mean, however, that Jolie is pleased to see Christina, a fact affirmed by the hostile glare that Jolie directs at the colonel. The hostile sentiments are directed not so much at the senior officer personally as they are towards the unpleasant tidings that Christina undoubtedly brings.
"Major," Col. Christina says, by way of small talk, "It's good to see you again."
Jolie resists an urge to roll her eyes and replies wanly, "Yeah, I've been getting a lot of that lately."
So saying, Jolie nonetheless pours out a flute of champagne and hands it to her superior officer. They exchange a toast.
Not taking her eyes off the SNRI Director, Jolie says piercingly, "You didn't come here from your office to welcome me back…or to offer holiday greetings."
Christina's expression is somber, and a glance at even Major Eric Gardner's uncharacteristically grim demeanor tells Jolie that the news, whatever it might be, is momentous.
Christina comes to the point, "It's the Omega Gundam. We lost it three weeks ago. Two agents of unknown origin penetrated our security at Moffett, blasted through our security forces, and have taken it to a location we're still working to determine."
Jolie nonchalantly takes another sip of champagne before saying offhandedly, "You fucked up big time."
Eric and Chieming draw in deep breaths, afraid to exhale.
Christina smiles and nods sheepishly, "We did."
That seems to satisfy Jolie, whose scowl dissolves at last, "So Eric and I have been assigned get it back?"
"Just Major Gardner for now," Christina replies, "Unfortunately, we don't even know where the prototype is at the moment. We've got a few possible leads; Major Gardner will check them out. You just remain on standby. When we do locate the prototype, we'll need you to move in quickly."
Jolie says nothing, draining her flute of champagne, her lack of protest taken, as Christina knows, as compliance.
Philip approaches and hands Jolie an envelope, "A message for you, ma'am."
"On paper?" Jolie observes, taking the elegant, cream-colored envelope from the handsome young manager, "What is this? The Middle Ages?"
Philip smiles and shrugs as Jolie opens the envelope. She extracts a card of the same color, but made from expensive, high-grade stationery paper.
Jolie reads the contents of the card, then pockets it, and rises from her seat, "You folks enjoy the rest of the evening."
"Where are you going?" Chieming asks.
Jolie does not reply.
Col. McKenzie adds, "Just remember that you're on standby alert, Major."
Jolie throws back a glare that, if verbalized, would probably come out as something like, Go fuck yourself.
Philip brings Jolie her officer's hat, overcoat, and white scarf.
Jolie quickly dons these items and leaves without another word.
Col. McKenzie sighs, pouring out what remains of the champagne for Chieming, Eric, and herself, "She's never been easy to talk to."
"It's part of her charm," Major Gardner says wryly.
"Might be a good idea to track her," Col. McKenzie concludes, sipping from her flute of champagne.
The following morning, Jolie is aboard Shambala Aerospace Flight 111 from Green Oasis Spaceport, Side 7 to Shambala City, Side 3…a grueling ten hour flight.
Fortunately, Athena booked Jolie into business class.
Jolie stares forlornly out into the dark cosmos, gazing upon the grey-hued skies of the Earth in the distance, occasional sparks of intense light indicating the operation of colony laser devices no longer used for war, but as the primary tool of the Earth Federation and the Shambala Republic's joint project, Operation: Rebirth…an attempt to use the colony laser technology to gradually undo the nuclear winter created by the Zeon colony drops of U.C. 0100.
So much death…so much waste, Jolie laments.
Jolie's focus then sharpens. Even at the Green Oasis Spaceport, before she boarded the flight, Jolie had sensed something…someone, stalking her. Two drinks and three hours into the flight, Jolie decides to take action.
Jolie rises from her seat, making her way towards the lavatories, barely glancing at the other passengers, either asleep or consumed by their novels or electronic devices.
Five minutes later, the passenger in Business Class Row 17, Seat B turns his head back, looking down the long central aisle of the space shuttlecraft.
Another five minutes pass, and Jolie still has not returned to her seat.
The passenger in Row 17, Seat B rises from his seat and heads back towards the lavatories.
A pair of feminine hands extends from behind a curtain and pulls him quietly, but violently, into a storage area.
Jolie forces the man to the ground, bringing her meager 40 kilograms to bear on his much larger frame, her bent right knee on top of his larynx.
Jolie presses her face into his, snarling, "You're one of Christina's men…SNRI Internal Security Department."
"First Lieutenant James Griffin, ma'am," the tall, gaunt man croaks out, "Col. McKenzie…sent me…for your…security."
"The hell she did," Jolie mutters, taking her knee off of Griffin's larynx and allowing him to stand now that she has relieved him of his sidearm and has it pointed at him.
"I should jettison you out the airlock," Jolie says menacingly, "but that would endanger the other people on this shuttlecraft. When we land at Shambala City, I want you off my tail, or there's going to be a third hole between your eyes."
To emphasize her point, Jolie presses the muzzle of the pistol against Griffin's forehead.
Griffin nods, his throat dry.
"Back to your seat, Lieutenant," Jolie hisses.
The Internal Security Department officer complies.
"They don't make security officers like they used to," Jolie sighs, pocketing Griffin's sidearm.
Seven hours later, Flight 111 docks at the Shambala City International Spaceport. Passengers disembark, and Jolie makes sure that 1Lt. Griffin boards Flight 79 back to Green Oasis just seven minutes after he disembarks from Flight 111.
Satisfied, Jolie makes her way from the terminal to the street, carrying the black valise that represents the only luggage she carries with her.
A sleek limousine bearing the flag of the Shambala Republic on one side of its hood and the flag of the Office of the Deputy Prime Minister on the other pulls up to the curb in front of Jolie.
An elegantly uniformed driver emerges from the limousine, pronouncing in a crisp English accent, "Major Minh-Miguel?"
"You are?" Jolie asks.
"I'm Brian," the chauffeur replies, "Madame Deputy Prime Minister Minerva's driver. She sent me for you, ma'am."
Always classy, that 'Thena, Jolie thinks to herself.
"Thanks for coming," Jolie says, boarding the back seat of the limo.
Brian takes to the driver's seat, "The Deputy Prime Minister is waiting for you at La Brasserie d' Chute d'eau."
Jolie attempts to relax in the comfortable environment of the limousine's back seat, but she feels an inexplicable tension. It's been three years since she's seen Athena, and Jolie senses that Athena has invited her to Shambala City today for much more than lunch and old times…
La Brasserie d' Chute d'eau is one of Shambala City's most elegant and exclusive dining venues, and its menu is considered by many a prestigious gourmet to feature the finest French cuisine off of Earth. It is popular among Side 3's elite, including its media celebrities, professional athletes, and political and military leaders.
Even those who are not connoisseurs of fine French cuisine are unable to argue against the establishment's extraordinary décor, including the balconied waterfalls that give the restaurant its name.
The maître d' of the establishment leads Jolie to a private balcony, where a table for two is set with finest crystalware and silverware.
"The Deputy Prime Minister will join you in a moment, Major," the maître d' says cordially.
"Thank you," Jolie replies.
The maître d' departs, and Jolie is left for a moment to appreciate the beauty of the artificial waterfalls and gardens that comprise the establishment's décor. The sound of the water falling upon the marble basins below is soothing.
Jolie senses a familiar presence, and turns to a familiar sight.
The intervening five years have been kind, very, very kind, to the countenance and figure of Deputy Prime Minister Minerva Zabi, once the Duchess of Zeon, and also once Lt. Col. Athena Ibaz, Deputy Director of the Earth Federation Special Forces. Having turned twenty-six the previous September, Minerva looks a good five years younger than that, a point helped by the growth of her fine, honey-colored hair to beyond the shoulder length that she had maintained during her time as an Earth Federation Forces officer a half decade earlier and the maintenance of her willowy figure. Balancing out this youthfulness, however, is the mature sophistication and elegance of dress that befits both her personality and her status – a tasteful beige pantsuit combination with a snow-white cravat for that extra hint of flare that has always been a part of Minerva's sense of style. Matching the color of her outfit are the elegantly tailored leather gloves on Minerva's hands, which conceal the fact that her left hand and arm is a cybernetic limb that replaces the natural appendage lost during the Phobos War.
Minerva takes in an eyeful of her old friend and makes a similar judgment about Jolie. Minerva has not seen Jolie for two years…not since Jolie attended Minerva's wedding. The intervening time might as well have been two minutes, for Jolie looks every bit the same as she had not just two years earlier, but since Minerva first met her some eight years ago, when she recruited a fifteen-year old Jolie from the streets of the slum colony of Industria after the teenager had helped her recover the stolen Centurion Gundam prototype.
Minerva cannot help smiling as she takes in Jolie's mode of dress…her Earth Federation Forces' duty uniform, complemented by her officer's hat, a dark topcoat draped over her shoulders, a white scarf, and a gold pocketwatch on a chain attached to the jacket's front pocket.
"Your fashion sense certainly has gotten much better, Major," Minerva says archly.
Jolie can no longer suppress her grin, "Those of who don't have any fashion sense do the next best thing: imitate those who do."
The two friends laugh and embrace warmly. There is true affection between them…they have always been like sisters…more than sisters.
"I'm so glad to see you, Jolie," Minerva smiles, "I've missed you so much."
"You're getting all mushy in your old age, 'Thena," Jolie returns the smile and the warmth.
"After all these years, you're still calling me that," Minerva chides gently, "Nobody else ever calls me 'Athena' anymore."
"To the rest of the world, you're Minerva Zabi," Jolie says, "but to me, you'll always be 'Thena."
"And to me, you'll always be stubborn," Minerva replies, "It's good to see that certain things manage to endure, even as so many other things change."
"You look great," Jolie compliments sincerely.
"Back at you," Minerva returns.
"So," Jolie says, "Madame Deputy Prime Minister…"
"Please," Minerva says with a wan smile, "That title makes me sound so old."
"How about Mrs. Hathaway Noah, then?" Jolie teases.
Minerva blushes mildly, "I like the sound of that much more."
"You finally got what you wanted," Jolie says, happy for her friend, "Just like I told you way back when."
"And I always thought I was the smart one," Minerva says self-mockingly, "Maybe you were the one who really knew better."
The two seat themselves at the table. A waiter approaches, "Drinks, ma'am?"
Jolie says, "Dry martini. Two of them."
"One," Minerva corrects, "and a glass of organic whole milk."
The waiter thanks the two young women and goes to the bar to prepare their drinks.
"Organic whole milk?" Jolie says in surprise, "Being married really has changed you, 'Thena."
"Life looks different when you're twenty-six than when you're eighteen, Jolie," Minerva says, "Especially since I'm retired from the military, chances are I'm going to be living past thirty after all."
"Speak for yourself," Jolie says sarcastically, inserting a cigarette between her lips and lighting up.
Minerva begins coughing, fanning away the tobacco smoke, "Jolie…please."
Jolie quickly butts out the cigarette, observing, "You really have changed a lot."
Minerva says matter-of-factly, "I gave up smoking months ago."
"Sounds like the right thing to do, although as unexpected as all hell," Jolie says, as the waiter brings their drinks, "Maybe one of these days I'll learn how to live healthier too."
"I remember you'd quit smoking a few years ago," Minerva says, almost afraid to broach the subject.
Jolie says nothing more on the subject.
Minerva grimaces briefly and places a hand over her abdomen reflexively…an increasingly habitual gesture for her of late.
Jolie observes, "You're not lactose intolerant, are you?"
Minerva says, "No. This job gives me ulcers, though."
Jolie grins, "I guess being a state minister is way harder even than being a Special Forces team leader, huh?"
Minerva says, "Not necessarily. They're different kinds of challenges. Having done both, I certainly know the differences."
The subject turns in the direction of old friends, as Minerva asks, "How's the squad doing? I haven't seen or heard from any of them since the wedding."
"Well, you see Chieming at family gatherings almost every month," Jolie says, "Karim and his wife Adanna have a son already, born last year. He's on reserve status now, although he's told me he's ready to be reactivated if I need him. Tomo has returned to civilian life; he was discharged a few months ago and last I heard, he's starting his own security firm. Geoff is commanding Tycho Team now…he's finally made First Lieutenant, can you believe it?"
"Geoff 'Casanova' Sutcliffe…a Lieutenant?" Minerva shudders.
Minerva and Jolie burst into laughter at the thought.
Minerva smiles, "You're doing my legacy proud as Centurion Leader."
"I'm just filling your boots," Jolie sighs, "You'll always be the real Centurion Leader, 'Thena."
"Don't sell yourself short," Minerva replies, reverting to "big sister" mode, "I saw leadership potential in you even back then…which is why I made you my executive officer even before you really had the experience to qualify for it. From what I've heard from Bright and Chieming, you're doing fine…better than fine. The decisions and choices you've made aren't so different from the ones I would have made, and you've gotten the results."
The waiter stops by again to take Minerva and Jolie's orders; both vegetarians, they each order light, meatless fare.
"'Thena," Jolie says solemnly, "Level with me. You didn't invite me here from Side 7 just to have lunch and reminisce."
Minerva looks straight at Jolie with that penetrating gaze that Jolie remembers well, "You're right. Jolie…I need your help. I want for you to join the Shambala Defense Guard."
Jolie takes the proposition as if she had expected it, taking a sip from the martini before answering, "No."
"I know you've been following the news," Minerva says, "There's a growing schism within the Shambala government, Jolie. My people are on one side of it, and Meizuar Ronah and his supporters are on the other. If we don't gain control of the situation, it'll tear Shambala apart."
Jolie fixes Minerva in a glare, "I'm an Earth Federation Forces officer, 'Thena. Unless my higher-ups tell me otherwise, I don't give a fuck about what goes on in the Shambala Republic. Your political pissing contests are your problem."
Minerva looks severely at Jolie, giving the barest shake of her head as she says, "I can't believe that you, of all people, would be so blind as to let a flag define your worldview."
"Some of us actually value loyalty, Lt. Col. Ibaz," Jolie says acidly, "My father was an Earth Federation Forces officer…so was my husband…and the man who saved my life when I was a little girl. Maybe none of that means a thing to you, but it does to me."
The water crashes loudly from the falls, growing louder still, seeming to fill the balcony with white noise. Two friends, close as sisters…closer, but they cannot hear each other. Not anymore.
An hour later, lunch has been disposed with. Neither young woman felt inclined to consume much, leaving the bulk of their meals, taken in tense, awkward silence, on their plates.
They walk together out the steps of the front entrance of the restaurant.
Minerva breaks the silence at last, "Jolie: you should carefully reconsider. We could work together again, like we did when we were Centurions. I asked you once before to make a difference with me…come with me to make a difference again."
Jolie replies flatly, "I already gave you my answer."
"Jolie," Minerva says quietly, grimly, "You need to realize that if you insist on doing it your way…you and I could end up on opposite sides."
"Maybe," Jolie says, "But you were wrong about one thing: this isn't about flags; it's about loyalties that run deeper than friendship."
Minerva says nothing. There is nothing more to say.
Minerva and Jolie walk away in opposite directions.
A day later, Jolie arrives at the Green Oasis City Spaceport, deeply disturbed. Maybe she shouldn't have been so uncompromising with Athena, but the last thing that she needed was…
A dozen uniformed SNRI security agents surround Jolie, aiming their sidearms at her.
"What is this?!" Jolie demands.
Col. Christina McKenzie approaches, ordering the security agents to stand down, "Major Minh-Miguel, I need you to come with me."
"For what?!" Jolie snarls.
Christina, her expression grim, replies, "Major…you're the prime suspect in the theft of the Omega Gundam."