Chapter 2

Stephen lay awake on his bed, the darkness of the room doing nothing to cure his insomnia. His body was still, his breathing even, but his thoughts were racing. He looked around the room. The moonlight coming through the window cast a warped shadow from every object. He smiled to himself, remembering his childhood days when he would lie for hours deprived of sleep, imagining every shadow to be a monster. He sighed. Not much had changed. Here he was, a grown man, and still he was haunted by shadowy ghosts. He stared at the ceiling, its blank color staring back at him. He gazed harder, hoping his brain would absorb some of its blankness and leave him in peace. Just like always, though, the empty space simply became a canvas for his imagination.

The barren image before him filled up with mirages of debris floating in space. There was a solar array here, over there was a demolished zaku, and off in the distance he could see... Stephen blinked, but the spectral picture refused to dissipate. Off in the distance he could see the Earth, its deep blues and greens absolutely stunning against the black backdrop of space, but those were not the only colors. A burning strand of red ran straight toward the center, heading for the South American continent. At the center of the streak was a metallic cylinder, enormous in size. A space colony. Colony 8, with over a million people trapped inside, tore into the Earth's atmosphere, the heat of reentry painting the steel outer hull bright orange and yellow. Stephen could almost feel the screams of terror as nature tore the residents' home apart and vaporized everyone inside. He thought of the school there. It would have been in session during the battle. He thought of the children shrieking for help as the intense flames turned their bodies to ash.

The colony kept falling, but something exploded on one side, and its course shifted. It turned against the Earth's rotation, falling toward Australia. Stephen watched it descend, getting smaller and smaller as it both descended and disintegrated. Finally, it disappeared from view for a few moments. A bright light flickered around the Australian coast as the colony impacted the surface. Stephen winced, knowing that something the size of a colony falling from orbit would hit with the force of hundreds of nuclear bombs.

The image shifted, and the debris field vanished, replaced with a memory of a news report. A pretty young lady stood in view, a serious frown on her face as she made her somber report.

"This morning, the most devastating attack in the history of mankind was carried out. Zeon, who have been threatening hostilities for the past several years, have just now taken action against the Earth Federation. New Zeon machines, known as mobile suits, launched an attack on Side 2. The new weapons were too much for local Federation defenses to handle, and Zeon succeeded in seizing one of the colonies. This colony was then pushed into the Earth's atmosphere, where it fell to the surface, impacting directly in the center of Sydney, Australia. The force of the colony drop was far greater than anything Earth has seen since the time of the dinosaurs. What was once home to over a million people is now completely gone, replaced with a deep basin filled with Pacific seawater. Zeon has come forward, saying that they have declared war against the Earth federation. Though they claim they're original target was not Sydney, but a Federation base located somewhere in South America, they have failed to offer any sort of condolences for any of the civilian victims. Though still unconfirmed, most witnesses, both from Earth and space, claimed that Zeon did nothing to evacuate the occupants of the colony prior to dropping it. Also unconfirmed are numerous witness accounts that the colony was redirected mid-fall by some type of launched explosive originating from South America. Though still conjecture, many are taking to the streets protesting both Zeon and the Earth Federation, claiming that the South American troops purposefully redirected the falling colony toward the Australian continent."

Stephen clenched his eyes shut, but the images simply moved from the blank ceiling to the blackness of his eyelids. He turned over violently, throwing his face into his pillow. Still the ghastly pictures stayed. Tears flowed from the corners of his eyes like raging rivers. The screams of the children rang in his ears, refusing to stop. The wailing got louder and louder until Stephen sensed his own screams joining them. He thrashed in his bed, trying to drown out the shrieks with his, but his cries were simply absorbed. He ceased his yelling as the fight left him. He simply let the noises and pictures consume him as he lay still in despair. Then came the last of the images. For half a second everything stopped. Then, suddenly the image of a little girl's mutilated face exploded into his vision and a bizarre noise tore through his ears. The noise was eerie and soft, but also forceful. It throbbed in his head, consuming his entire mind. "Lah!... Lah!..." His skin crawled, feeling intensely hot as flames engulfed every piece of his vision with a mighty explosion. Stephen cried out in terror as he threw himself out of bed and onto the floor, curling up into the fetal position and sobbing.

The lights in the room switched on and the imaginary flames evaporated. Stephen looked up to see Lucie descending on him. She threw her arms around him and held his head close to her chest, gently stroking his hair.

"Shh!" she said. "It's all right. Calm down. I'm here. It's over now. What happened?"

Stephen open his mouth, but all that came out was a dull croak. H shuddered forcefully, suddenly feeling extremely cold. Lucie clasped him tightly, whispering softly to him. A minute later his shivering decreased enough for him to speak. "I-I-I'm fine," he stammered, his breathing slowing to its normal rate.

Lucie relaxed her hold, but still kept him close. She looked into his eyes, noting their frantic movement and the paleness of his face. "What happened, Steve?" she asked.

Stephen swallowed. "Just... just a nightmare," he said, trying to manage a smile. "Don't worry. I'm alright."

Lucie scowled at him. "You're not alright! I've never seen you like this before. Don't lie to me just to make me feel better. I'm a nurse; I know symptoms when I see them. What happened to you?"

Stephen pushed her away, looking down at the floor. Lucie sat back, a hurt expression on her face. "I'm fine," he said. "I just need to clear my head." He rose to his feet and walked toward the door. "I'm going to go get some air," he said over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Lucie felt her face begin to burn as tears welled up in her eyes. She had seen trauma dozens of times, but it never got any easier. She had seen the strongest of men reduced to whimpering children by memories of something horrid; something they refused to talk about. She shook her head in frustration. It was typical of Stephen to bottle things up inside. He never liked other people worrying about him. Even so, it was unlike him to shut her out, especially the way he just did. All through their dating years she couldn't remember a single time he had pulled away from her comforting advances. Whatever had happened to him, whatever he had seen, it had broken a part of him. Lucie felt something sink in her heart. Yes, something was definitely broken, and she doubted she would be able to fix it.

The warm morning light fell on Stephen's face, contrasting with the cold air. He smiled, relishing the feeling as he relaxed on the porch sofa. A sunrise was always beautiful, even if it was only simulated. He remembered seeing the sun rise when he was on the Earth, back during Operation Odessa. The desert sun had been burning during the midday hours, but in the mornings the temperature was pleasant and cool. He had stood atop a sand dune, looking out at the distant city they were about to assault. His role in the battle would be simple. The pilots always had it easier than the ground forces. He would fly above the fighting and keep the fighters off of the army's back. Easy. Zeon may have had the advantage in space and on the ground, but in the air no one could stand against an Earth Federation squadron.

He sighed happily as the colony's artificial sun revived his chilled muscles. The war had been terrible, but Odessa was a major victory for the Federation. He still remembered watching as the Federation's super-weapon, the Gundam, flew hundreds of feet into the air and sliced the warhead off of a nuclear missile with its beam saber. What a sight that had been! The pilot had to be crazy to attempt a maneuver like that. The memory brought a grin to his face as he imagined Zeon General M'Quve's face as he watched his last resort go up in smoke. Stephen remembered how all the men had cheered as they watched the missile explode and the Gundam land in a dramatic pose as if auditioning for a film.

He thought about that mobile suit. "The White Devil," the Zeon had come to call it. The name certainly fit. At over 60 feet tall and with its unique head design, the Gundam certainly had an intimidating presence. The twin spikes at the top of its forehead gave it a fierce appearance. It's head, arms, and legs were white, with bright red around its white face vent and at the bottoms of its feet. Its torso was light blue, with a vibrant yellow at the collar and the chest vents. Two large vernier thrusters jutted out from its backpack, and the twin beam saber handles jutted out from the top of each shoulder. Stephen had watched the suit in combat more than once. Its beam rifle was terrifying, bearing enough firepower to destroy a battleship with a single shot. The vulcan cannons on the sides of its head tore infantry and aircraft to pieces. Its eyes would glow bright yellow when it locked onto a target, paralyzing many enemies with fear. Some of Stephen's friends were footsoldiers and had told him that the mere sight of the Gundam sent the Zeon troops into a panic. Few even tried to stand in its way. The White Devil destroyed anything and anyone that tried to stop him. Even the legendary Zeon ace, The Red Comet, ultimately was defeated by him. In the heat of battle, it was easy to forget that it was just a machine. It moved as if it were a living thing, reacting with incredible speed that defied its enormous size.

Stephen leaned back, resting the back of his head against the cushions. Not all of his memories of the war were negative. There were many things he looked back on with a smile: the other men in his GM squad, the time he had shot the head off of a Zaku II, causing the bewildered pilot to flail its arms comically, or all the times he would return to the flight deck, thankful for his survival. He thought for a moment. Perhaps if he simply thought of all the good memories, the upsetting ones would fade away.

The porch door opened, bringing him back to reality. Lucie stepped out, rubbing her eyes. With a gentle smile she sat beside him. "Good morning," she said sweetly, resting her head on his shoulder. Stephen grinned. He always loved it when she did that. It made him feel strong, as though she depended on him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she looked up at him with concern. "Didn't you get any sleep?"

Stephen shook his head. "You?"

Lucie yawned. "A little," she said. For several moments both of them were silent, simply enjoying each other's presence and watching the simulated sunrise.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Stephen.

Lucie nodded. "It never gets old, does it?"

"Nope."

Several more silent moments slipped by. Eventually, Lucie sighed. "I wish I could have been on Earth with you. I'll bet the sunrises there were much prettier."

Stephen chuckled. "Maybe a little. But not enough to make it worth the trip. At least, not in the situation I was in."

Lucie laid her hand on his chest. "Well, maybe now that the war's over we can go see it sometime."

Stephen gave her a squeeze. "If you want, we can try for it. But first thing's first..." He stood, bringing her up with him. "I need to go out and get a job. I can't buy us a house without any income."

Lucie looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Buy us a house?" she echoed.

"That's right," Stephen replied, winking a hazel eye at her in his adorable way. "We can't very well live with your mother forever, can we? And I definitely don't plan on bringing you back here for our wedding night." His face morphed into an expression of mock concern. "By the way, we're still doing that whole marriage thing, right?"

Lucie poked him in the ribs. "Last I checked," she answered with a light giggle. Stephen smiled his best smile and kissed her. Lucie's heart fluttered in her chest the way it always had, and for a moment she felt herself taken back to her high school days, when she had finally gotten that big dope to kiss her for the first time. Stephen had always been the shy boy off in the corner, and it had taken forever for him to feel confident enough to try, but when he finally did it was definitely worth the wait.

Stephen broke the kiss first. Lucie stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. Why had he stopped? She hadn't nearly had her fill of him yet. He patted her shoulder.

"Now, now," he said, "Don't give me your puppy-dog eyes. I need to get ready. I've got interviews to set up and applications to fill out."

Lucie placed her hands on the back of his neck, pulling their faces close. She locked her gaze with his, letting her light green eyes work their magic. "Come on," she whispered, giving a sly grin. "Can't that wait until tomorrow? You just got back and I've missed you so much."

Stephen chuckled. It was an old trick, he knew, and it was very tempting. He gave her a quick kiss and stepped back. "It could, I suppose. It's just the sooner I start, the sooner I can take my mind off of... things. And besides, you wouldn't want to postpone that house, would you?"

Lucie sighed. He was right, as usual. Why did he have to be so practical all the time? "Fine," she said. "But you owe me big when you get back."

Stephen walked toward the door, smiling at her over his shoulder. "You got it. Don't worry. I'll make up for lost time."

The man looked up at Stephen over the rims of his glasses. Stephen had always despised this type of person; the kind who did nothing but sit at a desk, push pencils, and tell those under him what a rotten job they were doing. He was balding, and the way he combed his hair did nothing to hide it. His round face seemed permanently stuck in a frown. He wore a cheap suit, marking him as a man who wanted to look wealthier than he really was. The man looked down at the resume in his hand, then back up again.

"Stephen McAvoy, retired Sergeant in the Earth Federation army," he said. "Impressive enough, I guess. Regardless, there's not much else on here that qualifies you for a debris clearing job. You do realize extensive knowledge of mobile lifters is required here, right?"

"I do," replied Stephen. "That's why I came here first. If you take a closer look at that sheet of paper, you'll see that I was a mobile suit test and combat pilot. I'm very good at picking up new control systems quickly and at handling a suit in a vacuum. My life often depended on my abilities and they kept me alive long enough to get here."

The man smiled condescendingly. "I see. How fortunate for you. My son, however, was not so lucky."

Stephen felt a pang of guilt for being so repulsed. "I'm terribly sorry, sir."

The man waved his hand dismissively. "Don't bother. I've heard just about enough apologies from you soldier types to last me three lifetimes. Now normally I'd say we don't have room for you, but unfortunately I don't have that luxury. Ever since that damned accident two weeks ago I've had guys quitting left, right, and center. Frankly, Mr. McAvoy, I'm desperate. Had you walked in here with a rep sheet for a resume I would've hired you. That said, we'll discuss your pay later. Right now, I need you to change out of that monkey suit you're wearing and into something useful. Report to the break room downstairs and talk to Hal. He'll get you started." The man pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket and put it in his mouth.

Stephen paused for a confused moment. "Now, sir?"

The man pulled a lighter from one of the desk drawers and lit his cigarette. "Do you want the goddamn job or not?"

"Yes, sir." Stephen walked out the door, leaving all the pity he had felt behind him. He took the stairs down to the basement level of the office building and found himself in a long hallway with an airlock at the end. The first door on his left was labeled "Break Room." He pushed the door open and stepped in. The room was totally bare, save for a set of lockers against the far wall and a single table in the center. A lone man sat at the far end, dutifully munching on a packet of dehydrated meat. He looked up at Stephen and smiled. It was a genuine smile, and his dark eyes seemed to glow with an amiable light. He was young, though clearly older than Stephen, perhaps about forty. There was no sign of gray in his blonde hair, though wrinkles had started to crease his forehead.

"Howdy," he said cheerfully. "Haven't seen you before. The boss just hire you?"

"Yeah," Stephen replied. "Are you Hal?"

"I am indeed," said the man, rising to his feet. "I imagine you're pretty confused right now, but don't worry. The pay is good and the work is simple. We've been really shorthanded lately, so Mr. Jameson has basically started kidnapping applicants and throwing them right in. The boss's got a tight schedule to keep, y'see. As long as there's debris out there, shipping and commerce will be tricky. The mayor's been pressuring us a lot lately to step up our game. Sorry about the rough reception. He's not a bad fella, he's just really stressed out. Anyhow, what's your name?"

"Stephen," said Stephen. "Stephen McAvoy."

"Right, then, Steve," said Hal. "Ever used a mobile lifter?"

"Not a lifter," Stephen answered, "but I was a mobile suit pilot during the war."

Hal's smile seemed to grow. "Ah, then lifters'll be a walk in the park. Much simpler. What type of suit did you pilot?"

"Mostly GMs, but I tested a few prototype models."

"Well then you might find the lifters a bit dull. Before we start, there are a few things you should know. First, they don't have life support, so we all have to wear normal suits when we go out. You can grab one from the lockers. One-size-fits-none, I'm afraid, but just bear with it. Second, the office is right at the gate between the rotating cylinder and the zero-gravity section. The airlock opens to the hangar, which is a weightless area. When the door opens, it'll look like its spinning so be careful you don't get dizzy or worse, barf in your helmet. Once you get to the hangar, pick a lifter (any lifter) and fire it up. Walk it to the external airlock and the boys in the control hub will let you out. Make your way to the red beacons that mark the debris field, and start looking. There's a scanner in the storage compartment of each lifter. Take it out and scan each piece you come across. The scanner will tell you what each piece is made of and whether it can be salvaged. If it can be salvaged, give it a push toward the green beacons (those mark where the scrap is processed). If it can't be salvaged, press the size button on your scanner and scan it again. If it gives a green light, push it at the Earth as hard as you can. If it blinks red, smash it into smaller pieces and repeat scanning, pushing, and smashing until the whole thing is headed toward the planet. Once they're out of the major routes they'll be pulled in by Earth's gravity and burn up in the atmosphere. Simple, right?"

Stephen nodded. "Yeah, simple enough. So what type of stuff gets salvaged?"

Hal rubbed the back of his head. "Well, let's see... any military hardware we find gets confiscated by the Feds, any armor pieces or fried circuitry gets recycled or sold to scrap shops, and..." He paused. "Any bodies we find are identified and returned to their families. But don't worry about that. Most of those have been picked up by now. We haven't found one for four months now."

"That reminds me," said Stephen. "The boss said something about an accident. What exactly happened?"

Before Hal could answer the door to the break room flew open. "Yeah, lunch time! Finally!" said a voice. Stephen froze. He had heard that voice before.

"Arthurs?" he asked spinning around. It was indeed Arthurs. The fire in his deep blue eyes and his bright red hair gave him away. His freckled face adopted a look of shock.

"Boss?" he gasped. "Sergeant McAvoy? What are you doing here? I thought you died back at A Baoa Qu!"

Stephen laughed. "Yeah, so did I. Fortunately, I know when to eject." Ho took a step toward Arthurs and smacked his shoulder. "Unlike some people I know."

Arthurs wrapped Stephen in a bear hug. "Dammit, boss! You have no idea how happy I am to see you!" He pulled back and playfully punched Stephen's chest. "Don't ever scare us like that again! We never heard what happened to you and the whole squadron assumed you were killed."

"Eh, I got transferred to inventory management, so close enough."

Arthurs was shocked. "They gave you a desk job? What the hell were they thinking? You're Stephen McAvoy! Who did they get to test new designs with you stuck in an office?"

Stephen shrugged. "I heard something about some girl from one of the other colonies. Mackenzie or something like that. Apparently she's even better than I was. Fought off a special forces unit all on her own."

Arthurs scoffed. "Right, and you didn't? How many "special" Zeon pilots did you take out? Ten? Twenty? Plus you fought a newtype and survived! How many pilots can say that?"

Stephen flinched. "I survived, but just barely. I was still shot down."

Arthurs waved his hand. "Details, details. My point is you were the best."

Hal coughed politely. "Hey, guys. Mind if we get started? That junk isn't gonna shift itself."

"Sorry," said Stephen. "Lead the way. I'm eager to get going."

Captain Davis stepped into the warehouse. It was sizable, just about right. The office out front came with a nice countertop and waiting area and with a back room behind the counter. It was perfect for a scrap company. The price had been decently low, too. Davis looked at the sheet of paper in his hand. It was an official document, a contract with the local government. The language was vague and complicated, but he knew the gist of it. The government would pay him money, and he would buy and process scraps into usable material. Simple. Besides that, he had a near perfect crew for the job.

He glanced toward the back of the warehouse. The barrels they had brought with them sat in a neatly organized row against the far wall. Beside them a line of radiation suits hung on steel hooks. Good, thought Davis. All the equipment they would need for painting. All of that time with the weapons research division was about to pay off. He smiled. Everything was going perfectly. The man at the business bureau had done nothing more than glance at his forged ID before granting him clearance. They must have been desperate to be rid of all that debris outside. He didn't blame them. Three years later and still Side 2 was littered with the remains of Operation British. Good thing, too. Without all that trash outside, it would be impossible for his plan to work.

He sighed. He didn't have enough money to rent a place to stay. He had reigned himself to living in the office. He walked out the warehouse door and entered the office through the back door, heading into the private meeting room. He switched on the light and shut the door behind him. On the floor was his suitcase, containing every possession he still owned. He opened it and pulled out his old bedroll. It had been a while since Davis had used one, but it would definitely beat sleeping on the bare concrete floor. He unrolled the pack and laid out the mat and pillow. As he stood, he felt his back groan in protest. This wasn't going to be any fun at all. Sleeping on hard surfaces had always been rough on his back, but he wasn't getting any younger.

A knock on the front door made startled him. Instinctively he drew his pistol. Who could that be? It was getting late and few people were still out and about. He slowly opened the back room's door and walked into the waiting area, making sure to keep his pistol hidden under the counter. He relaxed when he saw Shatner's smiling face through the glass. "Come on in," he called, returning his gun to his belt. "It's unlocked."

Shatner opened the door and stepped in, taking a quick look around. "Nice place you got here," he said. "Almost makes you want to retire from the army, doesn't it?"

"Sure does," Davis replied. "What are you doing here?"

"Checking up on you," answered Shatner. "You're probably planning on living in here, aren't you?"

Davis shrugged. "Nowhere else to go, really. What about you?"

Shatner grinned. "I had some money stored away. Bought myself a little apartment in town. Not a big place, but it's got a couch. Why don't you come stay with me, boss?"

Davis chuckled. "How long have you been saving? Those places aren't cheap."

Shatner's grin shrank a bit. "A while," he replied. "I always expected to survive the war, so I wanted to make sure I could afford my own place when I got discharged. Never expected us to be on the losing side, but you know what? It's weird. Somehow, I feel like nothing's changed. I mean, I know this is Fed territory, but here I am, living the way I always thought I would. It's almost like... I don't know... life just went on, you know?"

"Are you saying you want out?" asked Davis.

"Hell, no," said Shatner. "I'm always with you, boss. You know that. I'm just saying... well... I don't know what I'm saying, I guess. I'm just happy. It feels almost like home."

Davis sighed. "I won't deny that. It does all seem familiar. But don't forget that it's not home. Home is Zeon, where our rights are important to our leaders and our voices are heard. You won't have a voice here. The Feds don't care about the people in space. Remember that."

"I know," said Shatner. "Don't worry, boss. I haven't gone soft on you. If I wasn't completely dedicated, I wouldn't be here. Now how about we head back to my place? I've got the fixings for chowder, and it's not gonna eat itself."

Davis grinned. "Sure. Just let me grab my things. And hey, you sure you don't mind having me there? Might cramp your style if you want to bring someone... you know... curvy home with you."

Shatner laughed. "Please! You know me. I've got about as much game as a crippled soccer player. Besides, I'm the sentimental type. I don't want to get attached to anyone, given what we're going to do. You won't be in the way at all."

Davis nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Right, well thanks, Shatner. Your couch sound a million times better than this floor."

"Couch?" said Shatner in mock horror. "An enlisted man forcing a superior officer to sleep on the couch? Absurd, Sir! You'll have the bed."

Davis laughed. "It's your house. Besides, we're not soldiers anymore."

"Right," Shatner replied with a tone of finality. "Then I'll give you the bed as an old friend. Now no more arguing. I'm not about to let you go all polite gentleman on me. You need a decent place to rest your back, old man."

Davis punched his shoulder with a chuckle. "Hey, now! That's no way to speak to your employer. Now come on. Let's get a move on. They've got rain scheduled for tonight and I don't want to get caught in it."