The Dilemma of Flay Allster Revised

by CSS Stravag

Side Story of Joker's Wild Set 2. Chapter 14 UP! Flay Allster, terminally confused from the events of the First Valentine War, becomes a sleeper agent for Blue Cosmos in the lands of the hated enemy, Mendel. Will she go as far as her handlers want, or walk away from the hatred she held in the first war?

4. Shadows Of The Past

(Jokers Wild Side Story 1, Chapter 4: Shadows of the Past)

(6 July CE 72, 1715 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 3, El Cactus restaurant)

"Haven't seen that pervert once since you scared him off," Flay replied to Oruga's question about her 'stalker'.

"Good to hear," he replied evenly. "Hate to have to get up mi amigos and chase the bastard down, that would just ruin a good day."

"For all of us," Flay commented, since such an action would necessarily be conducted after something bad happened to her. Of course, she had no intention of letting such misdeeds happen and had the firepower to ensure it didn't happen in any preventable encounter, so...

"How's things been going for you?" Oruga asked after the waitress took their initial orders.

"Ugh, bloody crazy," Flay admitted. "In addition to the crap we're already building for the Protectorate, the bosses have us assembling commercial stoves and ovens for sale down below. And, to top it all off, we're assembling some kind of large box missile assembly for the new naval project – I think it is called ELRM or something like that," she complained heartily. "I never knew my body could vibrate in perfect tune to a riveter, and I'm still sore from it."

"ELRM?" Oruga asked, though Flay could tell it was a non-directed question. "Ah, I remember, Extended Long Range Missiles. Nasty customers, on ground they're usable out to four kilometers and will put a solid hurtin' on anything they shoot at. Those are being used on a variant of the Garm-class ships," Oruga noted nonchalantly.

"Variant?" Flay asked. She knew about variable loadout Omnimech and Omnifighter technology, but she didn't know it was usable on ships.

"Well, somewhat. The Garm-class ships aren't really true Omni units - they can't swap loads on the fly, far too big for that, but they can remove and replace components in a dry dock in about two weeks."

Flay didn't much react physically to the news, nor the discussion, but internally she was both cringing and getting excited. This was a major intelligence coup on an upcoming ship classification, a ship that would undoubtedly have its guns pointed at Blue Cosmos. She just wasn't sure if she should pass the data on to Blue Cosmos or not, given how she felt about them nowadays.

"And we're producing one of its weapon systems?" Flay asked in a curious tone.

"Yeah. The first military Garm is going to be a missile corvette, and it should have 96 of those missile packs total."

That number – the sheer enormity of her task – caused Flay to gape at Oruga. "96? As in four short of a hundred, 96? Why?"

Oruga shrugged. "Missile corvette, girl, it is the primary armament of the ship. ELRMs are good against smaller fighters and Mobile Suits, but the heavy punch in the ship's arsenal is a load of 60 AR-10 missile tubes. They'll put a hurtin' on anything larger than an escape pod and smaller than a battleship."

Flay was still hung on the thought of 96 missile launchers. "96 times 20 missiles per launcher is...one-twenty...carry the two...1920 small missiles?"

"Small, girl?" Oruga snorted at the thought. "An ELRM with the first-stage booster weighs 17 kilos. I bench-press those missiles for morning warmups every day. Small they ain't, unless you compare them to the capital missiles used by the Warships."

"Still, isn't that...overkill?" Flay asked.

Oruga snorted again. "Old Magi euphemism: there is no such thing as a fair fight. Only fights you win or lose."

Flay froze mentally on Oruga's comment, instantly reminded that her BC close quarters battle instructor said the same thing. It was a brutally simple euphemism in Flay's opinion, and Blue Cosmos definitely showed they did not fight fair in any arena. On the other hand, the Magi had not shown how 'unfair' they could really fight, and the Garm-class ships were just a start on a new line of 'not fighting fair'. With the Magi definition of a battleship being something above 2 million tons mass, and the Earth Alliance Archangel Class (their largest ship) barely making it into the rating of 'escort frigate', a Garm-class missile corvette could easily cause significant damage to the Agamemnon, Nelson, and Drake-class ships normally comprising the bulk of the Earth Alliance fleet.

Then her thoughts wandered back to her own problems and how she wasn't fighting fair any more. She had to maintain at least the illusion of working for Blue Cosmos, but in that she had plenty of leeway to 'fudge intelligence reports', 'innocently misplace records' and otherwise obfuscate or cripple their operations in Mendel. Getting herself into a position where she could execute a particularly derailing hit to Mendel Ops before she disappeared into the protective embrace of the Mendel Armed Forces was the truly tricky part: the hit had to be large, spectacular, something that could be fingered to her, and something that wouldn't wipe her out in the process. Options on that were a bit thin, of course, given that Blue Cosmos was about as vindictive as was humanly possible without being a straight revenge organization.

"Lost in thought again?" Flay didn't immediately answer Oruga's question. "Hello? Flay Allster? You still in there?"

"What?" Flay asked in response to the two fingers in front of her eyes.

"You zoned out there for about thirty seconds," Oruga commented. "Had me worried somewhat. I mean, it ain't all that dirty or evil an old policy, is it?"

"Depends on who is using it," Flay replied. "Blue Cosmos says the same thing."

"Oh, those jackwagons," Oruga groused. "Vicious little fucks, but unevenly led. Some of them are competent, almost as competent as Magi greenhorn troops," he mildly underestimated. Flay knew they were somewhat better than Magi 'greenhorns' (troops just out of training but not yet showing a victory in Trial by Combat). "The rest, the bulk of 'em actually, are either average terrorists or worse, like those douche-rockets that tried assaulting a decoy facility nearby GARM R&D."

"True, so true," Flay said sympathetically and meant it. Her experiences with Blue Cosmos confirmed his opinion: a few were good, some of those few were even stellar, but most were ascended scum. "Did you see the little 'lost leg memorial' at that site?"

"Huh? No, didn't know about it," Oruga replied.

"After dinner, I'll show you where it is," Flay said. The phrasing on the memorial was half-juvenile and half-puerile, but still somewhat catchy. The story of how it happened was just as entertaining to her as the actual bronzed memorial. All the more so given the subject of the memorial was caused by the leader of the cell, the true culprit of the puerile failure that annihilated his operations cell.

On the subject of the Garm ships, Flay decided that Blue Cosmos would get incomplete and somewhat altered data on the new class. No sense giving them ample forewarning on their fate when she didn't want them to survive the encounter to begin with, of course.

-x-x-x-

(8 July CE 72, 1900 Hours)

(Earth Alliance Territory, Atlantic Federation, state of North Dakota)

Minot, North Dakota, had two claims to fame: a respectable city, and an unusual military base. Given that Ghosts are not much concerned about cities or their denizens (unless ordered to worry about such things), the missile base was of more interest to the Ghosts.

Ghost Team 7 was the unit called on to deal with such problems. Unlike Ghost Team 6 (the team that had led the way into the Atlantic Federation), Team 7 was a unit outfitted and trained for infiltration work, not assault operations. This reduced their ability to cause damage in the event of a blown operation or orders to sabotage the base, but certain things could be achieved a lot easier without the big guns and heavy armor of the assaulters.

When the unit arrived their first order of business was finding an area outside the base perimeter that they could set up an underground outpost. Two days of searching around the base perimeter came to naught, but a day of searching farther north in the farmland areas presented a good opportunity to the Ghosts: an abandoned supply shack gave them a plausible cover for an entrance to an underground base just as every other Ghost base or outpost was constructed. With their outpost set and ready, the true operations of espionage began in earnest. Nobody would enter the personnel and control facilities of the base, yet, but observing the missiles and missile technicians was ample tasking for their purposes.

Ghost Officer Rise approached the load-bed of the five-ton truck a pair of missile technicians were using to service the missiles and took a quick stock of their possessions. She readily expected the standard-issue assault rifle and bandoleer of magazines, and there was no question about the large kit of tools and spare parts in the truck, but the presence of magnum revolver speed-loaders and a large bolt-action rifle was not something she expected to see.

The 'why' was soon enough answered. "Yo, Brian, I see dinner at 500 yards, grab my rifle!"

"Which ammo?"

"The 180-grain jacketed soft points should do the job," the furthest of the two technicians said.

Rise moved away from the load-bed on the truck and watched as the second technician grabbed up the bolt-action rifle and a box of ammunition. "Here you go, man. Think you can make this shot?"

"Easily, it's only 500 or so out, so I got it."

Rise moved past the truck to a point where she could see the targeted animal. For fun, she ran the calculation on the shot through her ballistic computer, and the aimpoint for the target came out to be nearly half a meter above the target's shoulder and a full meter west from the target due to wind. Calculating the same shot for her rod gun came out to only three centimeters up from the target point and five centimeters west, due to the extremely high velocity the rod gun imparted to its projectile.

The first shot went downrange, easily tracked by its vapor trail by the passive sensors in her ghost armor. Immediately Rise knew the shot would not hit, for the shooter had not properly compensated for the wind. After a flight time of slightly less than a second, the round struck the ground to the east of the elk and a further twenty meters beyond it. "Sonuvabitch, damn wind," the shooter groused as he slowly jacked the bolt to remove the empty casing and load a new round. The elk in question did not spook, but simply looked in the direction of the shooter to listen for what was the loud sound of the gunshot.

The shooter lined up his second shot, and after a few seconds of silence in the area a loud crack destroyed the quiet of the area. This shot went downrange and struck the elk badly – a midriff hit caused it to collapse away from the slug that struck it, but within moments it was up on adrenaline and moving east to west relative to the technicians. "Damnit! Gotta make this quick!" The bolt was jacked and a third round laid in; the tech began tracking the moving elk as it bounced around in severe pain, then fired a shot after five seconds of aiming.

The second technician whistled after a moment. "Damn fine shooting, amigo."

"We eat well tonight," the shooter said. "Grab the parts dolly and begin loading it up. I'll meet you over there with the truck shortly."

"What else do we have to do today?"

"Today, nothing, except clean and cook dinner."

"We just wastin' our time out here, or are these monsters gonna get used?" Brian asked.

"Well, if those space monsters come down here, we're gonna nuke 'em off the map with these old things," the old veteran said. "They don't wanna fight fair, they don't wanna leave us alone, so we'll return the favor."

Not if I have a hand in it, Rise thought but did not say. She would take no action today, nor any action unless ordered, but she had a clear plan for both infiltrating the command bunkers (3 existed on base) and for disabling individual missiles. Even if she had to ride the rocket herself and prevent it from achieving deploy altitude, she would. Stopping the nuclear attack of ground targets on Terra was a very high priority.

-x-x-x-

(10 July CE 72, 1715 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 3, Sniper Bar and Grill)

"How're you 'n' that pilot doin', kid?" the Sniper asked after he brought Flay her dinner and glass of red wine.

"Better than my last few tries," Flay admitted. A 'better result' was a given after the complete FUBAR she built around her relationship with Kira.

"Damn good to hear," he answered her update. "Yell if you need anything."

"Will do," Flay replied kindly. After two bites of her salad: "Uhm, where did you get this salad?"

"WCI Industries, they're a wholesale foods and commodities outfit from the USSA. Ain't as good as the fresh stuff I used to get from farm planets in the Empire, but these guys are the best around here."

"Do they sell retail?" Flay asked after a moment.

"Don't think so, but I can talk to the guy I normally do business with and see if he has smaller sizes than what I normally purchase."

"And you normally get how much?" Flay asked out of curiosity.

"Forty head every three days or so," the sniper-turned-cook reported. "Salads are one of my more popular offerings, strangely enough," he said.

"Davion PPC, please," a guy asked as he seated himself right next to Flay.

"Steiner PPC, extra mint schnapps," another guy said from the far side of the new arrival.

"Sweet Tart, please," a lady requested from three seats down the bar.

"Davion, Steiner with extra mint, and a Sweet Tart, roger that, officers." As the cook looked away, Flay looked carefully to her new barmates and was somewhat shocked by the company she was now keeping.

"Think it'll fly, Gerald?"

"Back home, the Admiralty Board would be laughing your ass off all the way to the demotion hearing. This is not to say you couldn't smoke each one of them in the Refusal, of course," Gerald Lightbringer hedged. "Out here, it may just save our asses, boss," the Century Commander replied evenly. "What say you, Ezalia?"

"It is an interesting position you ask me to take," Ezalia Joule replied immediately. " 'Advisory Specialist for Local Affairs' has a bit of a ring to it, I will admit," she mused.

"Best I can give you without a combat-based Trial of Position, and since it is a noncombat position your advancement requirements are different," Wayne Centara replied. "Not that I have any doubt you could win a shootout with some of the other Advisory Specialists, but the rules are a bit different."

"Thank you, Star Admiral, I'll drink to that," and all three raise their glasses in toast.

"A pity to have you removed from the upcoming aerofighter projects, but we need the help in international relations far more than we need prototype aerofighter designs."

"I'll do what I can, but you'll probably need those fighters soon enough," Ezalia answered Gerald's comment calmly. "The Earth Alliance is becoming intractable, I don't think I can placate them for long."

"Twelve months would be optimal," Gerald said. "With that much, we can start bringing new recruits online and into training positions, where they can free up some of the old hands to move to new commands."

"I technically commissioned you under an impossible operations intention," Star Admiral Centara noted. "I don't expect a perfect result – hell, I don't even expect a partial victory on this one, they want our asses for hamburger and they will do their best to get it. Any delay in that reaping more than six months works to our advantage, and twelve months may actually give us a victory solution in the oncoming war. So, do what you can and we may yet live to toast our continued survival."

"I'll drink to that," Gerald answered.

"As would I," Ezalia added.

"And unfortunately one shot is all I get for a day," Wayne looked at his PDA and sighed. With a mighty slam, his Steiner PPC was downed and his other hand went for his wallet. "I, unfortunately, have been called back to the office. See you guys later."

"Bartender, another round, please," Ezalia requested. "This is gonna be a bitch of a job, but I may have a chance to stop the Earth Alliance before they do something real stupid."

"Yeah, like turn a bunch of otherwise stationary objects into falling colonies of mass destruction," Gerald answered. "Bartender, give me a Hell's Horses PPC (1), please," and after a moment he looked to Flay. "You have family or holdings on planet, girl?"

"What? Me?" Flay asked in shock that she had been asked anything by the Century Commander. "Well, yeah, I have a few relatives and some land, why?"

"Better tell 'em to work on an E-and-E plan in case the Earth Alliance decides to nuke some more colonies. They got lucky with Junius Seven not headin' to earth, but the next one may not be so lucky."

"Oh, wow, never thought of that," Flay admitted. "Yeah, well, I'll tell those of my relatives who don't suck about that," Flay said.

"Wait, I recognize her from somewhere," Ezalia said. "Oh, yeah, crew pics from the Archangel," Ezalia bowed her head in thought. "Erm, Flay Allster, right?"

Oh shit, busted, Flay thought. "I am. You?"

"Ezalia Joule, formerly ZAFT."

"Gerald Lightbringer, Mendel. I believe we met before at the missing boot memorial."

-x-x-x-

(11 July CE 72, 2210 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, RD 4-A-12)

Jeane connected her laptop to the house network and activated the heavy encryption systems necessary to prevent the damnable spies in Mendel from reading her e-mail. Not unlike Flay's personal laptop, this one was also brought to its knees by the custom-built cypher systems, but the security was what they needed, not performance.

Connection with the main Blue Cosmos intel and operations datacenter took 90 seconds of handshaking between the machines, a veritable battery of tests to verify that this was not a hack attempt by an outside party. After the connection was initiated, the laptop began an automatic update routine to revise the security commands and encryption systems, a necessary two minutes of new code transfers to prevent Mendel getting repeat exposure and eventually breaking the encryption.

Another thirty seconds and the vid-comm system came live. "Intel Operations, how may I route your connection?"

Jeane smiled. "C'mon, Tina, no love for your big sis?"

"Jeane?" The operator asked, surprised by the voice and face on the other end of the line. "How's it going, sis? You're in Mendel?"

"Yeah, I'm clean enough to fly up here, and I've got some hot-off-the-press data for our Aerospace analysts."

"Okay, you should take a vacation and come see the family, if those heathens allow it. Our oldest brother's wife is pregnant again."

Jeane snorted. "Typical. He is such a pervert, but an honest one."

"Yeah, he ain't cheating," Tina said. "Ain't helpin' his wife, though. You want routed into Aerospace?"

"That's where I need to be," Jeane said. "I'll try and shake loose some time to visit the family here in a few weeks."

Love ya, sis. Stay safe up there. Transferring now," and Jeane's screen went blank temporarily.

Five seconds later, her screen came live again, this time showing a drafting room with a few people inside, and in the foreground a guy wearing a button-up shirt and tie was sitting at the terminal. "Aerospace Intel, that you Jeane?"

"It is," Jeane replied. "How's it going, Howie?"

"Bleh," he replied sarcastically. "Still trying to copy Mendel's aerospace designs and not getting anywhere fast. I'm having better luck ripping off the South Americans."

"I've got some new numbers on a new unit up here, you ready for it?" Jeane asked.

"Waiting," he said with a pen poised over a notepad.

"Fighter frame designation Mike-Foxtrot-Xray-dash-6-0-0-Alpha-1, codename Skygrasper II."

"Skygrasper II? That's a new model. Did they rip off our Skygrasper design or something?" Howie asked.

"Worse," Jeane replied deadpan. "They ripped the design off and rebuilt it into an Honest-to-God aerofighter, not just the atmospheric-only plane we have."

"Go for numbers," Howie said, cringing all the same. The Skygrasper was a dangerous fighter in good hands, and with Mendel updates it would be even more dangerous than before.

"Dry fighter mass 35.75 tons," by which she meant the mass of the fighter without fuel or internal ammunition. "Loaded mass 45 tons. Maximum external stores 9000 kilograms not including Striker Packs. Capable of carrying one or two Striker Packs of almost any type."

"Holy shit," Howie groused. "That's some serious firepower."

"That's just the external stuff," Jeane admitted. "Internal arsenal is as follows: two cannons, 30mm bore, nose mounted with 125 rounds total, two autocannons in 35mm ultra with 45 bursts, mounted in the wing roots, whatever that refers to," she read off a list, not entirely sure what the certain of the terms meant.

"Ultra autocannons fire at double the rate with a flick of a switch. Two in 35mm will shred anything we can put in the air," Howie said. "Continue, please."

"1 Mark-16 ER Large Laser, turret-mounted in replacement of the standard beam cannon. Energy weapon, feeds of craft's internal fusion reactor."

"Frightening," Howie said.

"Two short-range missile launchers, 6 silos per launcher, one launcher to a wing. Two tons ammunition, which is 180 missiles total, can be binned in two lots with differing payloads."

"That sounds like it could hurt," Howie grumped.

"Last weapon is one centerline internal-mount Skygrasper Missile System, 1 missile plus nine reloads. Again, can be binned in two lots with differing payloads."

"Damn, way better armed than a Skygrasper, and I'll bet it is armored in that shit they use," Howie complained peevishly.

"Five tons worth," Jeane admitted. "Per unit cost is 4.946 million C-bills, which the company is thinking about rounding up to 4.95 for a little extra margin of profit."

"This is insane," Howie groused. "This thing has the firepower to challenge a whole regiment of Saberfish."

"Well, this is reality, not insanity," Jeane replied sympathetically. "Airframe prototype construction just began yesterday, with first prototype expected to roll out in about two months. Full-scale production is expected in FY74 provided nothing goes wrong during the prototype phase. First Binary expected online before the end of FY74."

"We're fucked," Howie estimated their chances. "I hope Djibril can use this data for our purposes."

"I'm just reporting. Good luck analyzing those numbers to find a weakness. Mendel Intel Div is out." Jeane powered her laptop off directly, to hard-terminate the connections and secure the machine from a recursive hack attempt.

-x-

(Mendel Colony, GARM R&D Supercomputer facility)

The problem with communications in and out of Mendel, a problem that Blue Cosmos had overlooked when planning their communications schema, was that all communications went through a single series of routers and load balancers run by the Mjolnr Technicians. This bottlenecked all incoming and outgoing communications, though for civilian use the data throughput was still easily in excess of anything they would need. The bottleneck, however, made traffic analysis and interception pathetically easy for the Artificial Intelligence entity that ran the bulk of the integrated systems in Mendel.

The ease of interception was improved by Blue Cosmos themselves: their communications went through three routers on Terra, one in North America, one in Orb, and one in what would have been Laos. The IP ranges these devices used were easily discerned by traffic analysis: communications with those devices were only using intelligence-grade encryption, as opposed to the civilian-grade encryption used by businesses communicating with home offices on Terra. The heavy encryption on Blue Cosmos traffic only served to red-flag their transmissions to the AI supercomputer system, just as it would have red-flagged the NSA of United States fame three centuries prior. In all real terms, Blue Cosmos's supposedly 'unbreakable' communications schema was about as obvious as a naked guy traipsing through Cracktown with hundred-dollar bills taped to his back. No intelligence analyst worth their paycheck would have expected such a spectacle to go unnoticed, just the same as Blue Cosmos and their 'stealth' communications.

The rest was done with the four Quantum Supercomputers that Orb had sold to Mendel out of spite for the Earth Alliance. The EA refused to pay for services rendered, so Orb had no problem retaining possession of the Archangel and selling spare components to Mendel. It infuriated the Earth Alliance to get the cold shoulder in such a blatant fashion, but Mendel paid in full and on time, a feat that the Earth Alliance could not claim.

s—CONNECTION TERMINATED 2221 hrs UTC, 11 July CE 73

c—BEGIN ANALYSIS BLOCK 2222 hrs UTC, 11 July CE 73

The Commando Star Captain (Gundam forces) on duty looked at the monitor and shrugged. "Not much to analyze there, except three things, honey," he told the AI entity inside the quantum supercomputers.

"If you are thinking that Tina would be someone you would not kick out of bed unless she was better on the floor, I count four points of analysis."

"Geh," the Commando groused. "You read me so hard, honey, I might as well be a source file."

"I cheat, Star Captain: I used to be human. I know exactly what goes through a guy's mind at seeing something like that." the AI paused for a moment, which the Star Captain thought was her version of a sigh.

"Okay, first point is we have a flea. No big surprise there, Blue Cosmos wants everything down to our dick size, make it easier to kill us off in the long run."

"We will let their command section maintain that illusion," the AI replied diffidently. "Second point is the family connection between someone otherwise shown as 'clean' and a Blue Cosmos operations center. Given subtext of their conversation, they have an extended family with certain vulnerabilities."

"Man, you really are getting ruthless in your advanced age," the Star Captain replied. "Even at the height of the Quarter War, the Commandos didn't fuck with someone's family. Sets a very bad precedent that we don't want coming back to bite us in the ass. Of course, if they start doing it, I wouldn't object to returning the favor, of course..."

"Okay, point taken," the AI replied. "Third point is the clear breach of security pertaining to the Skygrasper II project, and given the breaching individual, she would also have access to data on the Thunderball and Fireball fighters as well."

"Good, let her," the Commando replied. "She gave them payload statistics, airframe hard numbers, and arsenal. She gave no performance information whatsoever, not even a 'legs' (2) number that can be easily derived from the fuel total tonnage. They have an idea how hard the 'Grasper II can butt-fuck 'em, but they have no clue how hard it is going to be to catch 'em if they ever get that kind of advantage."

"I concede that point," the AI replied. "What should I do about the spy?"

"Tap everything she does; keep an eye on her by all means possible. Begin a contact tree, start determining who her cohorts are and what other processes they are trying to compromise. I'll take a request to the boss to have her apartment spiked. Now that we know who the flea is, we can begin rolling up her entire network."

"And you call me ruthless?" the AI answered with a backhanded acknowledgement.

"I am a Commando, honey," the Star Captain said adroitly. "There is no such thing as a fair fight. Only fights you win or lose."

c—END ANALYSIS BLOCK 2231 hrs UTC, 11 July CE 73

-x-x-x-

(15 July CE 72, 1820 Hours)

(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 2, outside Ganett's Diner)

Flay fumed at the vibration buzz of her smartphone, a warning that someone was calling her from work. She kept a basic cell phone for personal use, and the laptop she was now using to feed semi-misinformation to Blue Cosmos was a permanent fixture at her place, but the work smartphone was not something she could escape.

After a moment of mental raging at the dreaded device, she stopped and pulled it from the belt loop she wore it on. "Flay," she answered tersely, just civil enough not to draw ire but tartly enough to warn the other party that she was not happy with being called repeatedly.

"Flay, Becky, shop floor," the other voice said. This changed her demeanor immediately; Becky was someone that got along with everyone, and somewhat served the role of a big sister to the entire assembly team (and a select few of the administrative staff). "I'll need some extra hands on deck for the rest of the week, your boss told me to ask for your help in assembling the ELRM packs if you're willing. She said she knows you don't like the riveter, but we have a few other things you can do. It's volunteer, but it is a better paygrade if you take it."

"And I get to dress casual," Flay said, more than happy to dress in something less stuffy than her usual mid-skirt and appropriate blouse combination. "I'm in. Not going to cause problems up front?"

"No, you're not the least expendable of the front crew, girl, but you've got all your purchasing done for the next week and a half, the rest of 'em are behind on their 'papers to push' quota."

"I'm in," Flay confirmed. "See you tomorrow."

"Flay?" a voice behind her asked.

Flay froze at the sound of her voice, mentally paralyzed by the shock of hearing it. She knew instinctively who it was, the voice was unique to her memories for several reasons. That the voice was behind her only added to the shock, that she didn't know he had approached her at all, or was even in the vicinity, or was even in the colony at all.

The Flay that would have remained paralyzed by her fears, or would have ran away from her fears like a frightened schoolgirl, was dying in a small, silent corner of her mind. For better or worse Flay was learning to face her fears one after the next rather than flee them (even when common sense told her to be somewhere else). This was one such fear among many, and ultimately not the worst of them.

"Kira?" Flay asked in response, still hesitant to look back at the one guy she truly (and literally) screwed over.

-x-

Across the road, Century Commander Lightbringer saw what he hoped he would see before he left the dimension to return home: the beginning of a resolution to such a vindictive act of hatred that it even ate at his hardened heart. That he could walk away and know this one was done was a bit of a relief to himself, since he knew Oruga was almost 100 percent likely to stay, and this kind of 'outstanding conflict' could easily destroy a relationship. Gerald was convinced Oruga had earned better than such horrid circumstance and a soap-opera end to their relationship.

Of course, the same thing was being witnessed by someone more than peripherally involved in the matter. "Is this something I should be concerned about?" Oruga asked sensibly, before he would have flown off the handle and started whipping random portions of ass. Of course, Gerald maintained no illusions about his subordinate's hand-to-hand ability, Kira would have readily won such a fight were it to have taken place.

"Yes and no," Gerald answered calmly. "Yes, it is something that will eventually concern you, but not in the sense of propriety of the matter. No, in that this is a resolution of an outstanding demon in her past. Best you allow it to go forward without undue interference."

"That matter you were talking about a few days ago?" Oruga asked.

"Yeah. It began with him, and now it should end with him. And it only ends with 'make-up sex' in a porno or some fangirl's wild dream, not in real life." Gerald handed the younger Gundam Pilot an ice cream sundae.

"You never did explain to me why the ice cream, boss," Oruga said as the two took seats at one of the tables nearby the ice cream parlor.

"This is my one great foil in life," Gerald said. "Whence I suffer a defeat in training exercises, I always end the 'grieving' process with a damn good ice cream treat. The brain freeze serves as reminder that pain sucks, and the time chowing it down gives me more time to think about what went wrong."

"I shouldn't be surprised by that answer," Oruga replied as he watched his girlfriend drag one of his rivals (and Orb's best pilot) into the diner across the road. The hesitation on his face was clear enough answer that Kira Yamato thought it was inappropriate, not that such 'improprieties' even slowed Flay down. Oruga figured that there had to be a long and complex history involved for her to act like that, when she normally was very reserved about such conduct. "In fact, I'm officially not surprised by that answer, sir. So, what did we do wrong?" After he received no answer, Oruga looked to the Century Commander. "Brain freeze? Already?"

Gerald had the flats of his hands compressed against his temples, shaking his head back and forth in significant distress. "Pain is only a four-letter word, pain is only a four-letter word..." he repeated several times. "Now, what was the question?"

"What did we do wrong?" Oruga asked.

"Let Kira spam those beams for too long," Gerald said deadpan. "If he'd've tried that against my Neue Ziel, I would have laughed long and hard as Hel came to collect his poor soul. Unfortunately, my Physalis is not as well-defended against beam weapons." The result had been messy in all tactical terms, with a Pyrrhic victory for Orb on this day. Would that the battle had been real, Kira would indeed have won but the Freedom Gundam would have required no less than six months overhaul to return to battle readiness. Such was the price of going toe-to-toe with the Angel Team, and Gerald liked reinforcing that point whenever necessary.

"You could have l33t haxx'd him so hard, he'd still be feeling the boot in his arse," Oruga whined. Oruga had no love for Kira Yamato; the arrogance was part and parcel of being a mobile weapon pilot (and one of the best), but the high moral tone he took was grating beyond all compare to the Extended-turned-Magi pilot.

"I could have, but then again I don't cheat during training exercises," Gerald admitted. "Of course, when the real shooting starts, there shall be no such thing as 'cheating' or 'fighting fair', there will only be battles we win or battles we lose. To hell with the rulebook at that time."

As Flay and Kira traded gestures at their table in the diner, a question came to Oruga. "Is she really a spy?"

Gerald smiled thinly, barely noticeable to his subordinate. "She just fed Blue Cosmos a ration of blow, giving them a load of numbers that lists the new Garm-class missile corvette as about thirty percent less battle effective than it really will be. If Blue Cosmos marches into battle under her intel report, they will get their assholes greased, bored, reamed, rifled, and spit-shined in less time than it took me to frame the thought." the Century Commander snorted loudly. "She is less of a spy now than she is a saboteur to Blue Cosmos. What that I could thank her for the assistance, but she has to keep a low profile to prevent undue 'administrative cleanup' from Blue Cosmos internal affairs personnel."

-x-

"I'll pay," Kira said deadpan. "I owe you an apology for blowing you off that one day, and I just got paid today in a rather unusual way."

"Oh? Here?"

"Yeah, I won a bet against one of the Mendel officers. His price was 1000 c-bills, so I'll cover it."

"Egh," Flay grimaced. "That's...a hefty bet," she hedged.

"I almost didn't win, though," Kira said with a hint of his old airhead whimsy to phrasing. "Gerald Lightbringer isn't a pushover."

Flay gaped internally at the sheer audacity of his comment, given the video she had seen of Gerald Lightbringer tearing apart whole fleets of Earth Alliance ships in his Neue Ziel. "That's...wow," Flay commented.

"Eh, I'm not worried about that, I'm worried about you. What happened to you after Alaska?"

"A lot," Flay replied. "I was captured by a guy called Le Creuset, and held on a ZAFT ship as a prisoner. They released me in a prisoner exchange about two months before Jachin Due. I was in Ptolamaeus when the Mjolnr showed itself."

"Are you still Earth Alliance?"

"No," Flay answered the simple question. "I watched them become consumed with nuclear bloodlust. It was...horrifying," she admitted quietly. She had felt some distant amount of horror in those days, like she was watching something she didn't want to happen, but her time in Mendel had sealed that thought forevermore. "I walked away some time ago; now I do purchasing for Handel Manufacturing."

"Handel?" Kira asked, clearly unfamiliar with the name.

"Battle Armor systems and weapons components, and stoves and dishwashers; I buy the materials and occasionally hire in temporary help," she admitted. "It's an interesting job, never a dull moment, and it pays well. The last part is a good thing: apartment rent up here is nightmarish."

"Why don't you come down to Orb? Rent isn't high in the suburbs," Kira offered.

"No, I like it up here," Flay said. "I have family on Earth, and I visit them from time to time, but other than that I have nothing worth mentioning down there. Up here, I'm not 'Director Allster's Kid', I'm an ordinary lady with an ordinary job and ordinary tastes."

Kira grimaced. "You used to never be like that," Kira commented fairly.

Flay knew exactly what he meant. Her chuckle at the thought was short but rueful. "You're right, a year ago I wasn't like this," she admitted. "A year ago I hadn't watched a new future born from the ashes of a barely-aborted nuclear war. A year ago I hadn't watched one of the oldest societies in the entirety of Existence throw themselves in front of a nuclear warhead for people who don't give two shits about anything outside their little PLANT. A year ago I had not watched four Blue Cosmos terrorists be beheaded for killing women and kids at a restaurant not too far from here." Flay sighed gustily, depressed of the chain of thoughts, but definitely not through.

"Flay..." Kira began, but hesitated. Flay shook her head, not looking for sympathy but looking for a chance to say her peace.

"A year ago I had not seen what it takes to live with your hand off the trigger for a day. Most of all, a year ago I didn't know there was anything more to life than just this endless battle between Naturals and Coordinators; where one side rages against the other, short and inconclusive and pointless battles killing people for no damn reason. Bloody population control with the pretense of a race war," she growled. "If that is what the future's supposed to be, just shoot me and be done with it."

"Flay, you're—"

"What? Messed up?" Flay chuckled grimly at the thought. "Yeah, you can say that and back it up. You saw it firsthand, suffered under it by my hand, I'll readily admit that. I had problems back then, a lot of problems, some of them even hard-to-spell problems. You could probably even make a case for me running away from those problems, making them worse, so on, so forth," she hedged, almost making light of her own problems in the face of things.

"Flay, seriously—" Kira began, but was silenced with a raised hand.

"If you want me to be serious, Kira, just listen for a moment. I am being serious, because this is something that's been eating at me for over a year now, before Alaska."

Kira hesitated for a moment, then was shocked severely by what he realized she was saying. "Flay, I—I—You don't—"

"I don't?" Flay asked in effort to cut him off before he dismissed it. "You may have brushed it under the rug, Kira, but I've stared down the barrel of a ten-millie more than once because of it. I thought my parting sentiment to you was my manipulating you into destroying all Coordinators by way of sleeping with you. That tears at a person like nothing else, Kira, guilt of that nature is incredibly destructive." She looked down at the table surface as their plates were brought to them. With a nod the waitress left, not a word said. "I did get help for that one, quite a bit of help," Flay admitted. "Ptolemaeus, Midwest Medical Relief, CB Psychological here in Mendel; I've spent a lot of time trying to figure out what was wrong, what went wrong, where I went wrong. The answer...the answer was simple. I thought you died that day, before Alaska, believing I was a manipulative skank trying to get you to kill all—"

"—Flay, seriously, you don't have to worry about it," Kira said. "I didn't believe that."

"I find that a bit hard to believe, Kira," Flay replied, showing a little bit of her new grasp of the Mendel tendency to understate things; she really meant she completely disbelieved his response, though he didn't quite interpret it as such. "I knew you knew at a level, then and now, even if you wouldn't admit it then, or do deny it now," The flicker in his eyes was answer enough, she had hit the mark even if he would not admit it. "I figured so. Well, Mendel has taught me one thing above all else: there are debts in life, debts without monetary value, debts without real definition, debts of honor." At her last comment, the reaction in Kira was significant; Flay could not tell if it was disgust or dread. "No amount of psych help can substitute for an apology, and no amount of apologies is going to give you back what innocence I violated in those days."

"And sacrificing yourself isn't going to give it back, either," Kira said sharply. "Mendel doesn't have the answer, Flay. Their way relies on victory of their principles or death in 'glorious battle'. That's not going to restore anyone's innocence."

"Certainly won't restore mine," Flay agreed with him. "We've done our time in Hell, Kira, whips and chains and glossy leather included. What's the value of not having to subject another generation to it?"

Kira's reaction was almost wrenching to Flay: "Which side are you gonna annihilate?" he asked after a moment of silence.

Flay was silent for a moment, long enough to pick at her beef hot-shot. "I killed my innocence the evening I decided to turn you into a weapon, Kira, and for that I cannot ask forgiveness. I want to, but it would never be right. You still have your innocence, mostly I should say, and that's probably why you focus on the extremes." Flay was silent for a long moment, considering how she wanted to express herself and her new stance. "Keep your innocence, Kira, what's left of it; the world needs it. We tainted few, we ancient hands and old glorious Empires of days past, we will do the rest, and then the rest yours. That is my debt." She stood and left the Orb Gundam pilot alone at the table, but at least left him with a five-note to cover the meal she hardly disturbed.

I really am starting to sound like the Magi, Flay thought once she left the diner. Such is life. I'll need that skill soon enough.

-x-x-x-

(16 July CE 72, 2230 Hours Lima (Eastern) time)

(Atlantic Federation, old Ohio Territory (northern half), unincorporated area)

When scouting high-value targets, Ghosts always moved in no less than pairs and usually as a complete element (Star, since each Ghost is his or her own Point). In this case, since the operation called for recon only, the operation included two Infiltration Ghosts from Ghost Point 9.

"Clear of fencing," Ghost Officer Terra said. "Guards?"

"Two, plus electronic closed-circuit surveillance. I have a route nav for us to dodge the bulk of the camera FOV." The likelihood that a basic camera would see their Ghost Cloaks was less than the chance a person could see them, but Ghosts did not gain veterancy and retirement benefits by way of taking chances.

"I have your six, Xion," Terra acknowledged the plan. The two were communicating through data line between their armors, since Xion was wearing a compact fusion reactor to power their cloak systems; any use of radio or even laser communications could blow their cover, so...

"Follow close, we have to be wary of the panning cameras," Xion requested. The two marched slowly and carefully across the large open yard and then angled for a grove of old apple trees on the south side of the structure. They moved slower amongst the trees, given that ground under trees retains moisture longer than open ground; leaving footprints in the shape of a square plate-boot would readily give their presence away, potentially complicating the mission.

"Think he's here?" Terra asked as they moved away from the apple tree grove and toward the northeast horse stable.

"No, this is just a token guard," the senior Ghost Officer judged. "If he was here, I would expect at least a squad of SPO out and about."

"What do you have your anti-grav systems set on?" Terra asked after they reached the 3-4 corner of the barn (southwest corner)

"95 percent," Xion admitted. It took the total combined weight of her armor from 5750 kilograms (5.75 metric tons) down to 280 kilograms. Running lighter was entirely possible, but used exponentially more power and had little purpose on the approach march. Without the external fusion generator, running a Ghost Cloak and antigrav systems at half power gave them an operation time of roughly four hours; running either at 90 percent gave them an operation time of 1 hour, and both at 90 percent gave them 30 minutes of stealth. So long as the grass was not wet enough to compress and remain (leave footprints), the 280 kilos weight was perfectly acceptable for their mission parameters. The size of their armored footprint helped in preventing that.

"Glad you brought a reactor, we'll need it," Terra grumped as they moved from the horse stable to the groundskeeper's barn. "What cameras do we have to dodge?"

"We've bypassed three of them so far, we have one to dodge on the next face of this structure, looking at the outside south face of the house, and then one more to duck under."

"We'll have to plan on just compromising the cameras if we do an assault action, or we can ignore them and go straight for the structure."

"Build a plan for compromising the security network while we move," said Xion as she led the way again toward the house as the camera panned in the opposite direction. "Command will certainly want him captured or killed, and this looks to me to be a likely bolt-hole."

"Hold," Terra said; both Ghosts immediately froze in place. "Flower beds have been watered, we can't step on them without leaving notable footprints."

"Periscope the rooms from range," Xion changed her plan on the fly. "Break right, around the north face of the building. His quarters are probably on the east side. Be wary of possible cameras or disguised security measures."

"Already looking," Terra acknowledged. The two ghosts carefully tracked around the northwest corner of the house, then trekked east across the north face of the building until they passed the north parking loop for vehicles. "Hold, I hear something," Terra said.

"What?" Xion said, then paused as she listened close to her external microphones. "Yeah, that sounds like it might be significant. Good ears, girl. Get your periscope out and start looking."

A Ghost Periscope was a bit of an unusual device. The periscope itself was a stark contrast to the rest of the Ghost's equipment, in that it was made using early 2000-era technology as opposed to the hyper-advanced armor and stealth systems the Ghosts routinely used. It consisted of a folding-segment metal pole for moving a closed-circuit camera up to a higher-level window, was adjustable in height up to 20 meters, and was topped off with nothing more complex than the security cameras and shotgun microphones they had dodged on the way inside. So long as the Ghost was holding it, the camera itself was still cloaked by the standard cloaking system, but the farther it was extended the more power the cloak had to use to keep it invisible.

"Second floor, window six, nothing," Terra said. "Looks like a business office, no documents loose."

"Check two-seven," Xion ordered. They were still hearing the sound from the upper floors, but it kept changing.

"Two-seven is the same room."

"Two-eight?" Xion asked.

"Secondary bathroom, one male on the crapper," Terra reported. "Fixtures look to be worth a small cargo exoskeleton in value."

"Two-nine?" Xion requested, knowing that it was the last window they could reach without moving off the asphalt walkway to the front door.

"Bedroom, unused," Terra reported.

"Take it up to 3-2," Xion requested, since the windows on the third level were fewer in number than the levels below the numbering started lower.

"Master bathroom, no occupants. Whole room looks to be worth about a light battlemech."

"Not surprising," the senior Ghost groused. "Next room please."

"Indeterminate, looks like it might be an over-spacious master bedroom?" Terra twisted the camera around to change the field of view a bit. "Yeah, I can see the foot of a bed if I angle the camera right."

"Next window, then; let's see who's in bed, ne?"

"Roger, 3-4 is..." Terra's sentence when her camera focused in on the occupants. "Okay then, Charlie (3), I believe I have visual on Djibril and one."

Xion was quick to pirate her partner's feed to verify. "Confirmed, Djibril and one more."

Both Ghosts were silent for roughly ten seconds. "Not a bad catch," Terra said.

"Were I of such a bent and I found her in my bed, I would not kick her out unless she was better on the floor," Xion acknowledged.

"Since when did you fly that way, girl?" Terra asked in a semi-accusatory fashion.

"You missed the first half of my statement?" Xion returned the question. Terra was silent for a moment as she checked her comm log. "Told you."

"I concede," Terra grumped. "At least they're pretty athletic about it."

"Wait, is that legal on this planet?" Xion asked after Djibril and his consort changed techniques.

"I'm fairly certain that isn't legal on a third of Magi worlds," Terra gaped. "All bets are off for this place."

"That takes S 'n' M to a whole new level, comrade," Xion barely sputtered. "I've seen enough," she groused after she had a second to regain her composure. "Check the room for intel."

"Aff," Terra replied, herself significantly shocked by their conduct. "Room does not have any major desks or edifice."

"Very well, check any other windows and break down the periscope. We've completed our objective for a day."

-x-x-x-

(18 July CE 72, 1645 Hours UTC)

(Mendel Colony, Commercial Block 6, GFS Retail Foodsource)

Flay did her usual routine in the GFS store without reserve, given that she was becoming more at ease with life in Mendel than she was willing to admit. Shopping was something she had always enjoyed, and even in these days of change and re-evaluation she enjoyed some good shopping, but GFS was more than just normal shopping habits. This was the store in which she planned her week, her outings and her dates; what she did for the days she was not eating out she had to coordinate here, and make sure she had the supplies on hand to do so.

"This is interesting," Flay mused to herself. The product she was looking at was called 'Triasha Sugar', and like any other non-Terran product for sale among the Magi it had a small map of the old political states – commonly called the Inner Sphere – with a highlight on what planet it was made. The packaging said it was from the southern continent of Kimball II-410, which prior to Magi involvement on the planet was something of a 'hot potato' between the Lyran Commonwealth and Draconis Combine. A stop at one of the store's data terminals gave her a good reference for both the sugar and the planet it came from.

The sugar in question was exactly what she needed: Triasha Sugar was easily suitable to baking and did not have the metallic aftertaste of imported sugars grown in areas thick with heavy metals or industrial contamination. The southern continent of Kimball II was almost all agriculture, whereas the northern continent was mixed agri / manufacture and the central continents were almost completely mining / manufacturing, an interesting lesson for Flay. She decided that Kimball II would be a conquest of her family in the future, when the Allster Conglomerate could afford its own Jumpship and could strike out on its own to colonize such an otherwise self-sufficient world. Might take 300 years or so, she estimated offhand, but patience could be used as a virtue or a weapon in proper hands.

"What else do I need?" Flay asked her list. "Strawberries, flour, vanilla extract, and strawberry gelatin," she read off under her breath.

"Baking a strawberry cake?" Flay looked up at the speaker, who turned out to be the meganekko who was infamous for her cake conduct among the local teens. Up close Flay was able to take a better gauge of the lady speaking to her. Fifteen, likely sixteen, brown eyes, brown hair (shoulder-length), heavy glasses, mostly respectable dress (Flay wouldn't have been caught dead in her pants, but everything else was on the up-and-up), appeared reasonably fit, and her eyes definitely did not show any manner of restraint or callowness. "The vanilla extract is sold out."

"Serious?" Flay asked. "Anyone have any?" Flay continued automatically.

"The retail spots are out," the lady answered. "I keep some on reserve, of course."

Flay saw this one coming: "What's the price?"

"Oh no, nothing of the sort," the lady said. "Tell you what: you front the supplies, I'll bake it for a c-bill and a half since I have some other baking to do. When do you need it?"

"Tomorrow, my boyfriend is out on the Dominion right now, wanted to celebrate a little change in my, erm, mindset," Flay said.

"No problem," the girl said. "I can have it done and frosted by midnight."

Flay considered it for a few moments. "Can you have it ready by, say, 3PM tomorrow?"

"Easily. Cash on delivery, or you have no fear of prepaying?"

"Fifty cents now, the last buck on delivery," Flay decided, then handed her fifty in coin. "Deal?"

"Deal," she said. "Name's Hilde. You?"

"Flay."

"Flay, as in, 'flay someone's hide,' flay?"

"Not a bad thought," Flay mused with a clearly faked evil intonation. "The same," she confirmed her name.

"You're not in school, are you?" Hilde asked after a moment.

"No, I was cleared due to prior military experience," Flay answered. "I've been thinking about going in for trade school or college, but I'm not sure what I would want to do and I don't want to fish at going rates." She was referring to the tuition fees for college and trade school. Trade school was free for someone who entered immediately from standard schooling, but continuing education / adult education was not free. College was never free, and though assistance was available it required a student loan. On the other hand, Mendel Technical and GARM Research Institute were offering courses in fields that no other university would or could offer – and classes were full with students and instructors from ZAFT and Orb.

"Good luck with that, girl," Hilde grumped. "I want to take the quantum physics classes; I can't afford even the basic welding class right now."

"Story of the working girl's life," Flay agreed.

"Meet out front with the goods?" Hilde asked.

"Be out in ten."

-x-x-x-

(19 July CE 72, 1230 Hours Lima (Mountain) time)

(Atlantic Federation, Blue Cosmos training camp, Mountain Home, Idaho)

"Good to see all you rocket scientists got the latest memo," their drill instructor said.

"Sir!" the training platoon shouted.

"No doubt, a few of you are scratching your heads about what is going on here, why you've had your standard assault rifles yanked for these heavy-ass monstrosities," and the drill instructor jostled his own weapon. "Well, let me explain something to you brain-canners," the drill instructor practically spat his distaste of this group. "The Mendel pukes have a love for armor. A fucking shit-ton of armor. Armor here, armor there, armor in their ass-cracks, even. Hell, their douche bottles are rated IIIA for bullet resistance." a few of the trainees chuckled, a few of the girls giggled, but most were silent. "Therefore, we have to issue anti-armor weapons to just about everyone, because just about everyone in their combat and combat support services is armored."

"How the hell can they afford that, sir?" one of the recruits asked.

"I dunno, but I suspect a wizard did it. They have a lot of those, despite what they say about not having any. Anyway, the best way to scrap these twats is to give everyone ample firepower to damage them. Thus I introduce to you all the M32 rotary grenade launcher. Delightful little piece of hardware, the M32. Old American piece, it'll sling six rounds of 40mm just as fast as you can twitch your fingers. For taking on their armored units, it's a damn necessity. You shoot their armored infantry with an assault rifle, they'll laugh at you as they chop you to bits with a beam saber. You shoot them with a grenade launcher, they will feel it."

The drill instructor took aim down the firing range at a hillock with a bullseye pattern etched into it. A quick twist of an adjustment screw on top of the device and a little angling of the weapon, and he squeezed the trigger. After a flight time of two seconds, the bottom edge of the bullseye erupted with a puff of smoke to signal a hit.

"That's a damn good first shot, but keep in mind that these pussies will be moving, hiding behind their shields, hiding behind cover, climbing up armor. You will need to get used to putting the first round on target, because the likelihood they will give second chances is low." He stepped up to a table and picked up a demonstration 40mm grenade cartridge, one that had a quarter of the cartridge removed axially to allow the personnel to see what comprised the cartridge. "This is the 40mm HE-DP round. High Explosive, Dual Purpose means that you can use it on both heavy armored targets and on light armor or unarmored targets, such as civilian cars or houses. Most of the time, this is what you will use, though in some high-threat circumstances you will be issued HEAT rounds for more direct action. You will each be issued five loads of grenades – 30 shots total. Don't expect much more than that; the main military formations come first in terms of supply, but we're all used to improvising, aren't we?"

"SIR!" The unit confirmed.

"About one in ten of you will be issued this little monster;" the drill instructor picked up a boxy assembly and hefted it over his shoulder like a rocket launcher. "This is another old American plaything, the M200 FLASH rocket launcher. Fitted with improved 67mm anti-armor rockets, this thing is guaranteed to put a hurting on their armored infantry. I rather wish I could give this one to all of you, but again the army comes first in this case. We can, if necessary, go in behind enemy lines with assault rifles and wreak havoc; they are expected to take the brunt of Mendel's fury, so they need the best equipment for the job."

"Are they really gonna come down from their mountain?" a teenage lady asked.

"Eventually they will, eventually," the drill instructor groused. "All of you who do not have a three-point sling for your weapon, raise your hand." Only three did; the DI simply lobbed each of them a sling in the factory shrink-wrap package. "Since all of you have to qualify on the M32, I am going to demonstrate opening, closing, reload, and emptying shells, and once we put some rounds downrange we will work on cleaning and maintenance. Any questions so far?"

-x-

"Yeah, I got one, how honest are we being about those pop-guns actually working?" Ghost Officer Kyle Barnstead asked nobody in particular.

Ghost Officer Victor simply grunted in response. "Those rockets might be trouble," he commented. "Face hits and all that."

The Ghosts were watching the training cells in action at a range of 800 meters, invisible and connected by power/data cords to prevent communications intercepts. The area they stood was well away from the possible lines of fire for the training battalion. Hearing what the personnel had to say was simple: shotgun microphones and laser audio sensors were easy to use and relatively safe in terms of stealth, as well as giving plenty of good audio for their records.

"Oh, target practice time, let's see how well these greenhorns handle their big, smexy new toys, oi?" Kyle said.

"Meh, five c-bills says someone shoots their own foot off," Victor groused. His thought was predicated on the fact that grenade-launcher grenades were relatively safe; they had to fly for several rotations through the air (technically about fifteen meters linear travel) before it would arm. Inside that arming range, it was little more than a chunk of metal with an inert explosive filler flying through the air at (relatively) low velocities.

"Five is on, stanka," Kyle confirmed his position in the bet. "They can't be that inept. It's humanly impossible." The two Ghosts were silent for a few seconds. "Did she just—bloody hell! That fucking wanker! GAH!"

"Five bucks, o ye of overabundant faith," Victor ordered. "Pay up."

"How the hell did you do that?" Kyle asked as he recorded the necessary bet authorization onto his codex. When next he updated his Codex, the central computer would transfer five C-bills to Victor's account to resolve the debt.

"I always bet on terrorist stupidity. Never confuse ruthlessness or cunning for raw intelligence or skill, they are not the same thing."

"Lousy bastard, you are," Kyle grumped. Victor simply chuckled in response.

-x-x-x-

(20 July CE 72, 2045 Hours UTC)

(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, Apartment Building 9R4, Suite 407)

Flay hummed a repeating and unique little tune while she washed her dishes. Mendel was a high-tech colony to begin with, and the Magi were steadily improving it in ways that people could only dream of, but not all the typical Terran conveniences were available or existed in quantity. Automatic dishwashers, strangely enough, were in short supply and definitely not high on Flay's purchase itinerary: they were costly to purchase, costly to install, and costly to run (she expected it would double her already-significant water bill).

Still and all, her cheerfulness was born of the past few days. Flay, being the unofficial girlfriend of a respected (and somewhat feared) Gundam pilot, had been in the military docks to pick up Oruga when he had been called in for the shoot-ex final debrief. The Century Commander had waved her in explicitly, along with a couple that looked to be military analysts for the press, and Flay received a firsthand run-down of Mendel's warship Dominion breaking even with one of the aces of the last war, Orb's vaunted warship Kusanagi. The warship-on-warship simulated action had been stunning and brutal, with the Dominion taking 40 percent hull damage in the last shoot scenario in exchange for administratively sinking their erstwhile foe. The MS-on-MS action was even more so brutal, with Mendel breaking dead even against Orb's veterans in a fifteen-minute face-punching match. Oruga still bit it, in the end, but his administrative demise paved the way for his comrades Clotho and Shani to "absolutely smear Kira from Hell to Breakfast and yank the entrails back along the return path," or so went Galaxy Commander Rico's description of the ace's downfall. With Gerald Lightbringer freed of the necessity of matching up against Kira for a battle, his ability to demolish a Warship with precision ranged fire was the clincher in destroying the Kusanagi.

The realization that the whole battle had been a team effort from end to end was a bit shaking to Flay. The Earth Alliance venerated its aces to an unrealistic degree, men and women like 'Mad Dog' Morgan, 'Sakura Blossom' Rena Imelia, and even Mu La Flaga (The Hawk Of Endymion) early in the war were the stuff of legends and held up as shining beacons of what to do. Mendel's grim practicality both used and subverted that same principle: elite soldiers were venerated and more to the point used to train the next generation of incoming warriors, but every soldier was taught and brutally reinforced that teamwork at all levels was the key to victory. Even the Magi Trial of Position required victory in appropriate formation-on-formation battle to achieve a new posting. The disparity of belief, of tactics, ended up hurting the Kusanagi. Kira had been left to operate alone against the Terrible Trio, and though he scratched Oruga and damaged Clotho's machine, he lost in the end. That loss left the Kusanagi practically undefended against one of Mendel's aces, the Century Commander (Mobile Forces).

The shock was derived from the thought that what she had intended for Kira, for him to annihilate the Coordinators, was an impossible goal. She had consigned Kira to an inevitable demise in an impossible mission. There was little doubt that he was the best – he even beat one of the Magi's top aces slightly more than half the time – but the numbers would have eventually caught up to him and killed him for real – a fate that would have driven Flay over the edge. The pure wanton cruelty of such an intention had turned her stomach the day she picked Oruga up, which had postponed the mini-celebration she had planned for her change in intent.

A good night's sleep and a day off had cured her of the blues and angst, which worked out in Oruga's favor just the same as hers. Oruga had to return to base overnight for maintenance checks and verification, but he was out at 0600 the next morning. What followed was 12 hours of off-and-on flirting interspersed with running around the colony, touring the interesting spots and doing some (admittedly minor) shopping. Dinner had been at the Sniper Bar and Grill, and Oruga had paid for the drinks. Neither the secretary or the pilot had any overt problem walking, but both knew the other was a bit loaded.

Her piece de resistance was the cake. Hilde had delivered better than promised, with a cake that looked nearly professional in decoration and frosting. There was no wording on it, nothing more special than sliced strawberries and a double-thick layer of vanilla frosting. Even so, for an otherwise nondescript cake it was the highlight of the evening and probably what had won the day for Flay. She could sense Oruga was on the edge of thinking this as a serious relationship, and the effort of the cake was probably the tipping point where he figured Flay was really trying to grasp something other than her prior ways...or just another guy.

They had shared a quick kiss before they parted for the evening, and Flay was left with a small mess to clean up from the cake. The remaining dessert went with Oruga for his teammates, and Flay had her imagination to keep her company in the coming days. That her imagination was running wild was to her benefit; as well as thinking about Oruga, it also served as fuel for her to think about ways to get out of the mess she was in with Blue Cosmos.

-x-

"Damn, this is pretty good cake, though why strawberry?" Clotho asked.

"I'm not objecting," Shani said defensively before Oruga could say anything.

"Don't get uptight now, dingbat," Oruga derided Shani's immediate reaction. "I dunno what the occasion really was, I get the feeling that it had a few more things going than just our promotion and her office circumstances."

"For a strawberry cake, it's damn good," Gundam Pilot Alicia Yamato said. "Reminds me of home, actually."

"From your girlfriend?" Century Commander Lightbringer asked as he picked up a slice and a fork.

"Aff, sir," Oruga replied as he bolted to standing and attention. The other pilots were quick to follow suit, but Gerald waved them back to sitting.

"Damn good cookin', kid, I think you have a winner there. A'course, I don't think she's home-body material in the classic sense, so you'd better treasure what cooking of hers you get."

Shani arced an eyebrow. "Do I sense a story here?" he asked with a clear hint to tone that he knew something was up.

"You do," Oruga replied diffidently. "A'course, said story is on a need-to-know basis, and you don't need to know."

"Hrm, what's the occasion?" Gundam Pilot Argus asked as he entered the pilot's lounge.

"Oruga's girlfriend has something goin' on, so we get the leftover cake," Clotho answered for Oruga. "We just can't figure out what is goin' on, but we're not objecting to dessert."

"Well, score two for the unit brats," Argus said before he took his first bite. "Damn, definitely a score here, kids. I wonder if she can do a whole sheet cake like this one?"

"Not sure," Oruga answered wryly. "She only cooks small things most of the time, barely enough for her."

"Got a picture yet?" Alicia asked after a few seconds of silence.

"Yeah, here," and Oruga presented the senior Gundam pilot a 3x5 portrait picture of her. "Taken just today."

"Holy shit dude, five points for the hotness factor right off the bat," Clotho said.

"Red hair's a bit of a turnoff to me, but definite points for the rest," Shani replied.

"Definitely," Alicia echoed. "Were she found in my bed, I would not kick her out unless she was better on the floor." Her phrasing caused Argus to spray water and strawberry cake bits out of his nose. "Oh, sorry about that old man."

"I keep forgetting you lean in that direction," Argus grumped.

"Someone has to balance out the karma in the unit," Alicia answered. She returned the picture after another good look-down. "I'd say give her a shot, she what she's worth. Worst case, far more fish in the sea."

"Best case, you win, and score big-time," Clotho added with a cheerful smile.

Oruga looked over his shoulder to the Century Commander. "Since when did we have a gutter surgically implanted in Clotho's brain?"

"I, no," Gerald denied. "His girfriend-with-benefits might have done so, though. Can't confirm that."

-x-x-x-

(22 July CE 72, 1030 Hours UTC)

(Mendel Colony, Mendel Administration Building, Floor 10)

"This meeting is now in session," and Gerald Lightbringer brought his fist down on a rubber ducky, which let out a characteristic squeak.

"Arrgh!" Star Colonel Tellos (callsign Kingfisher) answered.

"All hail the Hypnoducky!" Calamira stated the traditional unit joke for the opening stanza.

"All right, ye louts, we've got ourselves a few situations here, so we need to get our ducks in a row. So, we start with you, Kingfisher. Say it," Gerald ordered.

"Fun times headed downstairs, boss," the Star Colonel answered. "Me 'n' the boys are headed out with our Physalis to simulate some blitz raids on Onogoro and the Orb Mainland. Kisaka wants some hard data on penetration prevention, so we'll give his boys a run for their money. After all, we're the craziest mother-duckies in the fleet, and it only takes one crazy with a 500-kilo bomb strapped to his ass to ruin Orb's day."

"Expectations?" Gerald asked.

"Three of five, I'll be moonwalkin' my Gundam in front of the Orb Senate building."

"Don't make too much of a scene, I don't want to see it on the major news networks. Like usual, use all nominal security procedures for your weps." By law, Gerald could not order Kingfisher and his men to disarm, since the NEST Teams were classified as a 'strategic defense' and 'first strike' asset and needed to be nuclear-armed at all times. It was not unusual that they did cross-training exercises with full arsenal, nor were they unaccustomed to it.

"Little scene?" Kingfisher hedged, holding two fingers up with a gap of half a centimeter visible.

"Little scene...make it tasteful," Gerald allowed. "Spec Ops Gamers?"

"That would be me," Star Captain Vale said. "As much as I don't like leaving the defensive ops to the slinkers and skaters, I also don't want them getting a good look at Ghosts in play. We may be allied with Orb, but I don't trust elements in their government to be capable of finding both ass-cheeks with appropriate hands and written instructions, much less trust them with operational intelligence." No explanation was needed; everyone in the room knew the Star Captain was referring to the Seirans and their seeming love affair with parties that would otherwise have preferred them dead.

"Concur," Calamira replied. "Everything I've heard from Bozo Senior and Bozo Junior says they don't particularly like us. Revealing even a hint of Ghost capability to the Charlies would score them some brownie points."

"Fair enough, go with the usual capabilities but also take just your Ghost Cloak. I want you to play some fast-and-loose when the dickheads de rigeur are not looking. Remember, if they see the capabilities but not the hard limitations, it creates a fear factor in anyone who hears the tale...all the more so that we will be reinforcing the datum points in other places soon enough."

"Aye, sir, by the order of the Hypnoducky, it shall be done," the Star Captain said.

"ARRGH!" Calamira, Tellos, and Gerald all gave the traditional response for this classification of meeting. They were joined by a fourth voice, one that was not visible but clearly audible just the same.

"Well, now that the spooky dude in the room has spoken up, deliver your report and get back to work, Star Commander."

"Honor to the Hypnoducky," Assault Ghost Star Commander Tradan McKenna prefaced his part of the briefing. That he was still invisible did not creep out the other persons in the room; they were used to the vagaries of dealing with invisible beings. "Star Captain Vale makes plenty of noise about we Ghosts, but I should remind ye learned apprentices of the Hypnoducky that we Assault Ghosts are all the fun times of the Armored Marines, with the added benefit of not being visibly irate like the Marines. Four points of we slinking marauders would be more than ample to silence every Blue Cosmos infiltrator in the colony and have the paperwork filed before the first echoes of our shots fade."

"Big talk for someone who hides even among allies," Vale groused.

"Perchance, after you are done spanking the Orb Defensive Operations Teams, would you care to prove your mettle against my point?" Star Commander Tradan asked. "I will even give you a 2v1 numeric advantage over my point, make it slightly more fair to your men."

"We'll discuss details after I return; I could use a new bondsman for cleaning my Trinary's armor and maintaining weapons..." Vale let the sentence hang deliberately.

"Likewise," Tradan replied in kind. "Regardless, we have the identities of all Blue Cosmos personnel in the colony compromised and their apartments are all spiked. Keeping an eye on them is an administrative task, and following them or preventing actions would be a simple venture. You can breathe easy for a day, Star Captain."

"And that brings us to point four of four. Calamira?"

"Penetration and interception of Blue Cosmos communications in the colony is running at 90 percent right now – there are a few messages we have not decoded, but most of their ciphers are real-time decryption actions. They cannot use high-end ciphers for their real-time video and audio without completely crippling their laptops, but text messages do have very strong encryption. Ai has one dedicated quantum mainframe computer and two stringers assigned to the task, but results are iffy at best, and take forever to no gain at worst."

"It would be good if we could get a look at their crypto programs from the inside," Star Commander Tradan said.

"We can't compromise any of their assets without blowing OpSec and forcing an enemy asset refresh," Calamira complained. "On the other hand, next time they do make moves for an operation, I intend on having their laptops captured before they can be deleted or destroyed."

"Fair enough, anything from the gallery?"

"Neg, sir," Star Colonel Tellos answered after a few moments.

"Very well, Hypnoducky declares this meeting is now adjourned." and he squished the rubber ducky once again with his fist. Without further word, Tellos, Vale, and Tradan were all out the door to conduct their operations and preparations necessary for the upcoming training matches with Orb. "And Flay?" Gerald asked of Calamira, the last person in the conference room beside himself.

"She still rides the edge," Calamira answered. "She can be pushed back into Blue Cosmos territory with a wrong move on our part, but more likely she will walk soon enough, especially if given an overly idiotic order or outside factors force her hand."

"I do not relish the circumstances that would cause such a make-or-break decision, but having her out of harm's way would be a bit of an ease to my heart."

"Growing soft, are we?" Calamira asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Suffice it to say, I don't particularly like seeing broken hearts, even if I must knowingly inflict them from time to time."

"True," Calamira said thoughtfully. "Well, we get to break some hearts down in Orb, so..."

"Yeah, I think they're ducked sideways," Gerald answered before he picked up the eponymous rubber ducky. "I am glad these Spec Ops meetings are classified and never taped. If the enemy saw this, they may get the wrong impression, thinking we're cosmic fuckups instead of the bad dudes we really are."

"Real men respect the rubber ducky," Calamira answered. "The rest, well, kill 'em all and count the duck-fuckers."

-x-x-x-

(22 July CE 72, 2200 Hours UTC)

(Mendel Colony, Residential Block 4, Apartment Building 9R4, Suite 407)

Unlike the others in the Blue Cosmos covert ops of Mendel, Flay actually used the standard media terminal in her living room for something other than a dust magnet. Normally, it was used for listening to streaming audio from the jukebox in the Sniper Bar and Grill, and occasionally she watched the BarCam when a fight broke out or someone was holding an assembly in the building.

For most of everything else not entertainment related, she used the laptop issued to her by her Blue Cosmos handlers. For unsecured messages, it was fast enough to do the job; quantum computers were still mainframe size or larger, meaning anything server-sized or smaller was still a standard 512-bit architecture linear processor machine. It wasn't particularly impressive, especially given the computational power available in Magi gear (4096-bit processors were considered 'old-school' by Magi standards), but it was reliable and it was 'safe' in the parlance of Blue Cosmos. Flay knew better, because she intended to make it decidedly unsafe to BC at a time of her choosing.

Of course, since she was connected to the general internet, her machine did have a tendency to go out and look at the Blue Cosmos communication node to verify it did not have any incoming messages waiting for it. While this action might have looked suspicious to an alerted intelligence agency, it was nowhere near as conspicuous as it would be using basic unsecured email systems to transmit their orders.

Today, the laptop in question saw a waiting message for her, and immediately secured a link to the main BC messaging server to download the message. The message went through a pair of 512K encryption routines and a 256K RSA hash encryption, a theoretically unbreakable combination for standard computers and even standard mainframes. Flay's laptop had to strive to decrypt the message even through the built-in decryption interface, the security was so tight on it.

ZZZ – SPECIAL OPERATION NOTICE - ZZZ

TO: FLAY ALLSTER (MENDEL OPS COMMAND)

DATE: 21 JULY CE 72, 2350 HOURS

VOID IF NOT ACKNOWLEDGED BY 24 JULY CE 72, 2300 HOURS

REF: SPEC OP TO BE CONDUCTED IN NEXT 2 WEEKS MAX

INVOLVED PARTIES: ALLSTER, MENDEL 2ND OPERATIONS CELL

AUTHORIZATION: ADMIRAL WILLIAM SUTHERLAND

CLASSIFICATION: HIGH VALUE TARGET

OPRATION SECURITY: TOP SECRET, HIGH COMPARTMENT (INVOLVED PERSONS ONLY)

DESC: IT HAS BEEN DETERMINED THAT THE EXISTENCE OF STRATEGIC OFFICER CALAMIRA WESTE POSES A SIGNIFICANT HAZARD TO CONTINUING OPERATIONS IN THE EARTH SPHERE, AND IF LEFT UNCHECKED COULD POTENTIALLY CRIPPLE ALL EFFORTS TO RESTORE OUR WORLD TO ITS BLUE AND PURE STATE. LISTED ASSETS ARE TO DEVISE AND EXECUTE AN OPERATION TO ELIMINATE STRATEGIC OFFICER WESTE AND EVACUATE THE COLONY. METHOD, RESOURCES, TIME FRAME, OPSEC AND PERSONNEL ARE TO BE UNDER FULL CONTROL OF ALLSTER FOR THIS OPERATION. EVACUATION ON COMPLETION OF OPERATION IS EXPECTED AND IS TO BE HANDLED EXPEDIENTLY IF NECESSARY. NO ASSETS WILL BE AVAILABLE FOR SPACEBORNE PICKUP; RECOMMENDATION IS COPERNICUS FOR EVAC AND EXTRACT. AME NO MIHASHIRA IS CONSIDERED COMPROMISED AND IS NOT A RECOMMENDED DOCK FOR EXTRACT PURPOSES. ONCE EXTRACTED, PERSONNEL WILL BE CHARTERED TO PTOLAMAEUS AND THEREAFTER BACK TO THE ATLANTIC FEDERATION.

PLEASE ACKNOWLEDGE RECEIPT OF THIS ORDER PACKAGE WITHIN 1 HOUR OF DOWNLOAD.

ADM SUTHERLANDS SENDS AND WISHES TEAMS LUCK AND GODSPEED.

ZZZ – END NOTICE

Flay read the document once, twice, then groaned. "Fuck no! No, no, no! This is a suicide op, and it's bloody open season for nuclear warfare if this is pulled off!"

Flay quieted herself a thought hard. Okay, they want Calamira dead. No big surprise there. If they can kill the Strategic Psionic, they have free hand to attack anything they want with an absolute minimum of raid warning. I don't want that to happen, because Mendel will respond with their own nuclear capability, which will put holes in the planet or the moon. Big fucking holes. Holes that might include me, and her mind envisioned a scene of a mushroom cloud with an arrow pointing somewhere into the base, with the slapstick humor caption 'you are here'. The thought of such a happening could naught but horrify her, especially since she didn't want to die any time soon and certainly not by being caught in nuclear crossfire between nations.

If I want to avoid becoming a radioactive fart in the wind, I need to prevent this operation from being executed cleanly. If I know BC process right, the other team will have received a stand-to order, so I can't just bury it and say I didn't receive anything. I have to come up with some way to both show the operation as going forward, but ensure it fails or someone will get nuked. How do I do that?

After a few seconds of thinking in multiple directions simultaneously, almost to the point of a mental/physical panic reaction, a nasty little voice in her head gave her the answer. It's only cheating if someone reports it, her ego told her forcefully.

"That's...it! I got it!" She reached for a notepad she kept near the phone, with pages of notes and seemingly random info that made perfect sense to her. One of the pages even included a number and a series of time frames that happened to match the time on her clock right now. She picked up the phone set and immediately shut off the video feature, not willing to show a less-than-presentable appearance to the person she was about to call. 53-2707-6585 displayed on her call center for a brief moment that her hand hovered over the 'place call' button, before she stopped hesitating and tripped the call.

The link rang twice, a holdover familiar sound of the old telecom systems that had never existed in space and few existed on Earth nowadays, with most voice and video communications handled by dedicated data circuits. Partway through the third ring, the link crackled. "Lightbringer," the voice on the far side of the line groused.

"Flay Allster," she said. "We've met a few times before, but never spoke much."

"Oruga's girlfriend, if I remember correctly," the Century Commander noted.

"Aye," Flay replied simply.

"I won't ask how you acquired my residence number, but I will ask why you're calling me at 2200 in the evening."

"Sir, I think we need to talk about something face to face. It's pretty important. Tomorrow, Sniper Bar and Grill, call it 1700 hours?"

"Myself alone, or do you want Oruga there as well?"

"Yourself, Oruga, and Strategic Officer Weste. It concerns her, mostly, but all of you at least in part."

"We'll be there. Lightbringer is out." the link cut after a brief pause.

This is where it gets real hairy real fast, Flay thought to herself. She reached down to the laptop and activated the 'acknowledge message' routine to set things in motion.

---

Author's Chapter Afterword:

And the author would like to agree with Flay's parting thought at this moment. It's about to get not-so-pretty for everyone involved, especially Flay.

This chapter was quite a bit of fun to write. I tried looking at things from the point of view of a Flay Allster who had given up on that milquetoast / wallflower attitude and is slowly taking more and more charge of her fears and affairs. You see a bit of that new-found attitude here, in that she is not just cruising along and obeying everything put in front of her, she is beginning to show initiative at more than just one level. Of course, initiative assumes taking charge of events, which itself assumes taking risks in your actions, which Flay is starting to subconsciously accept and factor into her long-range thinking. So many people simply cruise through life, unwilling to gamble for (INSERT REASON HERE), but achievements are made by those without inhibition to risk.

Of course, things will get a lot messier before she really begins taking charge.

There are a few interesting datum points to consider from the chapter. First, I think Gerald Lightbringer is beginning to lose his edge; not surprising, he hasn't had a huge amount of challenge here in the CE lands, and this is giving younger aces like Kira plenty of maneuver room. On the other hand, as Oruga pointed out, he is fighting fair at the moment; woe betide those he decides aren't worthy of 'fighting fair'.

Another consideration point is the second mentioned scrap, where Kira did eventually lose to the Druggie Trio despite one and a partial kill in that engagement. Pay attention to the text between the lines on that one; it will show up as part of the opening chapter to Jokers Wild Set 2.

The Ghosts got a serious workout in this chapter, which is to be expected; Mendel needs intelligence on enemy intentions and capabilities, and one of the easiest ways to do so is to simply watch them. Ghosts are an interesting little piece of Magi triptych, dating back to the days before the Star Empire Wars. Descended of the old Terran Dominion Ghost Project, the Ghosts are a blend of the Infantry / Marines and the invisible spies of the Dominion, with extra functions thrown in for good measure. The great challenge of Ghosts is simple: don't be found. There will be more work with the Ghosts, and more to the point there will be a seriously twisted Ghost Run in the Jokers Wild main arc rebuild, so stay tuned on that front.

Now, for the technical points of the chapter. I'll start with the issues brought up by my Beta, Necroblade.

First off, you're seeing the beginning of a new class of warship here, the Garm-class, or at least the beginning of the non-civilian version. As Necro pointed out, there are limits written into the Junius Treaty that should compromise Mendel, of which they do. However, at the time of this chapter, Mendel has two colonies active and two more commissioned for repair and restoration. Per the Junius Treaty, Mendel is allowed five warships plus one per active colony, for a total of seven ships at present. Two Archangel-class ships (Thrones, Dominion), two Flame Eater-class ships, one Riga-class ship, and one Sendai-class are the active ships around Mendel, and the third Mendel colony will be active before the new Garm-Class ship is out of shakedown. Anyone with recommendations on the name of the new ship is welcome to offer one. Drop me a review and I'll pick the name at random.

Another issue brought up is computing power. I touched on it above, but to give a full run-down of computer power among the Star Empires would take a whole sj1tload of time and explanation. The above numbers can be used as a raw gauge: in standard computing architecture, you can expect Magi / Mendel systems to be around 8 orders of power above existing standard terminals. The catch, of course, is that quantum computing is native to the Cosmic Era, which is a field that the Magi have only dabbled in from time to time. Systems with quantum mainframes have an advantage over an equivalent standard architecture, which is why you saw the Archangel get lucky and break the C3 encryption in realtime in chapter 5 of the Jokers Wild.

You know, more than once I've said the Magi have a bit of an arrogance problem. Big men have big problems, after all. One of the big problems the Ghosts have is they tend to think their invisibility gives them a form of immunity, which it does not, and they also tend to be a bit jaded about unarmored infantry and their ministrations. Expect that attitude malfunction to cause problems in the long run; a few Marines and Ghosts are going to get a very rude awakening...provided they actually survive, that is.

And the last technical detail issue is power usage for the Ghosts. As pointed out above, there is a lot of very powerful equipment in use on a Ghost's armor: anti-grav systems (also used on Marine armor), Ghost Cloaks, sensor systems, recon systems, the actual pilot interface and control systems, and the myomer musculature systems that allow the armor to move and increase strength exponentially of the armored trooper. Magi energy storage systems are well in advance of anything in use in Starcraft or Battletech; at this point in the story, no less than 15,000 years have already passed since the initial baseline technologies were introduced (exception: the anti-grav systems are somewhat newer, being only 13,000 years old). Power usage has been reduced in all of the systems involved, and power capacitance has increased extremely, making operations times a lot longer than the paltry 240 seconds you get out of a Ghost in Starcraft. There are ways to conserve power, but if circumstances demand more powerful stealth or anti-grav settings, the operations times of the major systems in Ghost Armor is still measured in minutes at worst, or hours at best.

On a sub-note of the above, Necro was asking why the Magi don't have more exotic weapons and technologies than they do. Well, Battletech explored that one at length, what happens when you're subjected to a nasty all-out war that eliminates a lot of the necessary technology base to maintain that pinnacle? In Battletech, it was called the Succession Wars. In the Multimage Chronicles / Jokers Wild, it will be / is called the Star Empire Wars. Literally, some Magi planets have gone from technocrat havens to iron age technology and back again. There have been more than a few incidents where the breakthrough in a technology on one side was 'raided' by another side and the ensuing battle wiped the advance and/or personnel involved out. The eon after the Star Empire Wars helped correct a lot of those losses, with the Magi standing on the edge of the next great advances at the time of the start of the Jokers Wild. Hey, things could always be worse :)

On that note, I think I'm done for a day.

NEXT UP: Flay's desire to prevent the loss of the Strategic Officer costs her a hefty penalty in more than one fashion.

---

Review Replies: Three reviews, all short and sweet. Love the feedback, guys!

FraserMage: Not much in the way of blood today, but you are right about it getting worse before it gets better. I guarantee it.

MantaArms1989: Gerald would not sing that, mainly because he doesn't want to tip his hand :)

I'd say his motivation is part of both your ideas. He knows how to spot someone who can be swayed (as opposed to die-hards), and he isn't the heartless bastard that he occasionally shows. You get to see a lot more of his not-so-heartless side in this chapter.

Knives91: Magi don't play fair unless it's Trial By Combat. And Magi law does not allow Trial by Combat for terrorists. You can probably guess how that will end :)

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE REVIEWS! Keep 'em coming, as shall I.

---

The Gripe Sheet: No gripes, chapter three was fairly clean. Much thanks to Necroblade for cleaning out my FUBARs.

---

Footnotes:

(1): Hell's Horses PPC is a Clan variant of the PPC drink. It is four shots of grain alcohol cut with two shots of firewater and one shot of MD 80/80. You have to have a surfeit of bravery (or serious mental issues) to willingly drink this PPC or any of the other Clan PPCs.

(2): Legs in this case is referring to flight endurance by way of how much fuel a craft can carry relative to its expected flight altitude and fuel usage characteristics.

(3): Charlie is an old United States term shortened from Victor Charlie, the Nato Phonetic of the abbreviation V-C, which itself stands for Viet Cong. In Magi use, the Charlie term usually is used when the speaker finds himself or herself surprised by a given turn of events or phrase, as a backhand acknowledgment to the Viet Cong's mastery of stealth and surprise.