Day one of summer semester, the summer semester that hadn't been in the plans before, made it clear to Char Aznable that no one had been expecting this. The fourth-year he was rooming with, Mikailovich, had been pulled from a family vacation on some cylinder Char couldn't pronounce and ordered to oversee the second years. At first, Char had been horrified at the idea of staying with cadet cadre, but Mikailovich was obviously a second-string cadet. Char quickly ended up shoring up the other man and being the mentor. The top of the fourth-year class would be assigned to the first-years in the fall, and when Mikailovich had left for vacation, he'd been glad to be avoiding that duty.

As it was, there was going to be no rest for him. Char awoke to Mikailovich rustling through papers and muttering to himself in Russian at four in the morning. "Mikailovich, problem?" Char muttered to him as he lay on his side watching.

"Da. I mean yes. These class plans, I don't understand them."

Char swung out of his bed and came over to the desk. "This isn't so bad. PT at 0630. You know what to do, how to march us to the PT field and lead the class. That's an hour, then breakfast, then movement to the dining hall. You got this. You got this."

Mikailovich sighed. "At least there is a meeting for cadet cadre this evening. I won't feel so alone."

"You're not alone. You have me as your wingman." Char rested a comforting hand on Mikailovich's shoulder. "It'll be fine."

"I wish I had your confidence."

"Yes," said Char, "I get that a lot."

At 0630 the next morning, Char walked Mikailovich downstairs to assemble the PT formation. He stood in front so Mikhailovich could see him, and Char silently mouthed commands to the older cadet. Poor Mikhailovich was so nervous that he could barely form English sentences, much less remember how to call a formation to attention, move them to the PT field and lead the class.

That morning's calisthenics had a lot of exercises that required working in pairs. Char immediately looked about hoping to see Garma alone and waiting for a partner, but Garma was sticking fairly close to Van der Kampen.

At least Garma's lost the assistance of the king of pushups, Char thought to himself sarcastically.

Back in their shared room before class, Mikhailovich thanked Char profusely and shamelessly. Char listened to the torrent of Russian-accented gratitude and said, "I told you that you had this, Mikhailovich. It'll be easier tomorrow. Now just remember the commands for an administrative march to class, and you'll be just fine."

To his credit, Mikailovich did. He loaded them onto the bus to the schoolhouse without too many hitches in his voice and saw them off the bus into the back door to a classroom.

Inside the classroom, Garma was at the central computer, reading through the slides for the video presentation. The instructor he was assisting was one Lieutenant Fortescue, who was standing over his shoulder. "This is all your work, Cadet Zabi?"

Garma nodded. "Yes, sir. I spent the weeks in between last semester and today working with the new Zaku II simulators and taking notes, so putting the slides together was easy."

Garma suddenly felt he'd put his foot in his own mouth—Fortescue hadn't said the slides were good after all—but the older man said, "It's a good, solid introduction. I had some concerns about teaching this class with a cadet with no time on a real Zaku II yet, but I think it might all work out."

Garma had been reminded of Gato when he first met Fortescue. The lieutenant was taller than Gato and lanky where Gato was large-boned, but he affected the same long hair that Gato had been cultivating when he graduated. More important, he had the cocky arrogance that seemed mandatory for mobile suit pilots, and which Garma occasionally thought he himself might be displaying.

Garma could deduce that Fortescue's praise meant that Garma was going to be doing the presentations for the semester. Still, he said, "Thank you, sir. I'll keep up the good work."

Voices in the hallway alerted them to the cadets who were entering the building. Garma watched them file in and stand beside their desks until the nervous-looking fourth-year cadet gave them the order to "take seats" and then departed.

Garma glanced at the faces of his classmates/students. There were only about a dozen of them left, but he doubted that any of them would drop out at this point. Everyone who was still there were there out of a love for the Mobile Suit.

He tried not to let his eyes rest on Aznable for too long, but in that brief instant their eyes met. Garma gritted his teeth to quell the violent urge to run to him, kiss him and then pummel him to the floor. Maybe in reverse order.

When Garma's eyes met Char's, Char's stomach clenched with the familiar mixture of frustration, anger and longing. He glanced to his right towards Vieu Dang instead, but she was looking at her tablet and didn't notice.

Suddenly, a thought hit Char. What am I doing here? He glanced around at his classmates. They were listening to the officer who was with Garma at the front of the room. I'm supposed to be avenging my father's death. Instead, I'm in a class being taught by my ex, who I'm supposed to either kill or use to infiltrate the Zabis. I've blown both. So...now what?

Fortescue was in the middle of introducing himself. "I've been assigned to your class because I have flight time in the Zaku II," he told them. "Not a lot, no one has much, but you will. Maybe not by graduation, but soon after. It's coming, and it'll be mass-produced faster than you think. There are still some Zaku I simulators that you can use on your own time if you want to practice your piloting skill, but we've got a shipment of shiny new Zaku II simulators in the bay out there. Cadet Zabi's been working on them for the past couple of weeks to get ready to teach the rest of you, and I'll fill in on anything he doesn't get because he hasn't actually been in one yet. So without further ado," he motioned to Garma, who stepped forward to face the assembled cadets.

"By now you should have downloaded the manual for this class," Garma began. "We're going to start off with an overview of the changes made from the Zaku I to the Zaku II, the technical ones as well as the rated performance evaluations. After that, we'll take a look at the texts. If you'll open up your class syllabus, you'll see the breakdown of what we'll be doing this semester and in the fall. Ubanda, yes?"

Cadet Ubanda looked hopeful and excited. "Are we really going to be taking Zakus out on field training exercises?"

Garma nodded. "We'll be doing a five-day field exercise at the end of semester, and a ten-day before the winter break. It's going to include Zaku trials, but I don't have all the details yet, plus it's always subject to change."

What the syllabus did not mention, and which only Garma and Fortescue knew, was that the long field training exercise would be the last test before graduation. That was still a closely-guarded secret because they didn't want this class of cadets distracted by the idea that the fall semester would be their last before being plunged into war. Garma always worried that one of his facial expressions would give him away, and he'd resigned himself to being less social for the next six months.

Garma launched into the presentation with Fortescue speaking up when he had a real-life insight. The other cadets didn't embarrass Garma; they were the ones to have stuck with the course out of their love of mobile suits and they had enough of an interest to ask questions and make observations.

Char was staring blankly down at his tablet, feeling paralyzed by his situation. As Garma talked, an idea slowly oozed into Char's mind. Of course, the mobile suit is one hell of a weapon. Was I really planning on strangling him in his sleep? Sure, I thought about it, but there were plenty of reasons not to. No, with him it needs to look like an accident so I can get off scot-free afterward to take care of the rest of the family.

Once that was settled in his mind, Char smiled to himself a bit and went back to concentrating on his class.

They'd be going over the schematics of the Zaku II for the next couple of weeks to master the basic mechanics in the same way they had with the Zaku I, so Garma worked on the presentations for the next week starting that night. He at least had the assurance of a decent grade as long as Fortescue spoke well of his presentations and supervision when the cadets actually got to the simulators. Actual cockpit time was still going to be in the Zaku I, because that's what they had, but they needed to be knowledgeable about both models.

The semester proceeded with nothing unpredictable happening. Towards the end, Garma had to make a visit at the palace for that year's Foundation Day events. Since this was a four-day holiday celebrating the institution of the monarchy for an independent Zeon, Garma and the rest of the Royal Family had to be in the capitol.

The second night he was home was the evening before the main celebration. After a long day of briefings and rehearsals, Princess Kishiria came to Garma without any warning and said, "Let's go out for Japanese food, pipsqueak. I'm buying."

Garma had had plans, but his dynamic, red-haired sister trumped everything except plans with the sovereign himself. He dressed casually in jeans, a button-down shirt and shoes instead of sneakers. Kishiria met him in the downstairs garage, wearing a sage-coloured dress. Garma offered to drive, but Kishiria had a driver for one of the house cars waiting.

"I haven't had a chance to talk to you since Christmas," she told him, once they were sitting at a table behind some rice-paper screens. "I understand quite a lot has changed at the Academy since I was there."

"Well, you were on the four-year plan, for starters," Garma said. "It also sounded like you had a lot more fun than I do."

"Now, whose fault is that?" she asked. "I told you to get your own room, and you could have said very firmly that they weren't allowed to smoke you."

Garma stirred the cloud of miso in his soup. "I like sharing my room, actually, and I haven't been smoked all semester because I'm an instructor. I just don't think I'll have a chance to be going out on the town with my fellow cadets or anything like that, the way you did."

"You have the mobile suits," she said.

"There are those."

"From the grin on your face I'd think you were dating one." She grinned right back.

He chuckled. "Sometimes it feels like it. I spend more time with the test units and the simulators more than I do any other student."

"Who's the best in your class?"

Garma's eyes lifted from his swirling soup and met hers. "Recruiting? Already?"

"Dozel and I are arguing over which of us gets the best of this class."

"There's me."

"I've already selected you."

"Oh. Where will I be stationed?"

This tense moment was broken when the waiter came over to place a large board of sushi in front of Kishiria and a bowl of vegetarian sukiyaki in front of Garma. Once he was away, Kishiria said, "I don't know yet. I'll have to decide when the time comes. Who's next?"

Garma knew that Kishiria was lying, that she knew exactly where he was going to be stationed. He used chasing some noodles with his chopsticks as an opportunity to think. "Did you two already fight over Anavel Gato?"

"Yes, but Gato put in for a transfer off-Side already. What about this Char Aznable person I've heard about?"

Garma sputtered. "Aznable? Yeah, he's good. But you don't want him for your command, he's a loose cannon. Go with Cadet Vieu Dang."

"I like loose cannons, they get jobs done. This Dang, though, is he any good?"

"She. She's smart. A little hesitant on the stick sometimes, but definite potential."

"I want my units to have good female officers, so I'll make a note of that."

I've fed you enough morsels, sister, now it's my turn. "Anything I should know about the immediate future, Kish?"

She shrugged, dipping the edge of a spicy tuna roll in soy sauce and wasabi. "That's up to Giren, who has something up his sleeve, of course."

"Of course."

They were silent for a few minutes before they resumed with small talk. Garma could tell there was something on her mind, but that for some reason, Kishiria was having trouble verbalizing it. That bothered him. Kishiria was more comfortable speaking her mind than anyone he knew. If whatever subject was so tough that she couldn't broach it…

Pfft, she's probably fallen in love or something, Garma thought. She's worse about emotions than Giren.

After dinner, the driver dropped them off on the Mall, the long parade ground between the chateau-like Zabi House and the grotesquely modern Zum Tower. There were a few clumps of trees, carefully placed so as not to be in the way. Kishiria strolled towards one of them, clearly trying not to move with a purpose. She took her seat on a decorative wooden bench, gazing up over the skyline. Garma sat beside her.

"There's a reason I don't want you to be a soldier," she said, not looking at him.

Garma reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Like Giren, he had his own blend of tobacco and was unable to indulge at the Academy. This seemed like a good moment. He lit one and waited.

When Kishiria made no further comment he said, "To be honest, I thought you were jealous in some way."

She snorted. "I was. I'll come clean about that. You were going into this hard-core, and that was going to make me look bad. I'm not worried about myself and my reputation anymore though." She pushed around a piece of gravel with the toe of her shoe. Garma took another drag on his cigarette.

Finally, Kishiria looked up again and said, "I'm only going to tell this story once because I hate it and I never want to speak of it again. The Federation is getting aggressive. They've been running blockades against cargo ships coming into our borders. All we can do is be out there in international space to escort those cargo ships, and more often than not now, they're firing shots at us. This is on top of them press-ganging a few of our smaller merchant vessels. That's the 'defections' the Feddies like to brag about. They're 'liberating' our people." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.

"About five months ago, I was out in international space, with a training mission. We were attacked by a Federation ship a little bigger than ours. We were boarded. All hands took our weapons from green status to red, and I didn't know I could load a semi-automatic rifle that fast, let me tell you. The captain wanted me to stay down and keep safe, but no, I was going to lead from the front and I did.

"I'm not a Marine, so I let them handle the initial breach. Still, some of the fight came to us and I did end up firing my weapon in anger. Took down one of the Feddies, too."

Garma looked at her face, but Kishiria was expressionless.

"I took down one of the Feddies, but one of his buddies hit the guy who was beside me. Center mass, like they teach you. I was falling to the left. When I hit the ground, I had the soldier beside me…all over me. Skin bits, bone bits, organ bits. It was the smell that was worst, not just from him but the dead all around. Copper, cordite and butcher shop. And sewer. Garma," Kishiria turned to him and gripped his arms, "I never want you to go through that. You're…sensitive, and an artist, and I want you to stay that way. I don't want you exposed to that kind of ugliness. It'll destroy your soul, and we all need you to have that soul."

Garma reached up, removed the cigarette from his mouth and crushed it hastily in the bench's ashtray. "Kish!"

"It's not too late to withdraw from the Academy. Do it, Garma."

"No!" Garma pulled himself free of her grasp. "I started this and I'm going to see it through."

"Garma—"

He stood. "That's a horrible story, but you're not the only one who has it. Maybe if you'd let the cadre toughen you up like you're supposed to, you wouldn't be handling it like this." He took a deep breath. "Thanks for dinner."

Garma resolutely headed back for Zabi House. He wondered how Kishiria was reacting, back on the bench, but refused to turn around and see.

Dear Uncle Jean:

We study nothing but mobile suits and piloting now. We are learning maintenance on the Zaku II even. We didn't expect to actually see one, but the Academy managed to bring one in. No, I am not allowed a photo of myself in the cockpit. I'm learning a lot, but will have to tell you about it much later. Garma is still mad at me, so I am clearly socially inept.

Please send Sayla my love. I haven't heard from her in a year.

Your obedient nephew.

The cadets stood in one formation, some rocking gently under the weight of a full ruck, helmet and rifle. Char observed them without any sympathy. If they felt the weight now, no way were they going to finish the 20-kilometer march through the forested terrain. He'd been leading strength training every night, not wanting to lose his gymnast's musculature and, for reasons he didn't quite understand himself, not wanting his fellow Mobile Suit cadets to fail.

It was a bit of a strain, but he managed to twist around enough to see Garma standing at the back. The prince wasn't one of the ones shifting around uncomfortably. Char gritted his teeth a little. Can't you be even just a little incompetent, Zabi? Char wondered to himself.

"Unlike many exercises you've participated in here, this one actually is a race," the cadre was telling them from the front. "Let me reiterate. This is a 20 kilometer ruck march through forested conditions. There will be a water point every five kilometers. You will check in with the personnel there. The bottom 20% will fail this exercise and have to repeat it at a later date. So yes, this exercise is being graded on a curve. Stay motivated!"

There was more, but it was the usual set of catch-phrases cadre loved to rattle off. Then they got an about-face and moved to the starting line.

Char didn't worry about marching too fast. He knew that other cadets were going to start trailing behind badly and that he'd move towards the front about halfway through the march. Slow and steady would win this race, and he was comfortable when he hit kilometer 5.

It was actually kind of pleasant. Char was enjoying the feel of his muscles, the sight and smell of the trees and the whimpering of cadets he was passing as they sagged under their burdens. He stopped at kilometer 10 feeling confident and upbeat even if his armpits were starting to feel chafed under the ruck straps. He was halfway there and he wasn't going to be slowed by a little pain.

By kilometer 12, it began to rain. The cadets greeted this with plenty of obscenities and sudden amnesia when it came to anything they'd been taught about surviving outside. Since precipitation and temperature on the colonies were artificially regulated and scheduled, they knew that their cadre had planned for them to get caught outside. Instead of immediately getting themselves and their weapons underneath their wet-weather gear, most of them ran for the cover of trees.

Char continued to be an exception. The rain struck quickly, starting with fat drops that pattered loudly on his helmet. Knowing that this signaled a downpour soon to come, Char dropped his ruck to the ground and dug out his poncho. When a moment later the real torrent hit, he was safely underneath it with his pack and rifle securely strapped on again. He calmly resumed walking, marginally slowed down by the fact that his vision was impaired from water streaming off the brim of his helmet and spattering against his glasses. He smiled wryly at the other cadets who were frantically tossing everything out of their packs to find their rain gear, or who were trying to build shelters out of them by the side of the road, or who were just scampering back and forth unable to decide or remember what to do next.

It took Char much longer to reach the 15-kilometer checkpoint than he'd imagined it would, but his reception at the shack was encouraging.

"Cadet Aznable," he announced himself.

The cadre checked him off the list. Char noticed that while he wasn't the first cadet to pass here, he was still in the minority. "Need water, Aznable?"

"Always." He unhooked his canteen and handed it over to be filled. He glanced again at the list in the other cadre's hand to see if he recognized any names, and if Garma was one of them. The list only went as far as last names beginning with "I", but that was all he could tell. He took a long drink off the canteen, let them top it off, and set out on his way again. Five kilometers left to go. His legs were numb while his feet burned but five kilometers were nothing he couldn't handle even in that condition.

Five minutes later, the rain became even heavier. As he trudged along, he thought he heard something up ahead that sounded like an animal in the brush. Despite the gloom and rain it was still daylight, so Char knew that it was very unusual that an animal of any kind would be out. A moment later he noticed that there were boot prints in the mud going off to the side of the road, to a large oak and then vanishing. The sound, which he now recognized as a human in pain, came from below the tree. He followed it, putting his hand on the oak to steady himself, and looked down.

Another cadet lay at the bottom of the bluff about six meters down. Char glanced at the roots of the tree on the side away from the road and realized that what looked like solid ground must have collapsed beneath the other cadet's feet. Char dropped his pack, brought out a roll of 550-cord he had inside and tied the cord securely around the oak in order to support himself on the way down the bluff.

The cadet who lay at the bottom of the bluff was Garma.

Char stood there for a moment, wondering what to do. Garma hadn't noticed him yet, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to just let him lie there and die of hypothermia.

Then Char considered the circumstances. His tracks were all the way to the top of the bluff. Investigators would know quickly that someone had come down, seen Garma, and left him. They'd probably figure out it was him by his boot prints.

Don't be an idiot, Char told himself. Let him die and even if no one ever found out, I'd lose my "in" with the Zabis. Besides, Jinba Ral told me to win back his trust. Now I can.

"Garma?"

The prince turned his head to the side. His dark hair was full of mud and his uniform was coated with it. "Char?"

Char knelt by his side. "You okay, buddy?"

"Does it look like I'm okay?" Garma's voice was full of pain, fear and humiliation.

"No. Where's it hurt worst?"

"Left leg. I think it's broken." Garma bit back a whimper.

"Can you move it?"

"No, and it really fucking hurts. And I'm so cold. And I have to piss. That's how I fell down here. I tried to go behind that tree and the ground gave out."

"Just a second. Move your head side to side first." When Garma did, Char said, "Now hold your arms out for a second. Good. Can you move your right leg? Okay, I just wanted to make sure you don't have a spinal injury before I move you." He dropped his pack, propped his weapon on top of it, and then pulled Garma to a sitting position with his right leg bent. Char then went behind Garma, wrapped his arms around his chest and pulled him upright with Garma's weight resting on his uninjured leg. The prince managed to keep his scream of pain to a strangled wail and Char managed to maintain his grip on him as Garma took care of the business at hand. That achieved, Char lowered him to the ground again.

First priority now was preventing shock. Char wrapped one poncho around Garma, tucking it beneath him to keep his body heat in, then took the other and strung it between four saplings to provide him with at least a little shelter.

"There. Safe as in your dad's palace," he told Garma with a reassuring smile. The next thing to do was to cut two straight branches. Char knelt beside Garma and said, "I'm going to splint your leg. This is going to hurt. A lot."

"Why're you doing this?" Garma gasped.

"Never leave a fallen comrade," Char said. He took his first aid kit from his belt and pulled out two cloth bandages. He tied one to the top and one to the bottom of the first straight branch, then as an afterthought took a roll of gauze and put it between Garma's teeth. This turned out to have been a good idea since tying the splints around Garma's leg ended up being more excruciating than either of them had expected. Char worked with brutal swiftness though, and by the time he had the splints on, Garma had passed out.

A moment later, Char heard voices up on the road. He sprang to his feet and called out, "Hey! Down here! We need help down here!"

Three cadets he didn't recognize appeared over the edge of the bluff. "What happened?"

"Got a man down. Broken leg. Get the cadre. One of you drop your gear and run for the checkpoint, you hear?"

They conversed for a moment and disappeared again. Hoping that they weren't terminal idiots, Char ducked back under the shelter with Garma. Garma had regained consciousness, but although his eyes were open they were glazed over with pain and his lips were slightly blue. Char sat down and propped Garma's head on his lap.

"Why're you doing this?" Garma's voice was just a whisper. "Giren said you didn't care."

"Giren doesn't know everything," Char said. He stroked Garma's mud-streaked cheek with his own grimy fingers. "I'm not going to abandon you."

"Thanks." Garma's eyelids started to lower and Char grabbed his hand.

"Don't fall asleep, Garma. Stay with me."

Garma opened his eyes again. "I'll try."

"Tell me a story. Tell me about anything. Tell me how you started playing music."

"Dad was making Kish take piano lessons. I'd watch her practice, then I'd do the same thing, only better. So Dad stopped making her take them and started having the teacher come for me. I was...seven I think? I started playing guitar when I was twelve because everybody wants to be a rock star, including me…

He was telling Char about how bad his first composed piece was when the ambulance finally came. Char stood aside as the medics came down with a gurney and placed Garma on it with professional aplomb. He was allowed to ride with them, watching as they stabilized Garma and saw him into the Academy emergency room.

Char waited outside for several hours and had dozed off himself when General Vanderwyck showed up with Pevensy. "Excellent buddy care, Aznable," Pevensy said by way of greeting. "Sounds like you remembered everything you learned in first aid."

"His Majesty is on his way," Vanderwyck told him. "He's very grateful."

"May I see Cadet Zabi? Char asked.

"After the sovereign does. Prince Garma is heavily sedated now anyway, so it might be a while before he can talk."

Char could tell that Degin Zabi was coming before the man was even visible. Six sergeants of various ranks appeared first, dressed in pressed and creased green uniforms with communication balaclavas under their polished helmets. They strode down the hallway, clearing it of all traffic. A moment later, Degin Zabi himself made his appearance, flanked by the major who was his aide-de-camp on one side and his secretary on the other.

Char stood and had his first good look at the man who had killed his father. Degin Zabi was short, stout and bald. The high-collared uniform he wore made him look like a turtle. His olive skin was darker than Garma's and his aquiline nose very unlike his son's, although Char could see some resemblance in the brown eyes and wide mouth. What the heck did he breed with to get a kid as gorgeous as Garma? Char wondered.

One of the sergeants opened the door to the hospital room and Degin went in alone without acknowledging Char, Vanderwyck, or anyone else.

The secretary, whose name was Kusko Al, made a little small talk with Char and sent off the lowest-ranked sergeant to get him some coffee and a doughnut. None of the rest of the staff spoke to him, so Char ventured to ask her, "Is Garma going to be okay?"

"I assume so," she said. "Degin's reasonably calm, which he wouldn't be if it were anything very serious. This past year, with so little contact with Garma, has been rough on him. This is not what he wanted for his boy, but Garma has a definite mind of his own."

The sergeant showed up with a large disposable cup of coffee and a sweet bun. Char devoured both, feeling a bit of energy re-enter his body. He was almost done with the coffee when the door opened and Degin Zabi shuffled out.

"You must be Cadet Aznable."

No one had briefed Char on how to behave in the presence of the sovereign, so he behaved as he would around any officer. He rose to his feet and put his hands behind his back in an at-ease position. He was very aware of his mud-coated uniform and boots and the sweat-dampened undergarments beneath. "Yes, your Majesty."

Degin put out a hand and Char shook it. "Thank you for taking care of Garma. He's always spoken very highly of you, and I'm glad he has you as a friend."

"You're welcome, Your Majesty. How is he?"

"Completely twisted on painkillers. His left leg is broken in two places below the knee, two ribs are cracked and he has a very mild concussion which would have been worse if he hadn't been wearing a helmet. He'll recover, probably sooner rather than later seeing that he's 19 and healthy. He's also asking for you, so you'd best go in." Degin motioned for Kusko to approach, which was as curt a dismissal of Char as any.

Garma was propped up against the raised head of the bed. They had cleaned him up; his hair was damp but free of mud. He reached out a hand towards Char, who took it as he reached out to take a folded towel from a nearby shelf, flipped it onto the bed and sat on it beside his friend.

"You saved my life," Garma murmured.

"Course I did. I would have done that for any of the other cadets. What I wouldn't have done," Char explained as he raised his hand to Garma's cheek, "is come to the hospital with one of them and stuck around until I knew they were okay. How are you feeling?"

Garma smiled mindlessly. "Right now, like I'm floating on clouds. I won't feel like that soon; I'm pretty messed up. But right now I'm good."

"Your dad told me how you're hurt."

"Yeah, I'm kind of a car wreck." Garma giggled. "And Giren said you didn't care about me."

"I could've been a better boyfriend. I should've paid more attention to you."

"I never felt neglected until Giren pointed it out. But that's okay. Lessons learned."

"Are you coming back to the Academy? We've got finals and graduation's in two weeks."

"Oh, yeah. I've got the latest and greatest cast. It'll fit under my uniform pants. I'll be there." Garma's eyelids started to lower. "I'm really tired."

Char found the controls for the bed and lowered the head of the bed until Garma was prone. "Sleep now."

"Yeah."

Char leaned down and kissed Garma's forehead. Garma sighed but said nothing.

On returning to the Academy, there were sworn statements that Char had to fill out in the cadre's office before Pevensy walked with him to the dining hall and had the staff feed him. After that he had to clean both his own and Garma's weapons and put them in the arms room before finally dragging himself up to his quarters. It was late, but the next day was Sunday, when the cadets had no wakeup time and breakfast was served until 0800. He peeled off his filthy uniform and showered, the hot water feeling like pure heaven. Finally he fell into bed.

What had just happened? He'd met Degin Zabi and been in no position to kill him. He'd had the opportunity to let Garma Zabi die and he hadn't. Graduation from the Academy loomed and he had absolutely no idea anymore what he was supposed to be doing.

Char had learned that often the best course of action was to not even think about what to do next. He did some deep breathing exercises and was asleep in minutes.

The next few days of classes were reviews for finals, which would start on the next Monday. On Friday afternoon, Char came down the hall to find the latest crop of Beast Barracks cadets carrying armfuls of uniforms into his room. On entering, he found one of them making up the other bed. She snapped into the "at ease" posture as soon as Char entered.

"Are you disrespecting me, giving him an 'at ease' while I'm still in the room?" a familiar voice said from the corner.

"I'm sorry, sir!" the girl said, returning to making the bed.

"An apology, Cadet? Seriously?" Garma looked up and winked at Char. "Just drop. You, Cadet…Otto, is it? Finish the bed while she pushes."

"Garma?" Char asked.

Sure enough, Garma was sitting on a chair in the corner, watching his personal effects being returned to their previous locations in the room. There were crutches beside him but he seemed otherwise back to normal. "I told Giren that I was moving back in with you. He wasn't in any position to say anything." He watched the junior cadets hang his clothes and put his underclothes and socks in drawers. "That's good enough, kids, you can go."

As soon as they were gone, he reached for a bottle of air freshener they had always kept for the inside of their lockers and sprayed the room. "Beast is right. I remember smelling like an animal when we were going through that. Gross."

"I'm glad to have you back," Char told him. "This room was lonely without you."

Garma's smile was gentle. "Giren convinced me I couldn't trust you. You proved him wrong."

"You believed him over me, Garma. That hurt."

"I know, and I'm sorry, Char. It's just that I've known him all my life, and you're new and unknown. I won't make that mistake again. I can rely on you. I won't ever forget that."

They stood together, the silence between them thick with Garma's gratitude and Char's smug feeling of triumph.

Later that night, Garma went to take a shower. He undressed slowly, but Char realized in a second that this was because doing so hurt, and not because he was trying to be seductive. Just pulling off his t-shirt was accompanied by whimpers of pain.

"Holy shit, Garma, I didn't realize it was that bad!"

Garma turned around slowly to let Char get a look. "Told you that fall fucked me up."

The cast was a high-tech one, a thin butter-coloured sheath that held Garma's left leg so that the knee was slightly bent. It allowed him to limp without crutches if he desired. His rib cage was wrapped tightly in bandages and when Garma undid them, Char saw that his left side was marred by the blackest bruises he'd ever seen. He had a collection of lesser bruises and scrapes, including a large raw patch between his shoulder blades from his pack.

"I'll say. You look like roadkill."

"You should have seen me the next day. Dad wanted to take me home but the hospital wouldn't let him. They did the day after."

"You still hurt?"

"Oh yeah." Garma reached into a drawer and produced a bottle of pills. "Heavy duty painkillers. I'm not getting into a cockpit until I'm off them. Fortunately, I'm proctoring exams, I'm not taking them. Otherwise, I wouldn't be graduating with everyone else."

Garma finished undressing and enclosed his cast in a plastic bag that sealed around his leg before getting into the shower. Char heard him yelp a few times. He emerged fifteen minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist, and it was Char's turn at the shower.

When Char came out, Garma was at his desk in his PT uniform, reading e-mail on his computer. He said nothing as Char put his own on, but Char could sense him taking surreptitious peeks at him. They continued in the same slightly uncomfortable silence until lights-out, Char studying and Garma reading.

After they had turned their lights off, Char pulled down his covers and got in bed, watching Garma squirm around, trying to find the best position for his battered body. Once he had settled in, having rolled up his bedspread to prop against his back in some fashion, Char got up and stepped silently across the room. He sat down on the edge of Garma's bed, leaned down, and kissed him.

Garma returned it without hesitation. Lips parted and tongues touched, gently at first, then deeply and with confidence. Char slid his arms under Garma's head, pillowing it and raising Garma closer to him. Garma's fingers twisted into Char's hair and his other arm slid around his back.

Char sank down a little against Garma, and the passion of the moment was destroyed as Garma let out a cat-like yowl.

"Ow...oh god...that hurts...shit..."

Char bounced away from him. "Sorry! Sorry!"

"Yeah, so am I," Garma moaned. "That was being—I missed that a lot."

Char grunted. "I guess it wasn't meant to be, tonight."

"Probably for the best. Even if I am a Zabi, I think we might both get kicked out right before finals if the fire guard walked in on us in bed together."

"Well, you won't be hurt forever."

Garma took Char's hand and kissed it. "No. I won't."

Saturday morning was PT, with Garma standing to the side, unable to participate. After breakfast Char did the bulk of cleaning their room and after that, they got together in the common room to study.

Char was always surprised a little at how the study sessions went. From the start, he'd expected study group to be more of a social hour with the pretense of work, and at the very beginning, there had been an element of that. Those cadets whose interests lay more in flirting or idle chatter all washed out halfway through the autumn semester, though. The atmosphere now was serious to the point of being grim. Desperate, Char realized as he watched Umbanda recite the sequence for firing missiles by rote.

Garma stopped the cadet mid-list. "Umbanda, let me show you." He stood behind two others and put one of his hands on each of their heads. "Okay, here's left and right. And this water bottle-" he extended his uninjured leg and rolled it towards himself, "is my acceleration. So it goes like this."

He shoved both cadets' heads forward, eliciting giggles. "Okay, I'm going forward, I see my enemy." He pointed at Char, but a wink softened the gesture. "I load my missiles," he reached out and flicked two switches, "and the light comes on. Pull down the sight...get my sight picture, and blam." He tapped the ear of the cadet on his left with his thumb. "Target go bye-bye."

"You know what we should do," Char said to Garma. "You and I should go main-á-main with the other cadets watching and learning."

Garma nodded. "I can get the keys for the simulators right now."

"If we wait until Monday, we can do it for real. That'll let us all review writing and issuing WARNOs and FRAGOs."

There were murmurs of approval from the other cadets. "All right, then," Garma said. "I'll call Fortescue and get permission."

Fortescue approved wholeheartedly, so the next day after Garma returned from church, the study session consisted of writing and publishing warning and fragmentary orders. One of the WARNOs was for the two existing mobile suits to be prepped to launch the next day. They filed a flight plan and received further permission to spend the evening playing benign card games.

The next morning after PT and breakfast, the class took a chaperoned flight to the Academy's dock. From there, Char and Garma went into the locker room together. They were at opposite ends of the room, having last names at opposite ends of the alphabet, so it was easy for them to avoid each others' gaze and not talk. Char was running through the launch sequence in his head when he heard Garma swear softly. So, his opponent was already stressed, was he? Char smiled to himself, then turned to Garma.

"Something wrong?"

"Zipper's stuck." Garma was tugging at the tab, which was jammed near his sternum.

Char walked over and hooked the jam with his fingers. He pulled on the tab, freeing the material that was caught inside. He finished zipping the normal suit up to Garma's neck, then fastened the flap over it.

"You don't need to dress me," Garma complained. Char responded by meeting Garma's eyes and fastening his collar, saying nothing.

Garma recoiled. Despite his reconciliation with Char, having those bright blue eyes boring into his own with Char's hands near his neck made him nervous for reasons he couldn't quite explain. He tried to brush Char's hands away, but Char responded by pulling him forward. Their lips connected and Garma found himself unable to pull away.

Char broke the kiss first. "Good luck out there," he said, and went to the other end of the room to retrieve his helmet.

Son of a bitch, Garma thought to himself, rubbing the back of his hand against his mouth. He did that just to put me off my game. And damn it all, it'll work if I let it.

Once in their cockpits, both men waited for instructions from the tower. Once clearance was given, they kicked their Zakus' backpack thrusters into life, sending both mobile suits into forward. G-forces hauled backwards at their bodies.

This was Garma's favourite part of any launch. As soon as the colony cylinder was behind him and he was in open space, he slowed his breathing and made sure the only thing he could hear was the control tower back at the port. He turned off his overhead light and let the cockpit be lit by nothing but the control displays. The training range was about five minutes ahead, so he set the course and closed his eyes. Music of the spheres, he thought to himself. I can hear it. Just for this moment, I'm but a feather on the breath of God.

Char's thoughts were markedly different. Another lost opportunity. Here I am, traveling alone in a mobile suit with him, and all I have is a paintball gun. Oh well. It's practice, anyway.

They both piloted their Zakus to gates at the opposite ends of the range. The area was two cubic kilometers, marked off with a loosely woven steel cage. The area was littered with large asteroids and battered, dead ships. Char looked at the spacescape and nodded to himself. His virtual battle with Anavel Gato had been a very narrow loss for him, and he knew Garma wasn't as good a pilot as Gato.

For his part, Garma surveyed the area in front of him and grinned. He knew Char had those inhuman reflexes of his, but Garma also knew that Char was rash. He'd examined the footage of every cadet's virtual and real fights, and was aware of the weaknesses in Char's technique. This field would give Garma the advantage to use those weaknesses against his opponent.

Char watched as Garma drifted up into one of the corners of the cage, protecting his back. "Nos morituri te salutamus,"

Garma thought for a brief moment about correcting Char's Latin, it's a plural noun you're addressing, not a singular one, then dismissed it. Gato's style had been to wait for Char's attack, so Garma struck first.

Char dodged out of the way of the paintballs Garma fired. They splattered harmlessly against an old moving truck that was floating incongruously in space. Then Garma couldn't find him. The debris was all bobbing furiously and providing no clues. He glided over to an asteroid that was large enough to provide cover and concealment and waited.

The debris started bouncing around again. Garma swung the monoeye back and forth and was suddenly thrown to the side as Char landed a shot on the asteroid Garma was clinging to. Garma responded by firing wildly in that direction, then stopped abruptly, ashamed at what he was doing. Scattershot gets me nowhere.

Then Char appeared at the "top" of the cage and Garma's shots had a clear target. Garma fired once, but the paintball only hit the foot of Char's Zaku.

In the end, the fight went on for 22 minutes. It ended when Garma fired his last paintball and had to resort to trying to crush Char with the debris in the cage. Char still had ammunition and one second of Garma leaving his Zaku exposed was all he needed. The paint impacted the chest of Garma's suit with a splat that was silent in the vacuum of space.

The combatants exited the cage and made their mobile suits shake hands. "Good fight," Garma said. "You got me fair and square."

"Don't think you made it easy," Char admitted.

Their Zakus flew to the colony with the fingers of the machines entwined. Everyone thought Char and Garma were skin-talking through the hands of their mobile suits, but they really weren't.

The cadets sat expectantly in their seats as Fortescue drew the white envelopes from the large manila one in his hand. "This is the moment you've all been waiting for; your orders to your duty stations. I'm going to go alphabetically," he said. "Aznable! Dozel Zabi must like you because you're bound for the Dies Irae. Culligan! Navy Yards."

Char's eyes met Garma's and Garma shrugged. Very soon they heard, "Ubanda! ZFB Yeager. Van der Kampen! Also ZFB Yeager. Zabi! Royal Guard. And that's all, folks."

Fortescue left the room, and the cadets started discussing their assignments and looking at their orders. Garma and Char stumbled towards each other, stricken. They stood side by side and examined their orders, searching for some mistake.

"I thought for sure you'd get Royal Guard," Garma said, his breath coming in short, rapid breaths.

"I was hoping for Royal Guard," Char admitted. "What does it mean, Dozel must like me?"

"The Dies Irae is his ship," Garma said. "And it goes out really, really far. Char, this couldn't be worse for us."

There was no one else in the dayroom, so Char put an arm around Garma's shoulders. "At least I'll know where you are, and I won't have to worry about your safety."

"No," said Garma, teeth gritted in frustration, "You won't. My daddy will make sure of that. And my sister will never let me forget it."

Char had nothing to say to that, so he pulled Garma into his arms and the two cadets held each other.

After exams, the remaining days were definitely anti-climactic. They rehearsed graduation as the first-year cadets moved around in the bleachers, preparing for their role as ushers. As a result, after morning PT they had breakfast, got dressed and marched and stood in formation over and over again. In the evenings they were largely left to their own recognizance. They had been given a stack of "acceptable" movies to watch in the dayroom although Char and Garma spent their time together walking around campus, their voices subdued. Eventually they found a grassy little hill with a depression in it just right for lying in each others' arms.

Graduation.

It had been an hour and a half of marching, standing at attention, then at parade rest. Everyone was glad it was over. The cadets were still in the one-time-use white uniforms about which most of them had been complaining. Still, the common room and front lawn of the barracks were the scene of lots of family photos, flashbulbs going off as cadets posed with siblings and parents. There were cake and non-alcoholic drinks in the dining hall.

Char Aznable stood by the stairwell, watching his former classmates congratulate each other and introduce their families to their friends. He felt like an alien, but that was normal for him. This kind of scene had never been anything he or Sayla ever had. His path was a lonely one, and that was something he'd accepted a long time ago.

A hand touched his and he jumped. Garma was standing beside him, grinning widely.

"You're all by yourself, Ensign, and I can't have that. There's a photographer in the common room upstairs, and he's doing portraits. You and I should get one."

Not a good idea, Char thought, but he didn't have the will to contradict his friend. He followed Garma upstairs to where the photographer had set up his camera on a tripod and reflective umbrellas in front of a full bookcase.

They did a more formal shot in which they were both at parade rest, then the photographer pulled out a chair and suggested that Garma sit. He did, and Char leaned against it, his arm resting along the back.

"That one'll be a classic," the photographer said.

"Garma!" a female voice called. Garma and Char stepped out into the hallway to see Kishiria standing there, white helmet under her arm. "Garma, Dad's ready to leave."

Garma turned to Char. "Coming with me?"

Char shook his head. "I'll join you at Zabi House later."

"You're on the guest list. You sure?
"I'm sure. I want to say goodbye to this place on my own."

Garma looked around. "I'll probably end up working here some, so that'd be anti-climactic. See you later."

Char watched him leave, then went down the hall to their room. The beds were stripped bare and the wall lockers stood open and empty. Char's luggage consisted of two dufflebags and a large suitcase.

His real motivation for not going with Char had been Kishiria. Like Degin, Kishiria could possibly remember Char's face and identify him as Casval Deykun. Still, there was a very real pang that struck him as he looked around the room. This was the first place where he'd ever truly completed something and moved on. He'd been torn from Side 3 as a child and his teen years in France were only a prelude to this. But he'd done what he came to do at the Academy, and it was time to close the book on this and move on. It was a strange feeling.

He changed into his new ensign's uniform, brought his bags downstairs and took a taxi to the palace.

The graduation party, such as it was, was overly long to Garma. He and Char, dressed in their new dark-green ensign's uniforms, were able to present themselves as close friends to the other guests. Garma was still looking forward to the plans he had for later that evening to take Char away from all of that.

Finally, around 5 pm, Degin retired for the night which meant that the event was over. Garma and Char retreated quickly to Garma's apartment as soon as the sovereign had left the ballroom.

"Get changed," Garma said as he closed the door behind them. "Giren's letting me use his cottage for the week."

Char snorted. "Giren, the same brother of yours who split us up?"

Garma was already unzipping his tunic and hanging it up. "That's him. I guess he feels sorry. You did save my life after all."

"Oh, you'd have been all right. Someone would have found you."

Maybe my corpse.Garma slid off his uniform pants and looked down at the cast on his leg. "I'm not so sure."

Char changed into civilian clothes as directed and they drove off to the inter-cylinder shuttle station, the same one they had climbed above on New Year's Eve. There was a private dock reserved for government transports, including those of the Royal Family. They took a shuttle to an adjoining Bunch called simply Parkland and from there drove again to a private driveway through the woods. There was a watchtower at the intersection with the public road and a guard at the gate to confirm who they were and allow them down the driveway.

The lights were on "sunset" as they drove up to the cottage. It was a small, two-story log structure with a peaked roof. It stood about thirty meters back from a pond in the middle of the pine woods.

"Cute place," Char said as he helped Garma unload the luggage.

"It's Giren's private getaway," Garma said. "It's a very big deal for him to let us use it. Watch out; the place is kind of full."

Three steps led up to the front door. Inside, there was a staircase to their right leading up. At the base of the staircase was a kitchenette. Sliding glass doors let out onto a wooden deck overlooking the lake. The only furniture in the room was a large couch, a big desk with a computer and a table against the same wall as the kitchenette. Every flat surface, including half the table, was covered in piles of books and papers. There was a path winding through the piles on the floor. Despite the clutter, the piles seemed to be organized with laminated pages on top indicating the name of a writing project or the subject of the books in the pile. Char glimpsed "Post-Colonial Theory" on one and "Redefinition of Nation in the New World 1531-1776" on another.

"Let's take our stuff upstairs," Garma said.

The stairs took them up to a bedroom under the peaked roof. A door opened onto the bathroom which was against the same wall as the kitchenette downstairs. There was a bed and a dresser and nothing else.

The bed, however, had drawers beneath it and from these drawers Garma took sheets and blankets. He and Char made the bed after which Char expected to be pulled down onto it. Instead, Garma said he wanted to go outside and clattered down the stairs without a further word.

Char followed. Garma grabbed a couple of water bottles and tossed them in a backpack before setting out through the front door. Char followed again, noticing the nervous jerkiness of Garma's movement. The cool, almost smug self-assurance the prince usually displayed when they were alone was gone. Instead, he led Char down a forest trail, gradually taking him up a kilometer or so through the woods.

The trail ended at the top of a hill. There were fewer trees here and the steep slope in front of them reminded Char somewhat of the one Garma had fallen down on their last ruck march. They had a view of the lake below and the land curving off into a misty green landscape.

They stood in silence for a few minutes. Garma handed Char some water and they said nothing, listening to the birds and the whisper of the wind through the pine boughs.

"This is a nice spot," Char finally ventured to say.

"There's a lot of them on Side 3," Garma told him. "The colonies were designed to have landscapes good for the human soul."

They were quiet again. Char stood behind Garma and wrapped his arms around Garma's waist. Garma leaned into the embrace slightly and placed his hands on Char's arms where they crossed over him.

A moment later Char said, "I wish we could stay like this," and wondered why he had.

"In a way we can," Garma said.

"In our memories?"

Garma had to smile at that. Char rarely let himself become so sentimental. "That's not what I mean. We're supposed to be stationed far apart, but we can change that. I can get you into the Royal Guard; Gato wants out of it and that'll leave a slot open."

"Sounds like a lot of maneuvering." How revolting to have to owe anything to Gato. Still . . .

"It can be done if…." Garma took a deep breath and pulled out of Char's arms. He faced the other man and took Char's hand in both of his own. "Char, after this past year I can't imagine life without you. You're my friend, my wingman, my lover…Char, will you marry me?"

Char was paralyzed. Nothing in his planning had even come close to preparing him for this as an outcome. Yes, a voice inside wanted to say. Yes, Garma, I will marry you. Instead he found himself saying, "Garma, we're only nineteen years old."

Garma blinked, clearly not having expected this. "Are you…are you saying no?"

"I'm not saying no. I'm saying I'm not ready for that yet. Maybe you are. I'm not."

"Oh." Garma released Char's hand and picked up his water bottle. He turned away, making a pretext of drinking it. Char came around in front of him. Garma was trying to keep his cool but there were tears in his eyes.

"Garma, listen. We both know what's going on. Sure, we could get married and both be stationed together. That'd be a fix for what, a couple of months at best? We know we'll be at war with Earth in the next year, so chances are we won't stay together and afterwards, if we survive, we'd have to adjust to the people the war made us."

Garma said nothing.

"I'm not saying no. I'm saying let's wait. After the war we're going to be different, harsher probably. Let's get back together then, and if we're still in love, then let's get married."

Garma wiped his face with the back of his hand. "Should we see other people?"

"I don't know if we'll have time. If we do and we meet someone, sure."

Garma nodded, eyes downcast. Suddenly his body exploded into action as he hurled the half-empty bottle over the side of the hill. He buried his hands in his hair and staggered backwards from the slope.

"You're right, you're right, I know you're right but goddammit, Char, this isn't the scene I had planned!"

Char wrapped his arms around Garma and drew him close. Garma sobbed in his arms until the lights dimmed to "night" and Char knew they'd have to make their way carefully down the path.

They made it back to the cottage safely, though. Char went to the fridge to see if there was anything alcoholic to numb Garma's grief and disappointment. Inside was a bottle of champagne with a card with their names on it. Curious, Char took it from the refrigerator. "It's for us."

Garma dropped onto the couch. "What for?" he asked.

Char opened the card. Inside in an elegant masculine hand was written:

Here's to your new beginnings. Congratulations. Giren and Cecilia

"Here, look at this." Char handed him the bottle.

Garma studied the card. "I wonder what they meant."

"I think they meant graduation."

"Maybe." He handed it back to Char, managing to keep the bitterness out of his voice by sheer will alone. "Let's save it for our last night. If you look in that cupboard by the stairs, there's a wine rack and liquor cabinet."

There were. They ate cheese and crackers and drank wine until they were both relaxed and uninhibited, after which they pulled off each others' clothes and made love on the sofa. "Adding our DNA to Giren's and Cecilia's," Garma giggled even as he left the red prints of his fingers on Char's pale back.

Char and Garma stayed together until Tuesday. After breakfast they flew back to Zum City where they said their goodbyes quietly at Garma's apartment. It was subdued; an embrace, a promise to keep in touch, a final long kiss. Afterwards, Garma went to do laundry, put away the things he'd brought back from the Academy, and get his uniform and briefcase ready. The next day he reported in to the Royal Guard HQ on the palace grounds.

Friday night he biked over to Giren's. On arrival, Garma said he wanted drinks right away, so he, Giren and Cecilia went upstairs to the lounge where Giren poured Garma a tequila neat.

"Where's Char?" Cecilia asked first.

Garma took a swallow of his tequila. "He got stationed aboard the Dies Irae."

"That's on the edge of the Side," she said. "Are you two planning on seeing each other still?"

Garma shook his head. "No, we parted ways because of the distance."

Giren looked puzzled. "You mean you two didn't get married after graduation? I was absolutely certain that you would."

Garma stared at him. "Ah. So that was why you left a bottle of champagne in the fridge for us. Since it just said 'Congratulations' we figured it was for our graduation."

"It was a dual-purpose bottle," Giren mused. "I meant it as a wedding present, though."

"Well, we didn't get married," Garma stated firmly. "We talked about it and Char was the one to say it wasn't a good idea. After a second of thinking, I agreed with him. We're both 19 and we'd be divorced by 21."

Giren's head didn't move, but his eyes slid sideways towards his mistress. "Cecilia my dear, would you mind letting me talk to my younger brother in private for a moment?"

"Not at all." She stood, smiled gently at Garma in passing, and left the room.

Giren sat down beside Garma. "You did the right thing. Things are going to be becoming very unsettled in the next few months. You'll recognize the signs when they arrive." He was quiet for a moment, finding a spot on a distant wall very interesting. When he turned back to Garma he said, "He didn't love you. I hope you know that."

This old song again? Garma glared. "What makes you say that?"

"Experience. I warned you, we're not like other people. Love's not impossible for us, just incredibly difficult. Dozel's found Zena and I have Cecilia, but look what we both had to go through. That boy came into your life far too easily; he would have left in just the same way."

Garma stared glumly into the depths of his tequila. "I guess we'll never know, will we?"

FIN