A/N: Apologies for taking so long on the update. Really. When I posted this chapter, I realised that I'd forgotten how much I loved writing this story. There are gaps to fill in, and damn it, I'm not leaving them open when I took so long to think about the space between SEED and SEED Destiny! Everyone can thank Madam Malia for recently leaving me the review that moved me to action this time around. And anja-chan, who sent her my way. Go read anja-chan's Dearka/Yzak stuff, too. It's good. :)


The date for the trial had been postponed, which meant an extended period to do research at the library's Legislative branch. Apparently, Yzak had not been the only one to contact the Council to beg for an extension; Shiho's mother had also passed on a request from her daughter for more time. The next soonest date the Council had available was a mighty stretch farther off than Yzak had anticipated, however — a month away — and Yzak did not know whether to be pleased or irked by the casting aside of Dearka's trial. Canaver had transferred to the MacArthur, and news came back periodically on how negotiations were proceeding. Tensions rode high. The Earth Forces were not ready to bend. There wasn't time for prisoners.

The first time Yzak wandered across Shiho in the midst of his research, the two of them halted cold and met each other's eyes, mortified. It lasted only a second. Yzak scanned the ceilings for cameras and Shiho rotated three hundred sixty degrees to search the floor for other personnel. They couldn't risk getting seen in contact, even if it was an accident. The slightest suspicion that they might be scheming after a common goal in secret could further endanger Dearka's life. With an imperceptible nod, Shiho immediately vacated the aisle of books Yzak wanted to browse.

The second time they spied each other — a week or so later — it was from distant ends of an aisle. They rounded their respective corners at the same moment from opposite sides, both intent on picking up volumes from the same section. Rather than stop in shock as they noticed each other, they silently concluded that it would appear smoother to continue walking down the aisle uninterrupted, as if they happened to have chosen to take the same detour to somewhere else and were passing each other out of coincidence.

As they brushed shoulders, Yzak hissed from lips that barely moved. "Can't you research court procedure somewhere else, Hahnenfuss?"

Shiho was already in his review mirror, headed to the spot where he'd come from, and she did not turn back. "You can't blame this on me, Joule." She murmured, equally covert.

Yzak retreated to another shelf of books, fuming. If anyone were to grow suspicious that they were working together to free Dearka… it would all be over.

The third time he found himself in Shiho's presence, he picked up the sound of her voice long before he saw her. She was whispering aloud and her tone carried through the musty quiet, so, from behind a distant shelf, Yzak lifted a book to peer through the gap toward the noise.

She was positioned at a table, her front toward him. Her hair swung freely, brushing the oaken surface, pooling messily about the pages of a volume she had spread before her. Her uniform drooped at her neck; it lay unclasped at the collar. Yzak crinkled his nose. Her appearance was careless, far more disheveled than he would have expected of Shiho Hahnenfuss. She was talking to two other ZAFT reds, both with their backs facing Yzak's direction.

There was no mistaking the one with the citrus-orange hair.

"Maybe he thought he didn't have a choice," Heine was saying, waggling his finger while Shiho gripped the underside of her chair. "If your machine went down at the feet of a ship like that and not a day ago you'd seen your own teammate's mobile suit sliced through the cockpit by the Strike — death, and of a comrade, Shiho; there's nothing like death on a battlefield to short-circuit a soldier's thought process — what would you do?"

"I still wouldn't surrender to the enemy so quickly," she said. Yzak could not tell whether she meant it or had simply said it out of a desire to prove as irritating to Heine as Heine was to her. Annoyance sparked in her eyes; it was obvious that Shiho would have preferred to work alone, but, like the perfect soldier she was, she adhered strictly to protocol and showed no open signs of disrespect. "The legged ship had been forced to make an emergency landing. It was in no condition to waste firepower on the Buster while the Buster was grounded. It probably only aimed its guns to protect itself in case the Buster fired first. Anyone condemning Dearka could use this incident as an argument against his judgment. Whether or not he was still in a state of disorder due to the Blitz pilot's death won't make any difference to them."

"Don't be such a sour lemon," Heine laughed. "Where's your sense of faith?"

Yzak would have sniggered at Shiho's predicament if it hadn't been painfully obvious to him that — since Heine was there — she must have dragged in outside help against regulations. He held back the urge to thunder forward and demand where she had gotten clearance to bring Westenfluss into the fray. If she had done so without permission… if she was jeopardizing Dearka's chances of a good defense because she was too incompetent to form a solid defense by herself….

Yzak's gaze drifted to the third ZAFT red, who had waited his turn to speak and was now smoothing over the edgy whispers of the other two.

"You're also forgetting to see the situation from the Naturals' point of view." The boy had fine blond hair that reached his shoulders.

Yzak gaped. His red uniform…. It had been hard to tell from behind, but at once Yzak noticed that he was not sporting the attire of an elite pilot. It was the uniform of ZAFT Academy. Red still meant the cream of the crop, but for an Academy student to be granted access to the PLANT Legislative branch….

The boy went on. "Even if the Archangel would not normally have bothered to threaten a fallen mobile suit, this battle was different. Their Strike was engaged beyond escape, they'd been shot down, and moments after the Buster pilot left his cockpit with his hands up, a pilot of theirs lost his life to our Aegis. I've reviewed the tapes; it was a jet flier. The situation had escalated beyond control, and the Earth Forces were desperate. They might have done anything. Perhaps the Buster pilot was aware of the heightened danger. Any other time, he might have chosen to continue fighting despite the risk rather than to surrender, but in this situation, surrender was instinctual — to preserve his existence. He can't be branded a coward or a traitor for that. Not at the PLANTs, anyway. We're not trying to breed disposable soldiers."

Without ado, Yzak slipped out from behind his bookshelf and made his way to another, in hopes of further identifying the blond speaker. What the hell was Shiho doing, consulting someone that was still at Academy level? He bit back a growl. And Heine Westenfluss, for that matter. That secretly smug, happy-go-lucky son of a bitch. Yzak found himself a better vantage point. He busied himself with a book, but peered discreetly around from the end of a row.

"Fair enough, but we ought not to say he did it solely 'to preserve his existence.'" Heine's mouth turned down at the corners. "If we want to defend Dearka against the current members of Council, we'll need to emphasize his tendency toward peace, his ultimate decision to stop the fighting on both sides. It makes him sound better if we say he surrendered because he felt instinctually that tensions would rise between ZAFT and the Earth Alliance were he to continue." Heine shrugged, "And so… he gave himself up, without knowing what would become of him or his machine. A grand sacrifice for the cause, no?" His gestures lacked ceremony, but his eyes were hard and bright as jade.

The blond boy remained professional and spoke fluidly. "'To choose to do nothing in times of crisis is exceedingly difficult, but is ultimately wiser than to act — and act foolishly — where open conflict provokes worse discord.' That's what Gil always says."

Heine said, "You would quote the Chairman until you turned blue instead of waiting to become a Red, wouldn't you, Rey," and Yzak fumbled with the book he'd been pretending to read. The cover flapped and the pages blurred with a fanning sound.

Gil?!

His slip-up had not gone unnoticed. Neither of the two males seemed wary of Yzak's presence, but from his new position behind Shiho's left shoulder, he saw her stiffen. Her head turned a miniscule degree in his direction, and Yzak knew her instinct told her it was he who occupied the space she couldn't see. She didn't dare turn around, but her body language said it all.

Get the hell out of this vicinity.

Even if it was only his imagination, Yzak knew it was imperative to follow through. He didn't yet know if he could trust Durandal, didn't know if Durandal trusted him. Allowing the Academy student — Rey, had Heine said? — to catch sight of him at the wrong time was too risky. Yzak found it difficult to believe that Rey could be reporting directly to the Chairman, but what if he were? What if the Chairman had sent him down to work with and monitor Shiho Hahnenfuss, to make sure that she and Yzak had no contact with one another?

Yzak returned his book to the shelf and retreated. He couldn't focus enough to put the pieces together any more.

He made his way to the mobile suit docking area, stopping only to retrieve his flight suit.

"I want access to the pre-production model ZAKU," he barked at the first officer with the authority to grant him clearance.

He was led into a garage behind the row of garages used for everyday operation. The soldier that was leading him punched in the access code, and the ridged doors slid aside with a thunderous clatter. "It's called the ZGMF-999A, sir — ZAKU Mass Production Trial Type. ZAKU stands for ZAFT Armed Keeper of Unity."

Yzak stared up at the suit before him. Keeper of Unity…. Weren't they already united? "List me its main armaments," he demanded.

"Er, the railguns you see mounted at the hips there, two high frequency blade tomahawks…. That's really all, sir, but it is equipped with Phase Shift armor."

This piqued Yzak's interest. So, the steely grey hide of this machine would turn colors when activated… rather like the stolen Duel, and rather unlike anything ZAFT had successfully mass-produced before. Durandal had told him the ZAKU would be released for use… but he had also told Yzak that the Duel would be destroyed because it took advantage of Natural technology. What the hell was in the Chairman's head? Yzak glared up at the mobile suit, arms akimbo. Well, he was a member of Council now, on the National Defense Committee, no less. He would see to it that ZAFT made up its mind about using Earth Alliance technology before this model was released across the PLANTs, or he would kill himself trying. To be so bloody hypocritical….

Yzak moved slowly around the base of the machine. But was Durandal really doing anything wrong when considering the prospects of the ZAKU? The truth was, nothing could stand up to weapons like the X-Numbers, and unless ZAFT could build up its power, create something that would match the Naturals, should more fighting come barreling down from the horizon… wasn't it better to be prepared? If they had the power, why not put it to good use?

"Arrgh!" His growl of frustration earned him a look of concern from the officer that had escorted him. Yzak shot him a withering glare. "Is there anything else I should know? Don't leave a single thing out."

The man hesitated. "You're sure you've got the clearance to—"

"Do you see this gold mark of Council authority I'm wearing? I've got permission from the Chairman to take my pick of mobile suits. Give me every piece of god damned classified information on this one, or I swear I'll have your job by dinner time!"

The officer did not look pleased. "It's got an ultracompact nuclear fission reactor, sir."

Yzak's blood ran cold. "Nuclear powered?" he cried, turning back to the machine in disbelief. "Then it's got to be equipped with an N-Jammer Canceller!"

They'll use the technology of the Earth Forces to create newer, better models… this time made for Coordinator pilots. Like the Freedom… or the Justice… only mass produced….

Dearka's prediction wasn't a prediction at all. ZAFT had already made the prognosis a reality.

"What the hell are they thinking?" Yzak erupted. "After the destruction caused by the Freedom and the Justice? And what if one of these things fell into the wrong hands? The Naturals could use the technology to disable all the N-Jammers that ZAFT installed on Earth to block their weapons and resources! They'd gain back their nuclear capabilities!"

The other man simply shrugged his lack of knowledge on the matter. Then, rather belatedly, he took note of the flight suit draped over Yzak's arm, and horror seemed to crawl across his features as if he predicted and feared what Yzak would request next.

"Get me the data I need to launch," Yzak said.

Protests flew thick and fast. "H-hold on a moment, sir, this machine isn't cleared for any sort of test flight in space. We still need permission from the—" But Yzak had already made a bolt for the ascension line. He tossed his flight suit on the ground — no time for it if he was going to face opposition. Hooking his foot onto the metal bar, he gave the cable a tug and rose to meet the dark hole of the cockpit. A smug grin alighted on his lips as the man below began raising the alarm. Did he think he'd be able to stop an elite pilot from doing as he pleased?

Yzak powered up the ZAKU. The Phase Shift armor engaged. He peered out the monitor at one of the suit's arms. ZAFT Armed Keeper of Unity… in ghastly bright yellow. What he wouldn't give to have restrictions set down upon the colors a mobile suit could acceptably be painted.

He punched the radio button. "This is Yzak Joule, proceeding to the launch deck in the ZGMF-999A Trial Type. Requesting clearance to head outside the PLANT."

There was a burst of white noise, a couple of shouts, and a voice that told him — as expected — that his clearance was denied. Yzak set his hand down on the controls and smirked humorlessly. Ah well, at least he'd been polite about it.

The ZAKU moved forward, and Yzak immediately felt the difference in its bulk and weight. He tested the rotation in its leg joints. Applied pressure to the thruster and lifted a few meters off the ground. There was a clamor from below, and he checked his monitors. Ground personnel not far enough out of the way yet to avoid a partial wave from his heat blast. He had no sympathy. He'd made it clear he was launching; if they swarmed his feet, he could not be blamed.

Nevertheless, he was excruciatingly careful not to cause any real casualties.

Yzak's two hands tangoed over the pull-out keyboard, programming rapidly to calibrate the machine to his basic needs. It was no Duel. For a glimmer of an instant, Yzak found himself aching for the mobile suit that had become a part of him.

Ten days earlier, the Duel had been deconstructed. He'd watched them detach the Assault Shroud and carry it away in chunks.

He took a look at the stats on the screen that graphed the power levels of the ZAKU. Off the normal charts — yet completely standard for a system that was nuclear-based, Yzak realized. The pilot of such a machine would never have to worry about depleting energy on the battlefield, about his Phase Shift shutting down mid-conflict and leaving him defenseless. So… was this what it had felt like when Athrun Zala had waltzed off with the Justice?

Yzak snorted. This was no Justice either, but it didn't matter. Yzak was no Athrun Zala, and, for the first time, this did not bite at Yzak in some deep, suppressed corner of his consciousness. He thought of Heine Westenfluss, a veritable ace stuck fighting the secondary battle. He'd been made a member of FAITH. In the end, all that mattered was the pilot… and Yzak was going to make sure that he could pilot a ZAKU without a hitch.

He exited the garage and began stepping fluidly between rows of other mobile suits and swerving transport vehicles.

His radio barked again. "Joule, do you copy? Cease the movement of that machine at once! The only person that has permission to pilot it at this stage of production is—" But there came more static, more shouting, more confusion of signals.

Yzak continued on his course. He was nearly at the launching deck. His blood pounded; it was a tremendous relief of tension for him to be seated at the controls of a mobile suit, and not in a Council chair. He had no intention of relinquishing his Council position before he had a chance to take advantage of it, but he also refused to let his pilot skills go rusty. He was still a ZAFT elite, and damned if he wouldn't take a joy ride to prove it. Politics and war maneuvering… they had to work together. He stopped to let a mobile command truck putter by and fingered the collar of his red uniform, which he'd chosen to wear that day over the billowing navy blue jacket….

"Stand aside," he said to the crew milling about the launch pad. "Prepare to send out this machine immediately."

"I think not, Joule — that's as far as you'll go." Yzak's radio connection boomed, dominated by a voice as clear and chill as outer space. "Though I must give you credit for getting that far."

Yzak didn't miss a beat, but an explosion of curse words lay in wait beneath the volcano of his outward compliance. He halted his machine. "Commander Lambert."

"That's right, Commander Lambert. Did you forget I hold that position as well as the one on the Council? I spend most of my time scattered about this very docking arena, and I didn't miss a moment of your stunning display of misconduct." The man's voice was light and dangerous. "The only one with clearance to test out that machine is me, and you will return it to its place of rest within the next minute or I will strip you of your rank and privileges, is that absolutely clear?"

Yzak went dizzy with disbelief. Lambert, the only man with rights to pilot the Trial Type ZAKU? He tried to imagine such a ruthless and bigoted man with access to a suit that had a Canceller. Such power, in hands that Yzak did not approve of….

He spoke steadily into the microphone, gritting his teeth. "Understood, sir. I'll bring it back in."

When he zipped from the line to the ground moments later, Emilio Lambert was waiting for him, his face purple with rage beneath bushy eyebrows.

— x —

"Yes, but Yzak, such conduct was unacceptable."

Yzak whirled away in aggravation. "Chairman Durandal, he threatened to deny me access to every mobile suit on Aprilius One!" He was pushing his luck to a perilous degree, he knew, but after what had occurred….

"He could not have done so without my explicit permission. A soldier of your caliber ought to have known that." Durandal leaned back in his desk chair, and Yzak chose to let his gaze skip around the man's office rather than meet the accusing eyes. "You threatened him back when it was you in the wrong, and after that…. You don't honestly expect to be granted pardon?" Durandal's tone was incredulous, as if he pitied Yzak for being naïve.

Damn it, Yzak had never expected his act of recklessness to land him an audience with the Chairman. He ached to flee the room, but there was no chance that he would retreat without assuring himself that he would still be allowed to pilot a machine. Any machine. Even if he had to start from the worst machine up. He returned to attention, hands locked behind his back, face stony.

"Yzak," Durandal asked, now with the hint of a grin ghosting his features, "What is it that draws you to the operation of a mobile suit? Why not take a role at the command information center, or working with a team of strategists, or anything else but what it is you've volunteered with ZAFT to do?"

Yzak had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from sneering as if the man were daft. "I had the ability," he exclaimed.

Early on at the Academy, in his days at December City, he'd taken a series of exams and run a multitude of simulations that had proven his talent was on the battlefield. There had never been any question that Yzak would become a pilot. His duty had always been to serve the PLANTs, and to best accomplish that goal, he chose to make use of the talent he possessed. Wasn't that the simple duty of every Coordinator?

Durandal monitored him from beneath his bangs. "And are you content with your position as an elite Red?"

"Contentedness has nothing to do with it," Yzak answered, perhaps a bit too harshly. He cleared his throat in apology.

The Chairman mused with his hands folded atop his desk. "You pilot mobile suits with superior talent, you have enough political intelligence to take part in running the Council, and you display a tendency to think single-mindedly for the sake of pursuing a course of action when you wish to have something accomplished."

Yzak's eyes narrowed slightly. What was the Chairman digging at?

"A formidable combination of traits, don't you agree?" The man's gaze probed him insistently. "And one perhaps not suited to the position you currently hold with ZAFT."

Yzak didn't dare move. Was the Chairman accusing him of parading traits that were unfit for a soldier? Had he just been marked as exhibiting some quality that would make others suspect he had become dissatisfied with ZAFT? That he might defect and become a traitor? Yzak bit the inside of his lip again. This couldn't possibly be because he'd expressed an interest in Dearka's wellbeing before the trial date had been set, could it? His thoughts meandered suddenly to the blond. He hadn't seen Dearka in nearly a month….

"If you were given more power, Yzak Joule, what would you do with it?"

The question called him back to matters at hand. Or rather, dragged him bodily.

"Power?" Yzak mulled over the inquiry. More power? With power came responsibility, control, respect. Peril and weariness and stress. And yet, with power….

He thought of Junius Seven. Families, women and children raised to cultivate food to expand the agricultural independence of the PLANTs. Sweating, striving, forging ahead against the limits of cold, dark outer space to provide Coordinator kind with its basic edible necessities. He thought of the Bloody Valentine Tragedy that ended all that, the atrocity of the massacre. Not one Coordinator had escaped the blow caused by such barbarism and calamity. He thought of Nicol Amarfi, of musical notes above a chorus of military clamor the day they'd docked at Gibraltar, and there'd been a piano upon which to play. If only Nicol had lived to see another concert, Yzak would have attended this time. If only Junius Seven weren't a cold ruin adrift in the Debris Belt. He knew the past could not change… but the future was still moldable. He wanted Coordinators to grow and expand their families, to fly higher and live longer. He wanted the cemetery for their dead to lie still, to feel quiet and reverential, not to remain active, pockmarked more and more with newly dug holes. He wanted his mother's freedom. Dearka's life. A carefree existence for Tad Elsman's grandchildren.

With more power in his hands, could Yzak better achieve such goals? He might push toward the future he wanted for Coordinator kind, perhaps without so much opposition and strife. He might accept the weight of more power if it meant peace on the PLANTs.

But the fact still remained that the things Yzak would do with additional power… were the same things he was already trying to accomplish. Clearing Dearka. Maintaining the safety of the PLANTs. He had to take smaller steps first, or he would risk falling in over his head. Would power change the hoops he had to jump through to climb the steps to success? Make the path any easier?

Yzak doubted it. On too many levels, power was inarguably out of his hands, no matter how much of it he sought to obtain at present. He could not control the sentiments of the Earth Alliance. He could not change the legislative laws that sentenced Dearka Elsman to death for his treachery. Yzak's eyebrows met in a frown. Then… was power merely a façade? Or worse — something more dangerous than helpful, an incendiary flame that provoked discord while achieving nothing truly worthwhile? Should he chose to ignore the quest for more power indefinitely, and try to accomplish his goals from ground level? Where was the balance?

Yzak looked Durandal in the face, uncertain of all but one point. "I don't believe I'd do many things differently with more power right now, sir."

For a split second, the Chairman appeared jolted. A flicker of unrest passed over his features faster than a meteor toward Earth, and then it dissipated. In its place was grim dissatisfaction. "I'm afraid that is the wrong answer, Yzak," he said.

Indignation blazed in Yzak's blood. What the hell was going on behind the scenes of this man's delicate charade? The wrong answer? The question had not merited a response that fit the definition of right or wrong! Durandal couldn't be trusted, not with tricks like this… could he?

"You are dismissed." The Chairman waved him out.

Yzak faltered, flabbergasted. "But Lambert's accusations? His revoke of my access to the hangar?"

Durandal was already rifling through files on his computer screen. "All will be voided; Emilio will be placated."

An alarming mood of disquiet crept about the room as Yzak detected something chill in Durandal's voice. He couldn't find the words to express either gratitude or relief. He saluted swiftly and left the office.

Outside the door, Yzak found his breathing had gone choppy and unnatural. What had the Chairman been thinking, and what were his plans for Yzak? It seemed easy, too easy, to go back to the Council, back to composing Dearka's prosecution, without being punished for his test run in the ZAKU. And the talk of power…. Yzak shivered.

He returned at once to his room to rest, turning down his sheets mechanically.

Within a matter of days, the trial would commence. He would face off against Dearka, and against Shiho, who by now would have acquired the skills she needed to pose a decent defense….

Yzak turned out his lights, and dreamed of blue and orange mobile suits.