It has been about two years since this story was last updated; a lot has happened since that time, but very little of it has been fanfiction-related. Unfortunately, I got stuck on a scene that simply would not come, and as I became more frustrated, I lost more and more interest in the story as a whole. In order to come back to this story and actually try to write it to completion, I would need to reread the whole thing simply to remind myself where I left off. Thankfully, I have notes to tell me where the story is supposed to go from here, or at least the next few steps. But unless I find the motivation to get through the scene giving me trouble right now, I will not be able to get to the parts that use those notes in the first place.

In short, this story is on hiatus. The chapters I am publishing now and in the near future have been sitting on my laptop for years, as I did not want to update anything when I was not writing more material to keep my comfortable cushion. But it has definitely been too long, as Zero Wing 032 reminded me a couple of days ago; there is no reason to sit on this material if I already have it, whether I continue with the project or not. With that in mind, here is the first of the remaining chapters, with more to come over the next couple of weeks. I am especially happy to publish the first scene in this chapter, as the original version was conceived through a misunderstanding of Anaheim Electronic's part in the One Year War, and the scene itself was rewritten at least twice in order to make this audacious (and, to be honest, somewhat nonsensical) breach of cover more palatable for readers. As much as I am still not happy with the fact that this scene is still something of a plot hole, I have been forced to accept that it will not get any better with any further rewrites. Instead, I give it to you as-is, and hope that you like it regardless.

Pointless Disclaimer: I still don't have the money to buy Gundam, but at least now I own the Trilogy on DVD.

Late edit: I apologize to Zero Wing 032 for mistaking him for someone else. I had originally called him "Zero Wing Alpha," mainly because I have recently started seeing Alpha's name in my notifications list again as he updates his work. This time, though, I'm pretty sure I've got the right reviewer.

/**/

Lieutenant Commander Torren liked his new identity. 'Mr. Bichner,' they called him again and again; it wasn't a bad name, and apparently it came with a lot of perks that he would have to enjoy to the fullest during the short time he was to remain in Von Braun. Since Mr. Bichner was an official from the Zeonic Corporation, the perks at Torren's feet included access to the local executives of Anaheim Electronics, who were apparently expected to kowtow to any Zeon arms manufacturers that entered their offices. So the lieutenant commander assumed, considering the treatment he had been given.

At the moment, Torren was being escorted through the halls of the building's most luxurious floor by an employee that seemed more than happy to do anything the man told him to do. The officer took his time as he walked, admiring the decorative touches that could be found practically everywhere he looked, and wondering just how much wealth Anaheim had accumulated throughout, and even due to, the war that had waged around them. Of course, the same could be said of Zeon's manufacturing giants, especially their arms manufacturers, who refused to build anything unless they were paid, and the chatter that the lieutenant commander overheard regarding his arrival gave him an indication of the opinion that most of Anaheim's employees held for their rivals on the other side of the moon. Anaheim had refrained from entering the war, unlike Zeonic's firm allegiance to Side 3, but it had been fairly clear that this side of the moon had hoped for a Federation victory; for that reason, Torren found himself an object of scorn, but also of fear, as his hosts expected his judgment to determine the course of their company's prosperity for the foreseeable future.

Or at least, Torren assumed that to be the case. While Colonel M'Quve had hoped that at least one of the spies sent to Von Braun would be able to make contact with Anaheim Electronics, whose most prolific factory could be found in the city, there had been no means of gaining the information necessary to make that possible, and knowledge of Anaheim's current situation in relation to Zeon and its own manufacturers was sorely lacking. In the end, Torren had taken the initiative to come to the Anaheim offices after a careful investigation of the real Mr. Bichner's belongings, including his personal computer's documents and daily schedule, had revealed that the man was a Zeonic representative traveling to Von Braun to inspect Anaheim's assets as part of a deal reached between Zeon's arms manufacturers, Anaheim Electronics, and Gihren Zabi. Luckily for him, M'Quve's hopes for contact with Anaheim had translated into a single disk, filled with technical readouts of a few of Zeon's war machines, which had been given to the group as a gift to Anaheim in order to catch the corporation's interest. Upon learning the details of his new identity, Torren had appropriated that disk, which now rested in his jacket pocket. If he was caught by Zeon, that information would be enough to put him before the firing squad. But it would not be with him for much longer.

The guide suddenly stopped and motioned to a door on Torren's left. "Right in here, Mr. Bichner," he said, opening the door and stepping aside. Torren walked through the door to find himself in an empty conference room, and turned to the guide with a glare. The man smiled nervously. "Your arrival was unexpected, sir. Our branch executives are on their way as we speak; they'll arrive soon enough."

"I expect that to be the case," 'Mr. Bichner' replied irritably. "It's been a very long shuttle ride, and I expect to have something to show for it when I go back to Granada."

The guide swallowed. "I can assure you, sir, there won't be a problem regarding that. Our executives are very eager to speak with their colleagues from Zeon's manufacturing corporations. Your arrival provides them with an opportunity that they wouldn't dream of ignoring."

Torren's brow hitched upward at this statement; the guide's flattery was not only highly imaginative, but also rather annoying. "Is that so?" he asked, though he turned away from the other man before he could answer. "Do you know when they will arrive?"

"Mr. Redding will likely arrive within ten minutes, sir," answered the guide promptly. "Perhaps the others will be later, but there shouldn't be any delay later than half an hour."

"That's longer than I would prefer."

"I'm, uh, sorry, sir."

Torren nodded again. "That will be all." He didn't bother to turn back as the guide stepped out of the room with relief, closing the door behind him. Instead, the lieutenant commander let his eyes wander, taking in everything the conference room had to offer. It wasn't much, compared to the rest of the floor he had just walked through: On his right was a tastefully-colored wall displaying some flyers of Anaheim's better-known products, while on his left was the conference table itself, and beyond that a series of windows that looked out over the streets of Von Braun. Torren made his way around the table to gaze out of these windows at the city's vibrant streets, wondering at the relaxed atmosphere that surrounded him. "These people's most important industry backed the wrong horse in the biggest war in history," he said to himself. "How can they be so calm?"

His musings were interrupted when the man who had just left the room suddenly returned. "Mr. Bichner, Mr. Redding is here. He's in the elevator as we speak."

"Good," Torren replied, smiling for the first time since arriving in the Anaheim offices. "Bring him in the moment he turns up. Do the same for anyone else that is coming. How many am I waiting for?"

The guide blinked in surprise, and Torren immediately realized that he had made a mistake; someone who had an appointment with Anaheim's executives would already know who he was supposed to meet. "Only three more after Mr. Redding," the guide answered after that slight hesitation. "Mr. Fergus, Ms. Alton, and Mr. Cardish. They won't be long."

"Thank you," replied Torren, before returning his gaze to the window and watching the nearest traffic light turn red. The door closing was the only indication that the other man had taken Torren's lack of interest as a signal to leave the room again.

This time, the wait was even shorter; it was as though the guide had closed the door only long enough to turn around and see his superior behind him, because the door was almost immediately reopened. "Mr. Bichner, Mr. Redding is here."

Torren turned as a large, flustered man hurriedly entered the room. His suit was expensive, but the officer could see that it was an older piece, as Mr. Redding seemed almost unable to fit in it. Clearly this man had done very well for himself over the course of the war, if his increased girth was any indication. "Mr. Redding," began Torren, "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

"You would be, wouldn't you?" the other man said sourly, not even paying attention to Torren as he strode—as well as a man of his girth could stride—toward the nearest chair. "I am aware, Mr. Bichner, that our—" Mr. Redding glanced up and immediately stopped talking; Torren wondered just how much of his nervousness was visible in his expression as the other man's eyes narrowed. "Who the hell are you?"

The lieutenant commander glanced at the guide, who remained just inside the boardroom door. "Excuse us," he said firmly, fully expecting the other man to cooperate as he had done before.

When the guide reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol, therefore, Torren was understandably surprised. "Who are you?" the formerly obsequious man repeated for his employer, not yet leveling his weapon but ensuring that Torren recognized the threat.

The officer glared at the man before turning his eyes back to Redding. "I would rather answer that question with the fewest eavesdroppers possible, Mr. Redding," he said. "Please tell your man to leave us for the moment. I promise you and your colleagues full disclosure, but I can't be sure who else can be trusted."

"You're standing in the offices of Anaheim Electronics," replied Redding with a scoff. "No one in this building is remotely untrustworthy. Except, of course, you."

Torren's glare intensified, if only to mask his growing worry. "Be that as it may," he said, "I am in no position to take risks. Send your man out, Mr. Redding. Please."

Redding frowned. "For a man who apparently did no research at all into the man he was going to impersonate, I'd say you've taken quite a large risk already—"

"Geoffrey, why are you standing in the doorway? Let me by."

The attention of everyone in the room immediately turned back to the doorway as another well-dressed man appeared. The guide opened his mouth to reply, but the newcomer forced his way by before the other man could explain the situation, holding his hand out to Torren. "I'm sorry I couldn't make our video conference, Mr. Bichner. My name is Alfred Cardish; I'm an assistant to Ms. Alton, who will be here shortly. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

'Well, that explains how my cover went to hell,' Torren thought, wondering how long ago this video conference had been held. Instead of taking Cardish's hand, the lieutenant commander shook his head. "You might want to talk to Mr. Redding here before you start making apologies," he said with a chuckle. "Regardless, thanks for coming."

"Alfred, this man is not Mr. Bichner," Redding growled. "I don't know who he is or what he wants, but he is not worth our time here. You might as well leave."

Cardish's smile fell into an expression of confusion. "Who else knows of this meeting?" he asked, glancing at Redding before turning a far more suspicious look on Torren.

The lieutenant commander shrugged. "You'd know a lot more about that than I would, Mr. Cardish." Glancing back at the guide, Geoffrey, he said, "You said we're waiting for two more?"

"They won't be coming, you can be sure," Redding replied in the guide's place, pulling out his portable phone. "Geoffrey, ring for security."

"What do we need security for, Damien?" a faint voice said from the doorway, drawing all eyes to the newcomer as he entered the room. Torren's first reaction was to wonder how Anaheim had managed to keep this old man alive; his hobbling step was the least of his health problems, the officer was sure. Geoffrey immediately stepped up to offer the old man his arm, which he declined with a wave of his knotted hand as he leaned on his cane all the more. Making his way to the nearest seat, the man added, "I'm fairly sure that any threat that requires security to play its hand would have been thwarted at the gate." Sinking into his seat, the old man glanced up at Torren and began to smile, until he recognized that all was not as he had thought it. "I know that my eyes are beginning to fail me," he murmured, "but I know they are not as far gone as you would like me to believe. You are not the man with whom I spoke regarding our relationship with Zeonic Corporation."

"I am not," Torren agreed with a nod. "I'm sorry for the deception, but I had no other ideas on how to get through your front door without being turned away."

"Well, congratulations," the old man said in apparent good humor. "You've made it quite a bit farther than that today. Not that that is going to stop us from throwing you right back out." Turning to Redding, he said, "I suppose you were right about the security."

"You don't want to throw me away before you hear what I have to say," Torren told the man as calmly as he could. "I come with business."

"So does Gihren Zabi," replied Mr. Redding with a scoff. "And I'm sure he doesn't appreciate his business being hijacked by yours." He nodded again to Geoffrey, who nodded back and turned to the door once again.

Strangely, though, the old man held up his hand. "Get the security men, but don't let them interrupt us. When Irena gets here, have her wait outside."

"Mr. Fergus?" Even as the guide nodded before hurrying out the door, Cardish had already turned to the old man in surprise.

Redding glared as the old man, Mr. Fergus, turned back to Torren. "I must admit, you have intrigued me," he said. "You have business that requires you to commit fraud in order to bring it to us? You're stepping on some awfully big toes by doing what you've done today, and I can't imagine that you'd do it without reason. So, now that Geoffrey is out of the room as you no doubt wanted, I'll give you one chance to tell us who you are and what you want." The man smiled. "Please be sure to make it worth our time."

Torren blinked in surprise at the sudden reversal, but he quickly nodded as he recognized that Fergus was offering him exactly what he had asked from Redding. "I'll do my best," he said, reaching into his jacket pocket. A growl from Redding, of course, ensured that he revealed what he had retrieved very slowly: the disk he had brought from M'Quve. "My name is Torren Burase. Until December 28th, I was a lieutenant commander serving in Rear Admiral Kycilia Zabi's Granada fleet. I'm here on behalf of Colonel M'Quve, who also served Lady Kycilia."

Mr. Fergus raised his brow. "I suppose you have proof of this," he murmured.

"I'm not going to carry my military identification with me while I'm pretending I'm someone else, if that's what you're asking," Torren replied.

Apparently Fergus had been expecting that answer. "Let us say that I believe you, for now. Who you are isn't nearly as important as why you're here."

Torren nodded. "That's true," he agreed easily. "That's why I brought this." He motioned with the disk he had retrieved from his jacket pocket a moment earlier. "Colonel M'Quve authorized whoever managed to contact Anaheim first to provide this information. I would say that it represents a fortune in future profits, if you're willing to make a deal with my superiors and help us."

"Specifics, please," growled Redding, who was clearly not pleased with the situation.

Torren nodded again. "Do you have a projector?"

Cardish made himself useful by pressing a switch hidden on the underside of the conference table. Immediately a display of television sets emerged from the center of the table, hidden underneath a retractable panel that had previously been indistinguishable from the rest of the tabletop. Torren glanced from the televisions back to Cardish, only to blink in surprise as he saw a keyboard set into the table in front of the younger executive, appearing like the television sets from underneath paneling in the conference table. Cardish reached out for the disk as he said, "I'll put the information on display as soon as I'm sure it won't cause harm to our computer system."

Torren tried not to grimace as he handed Cardish the only real bargaining chip he had brought with him. "I don't expect any problems," he said, hoping to hide his nervousness with a forced air of nonchalance. Glancing over at Fergus, the lieutenant commander knew that the old man had not been fooled.

"You seem awfully nervous, Mr. Bichner," the executive commented, raising his brow. "I would think that a military man would know how to handle his fear."

Torren scowled. "I suppose a desk jockey is entitled to his opinion," he grumbled.

"The scanner hasn't found any compatibility or corruption issues," Cardish announced as Fergus chuckled. "Shall I bring up the information, Mr. Fergus?"

"Of course, boy," replied the old man, even as Redding frowned in irritation. "We're humoring our guest, remember? Let's see what he wants to show us."

Torren's scowl intensified as he wondered if Mr. Fergus was simply tricking him into giving up his information before handing him over to Anaheim's security detail, but he was at least partially satisfied by the expressions that came over the executives' faces upon glancing up at the television sets and seeing what that information really was. Redding was particularly wide-eyed as he muttered, "How in the world…?"

The lieutenant commander could not keep himself from smirking smugly at this reaction. "And you wanted to send me away," he murmured loudly enough for Redding to hear, and ignored the fat man's retaliatory glare as he said more clearly, "You no doubt understand the technical details of this display better than I ever could, but even so, I know quality work when I see it. More importantly, I've seen this machine in action. You could do far worse than get your hands on the technical data for the MS-09R Rick Dom, gentlemen."

Cardish glanced up from the display long enough to glare at Torren one more time. "Do you think we'll believe that you're just giving this information away?" he sneered, narrowing his eyes. "We're all businessmen here, Mr. Bichner. What is the return you get for giving us this information?"

"From the Rick Dom data?" asked Torren with a frown, returning Cardish's glare with one of his own. "We hope to get mobile suits, built by you." Ignoring Cardish's surprised blinking and the sputter that came from Redding, the lieutenant commander added, "From the warship data my superior has also provided you with"—leaning forward, Torren pressed a few buttons on Cardish's keyboard to switch the image on the displays, revealing the well-used Musai-class light cruiser in all its technical glory—"we hope to get new warships, as well as proper repairs for our old ones, also from you."

Fergus's smile never left his face, even as he stared at Torren. "You are demanding a great deal from us, Mr. Bichner," he said with a chuckle. "And what exactly would you do with new warships and mobile suits, even if we were willing to build them for you?"

Torren's frown intensified. "Are you aware of what happened to the Granada fleet, Mr. Fergus?"

The old man's brow furrowed. "Lady Kycilia was recently killed while resisting arrest for treason, was she not? I imagine that her personal fleet was impounded or split into pieces."

Torren shook his head again. "Lady Kycilia was killed while en route to A Baoa Qu. Her fleet became a target of the fortress defenses, and was mostly destroyed."

Redding's eyes widened. "And you served in this fleet," he muttered, realization dawning on his expression. "You're a traitor to Zeon, aren't you? That's why you're after us to build you weapons."

Cardish's expression quickly stretched into a mask of horror. "You want Anaheim Electronics involved in a rebellion against Gihren Zabi? Are you serious?!"

Torren cast an annoyed glance at the youngest executive. "If I weren't serious, do you honestly think I would be here? I put myself at risk of torture and execution to bring this proposition to you."

"Then you've wasted your time!" declared Cardish, getting to his feet. "This company is in no position to stand against the entire Earth Sphere—"

"What Mr. Cardish wants to know is what reason we would possibly have to agree to your terms," Fergus interrupted, holding his hand up to silence his younger colleague as he added, "I assume that you mean to pay us somehow."

Torren nodded. "Of course," he said. He motioned to the display. "This represents some of the best of Zeon's technological achievements. With this, even while Zeonic and Zimmand try to tear you apart, you can prove to Gihren Zabi that you are worth keeping around. This will save your company the time and effort of remaining relevant when your assets are being stripped."

"What makes you think that Zeonic and Zimmand won't strip these assets from us as well, to say nothing of claiming fraud when they find them?" Redding pointed out.

Torren shrugged. "That depends solely on how well you can hide these new assets of yours," he answered. "Colonel M'Quve seems to believe that you are capable of hiding at least forty percent of your assets from Zeon's inspectors as it is. Are you telling me you can't hide a factory or two?"

"Be that as it may," Fergus said, "this… 'Rick Dom' is no longer Zeon's weapon of choice. Any design we develop based on these data cannot compare to Zeon's newest mobile suit, and I have no doubt that Gihren's arms manufacturers are already well on their way to making that model obsolete as well."

The lieutenant commander smiled. "You're talking about the Gelgoog," he said. "I'm afraid I've only seen it fly once or twice, and I've never gotten a good look at it. But it is a marvelous machine." Torren's smile grew. "It's yours, as long as you agree to our conditions."

Redding and Cardish both gaped; Redding recovered first. "Are those specs on this disk also?"

"No," Torren answered, causing the fat man to scowl. "You're a businessman, Mr. Redding. Without risk, there is no reward; but there are good risks and there are stupid risks. Colonel M'Quve can't be expected to give you all of our bargaining chips until you make a binding agreement that we'll see some return from the exchange. If everything I had to offer you was already on that disk, you would dispose of me now and make the best of your free gift." The officer glanced over at Cardish, who was scowling once again. "Am I wrong?"

"We don't appreciate those accusations, Mr. Bichner," Cardish replied as civilly as his expression would allow. Torren noted that he never actually denied them.

Mr. Fergus, on the other hand, seemed more than willing to play along. "What would you consider a binding agreement, Mr. Bichner?" he asked, a small smile still on his lips.

Torren frowned. "Colonel M'Quve has asked to meet with one of you in order to hammer out the final details. He can't come here himself, so he's tasked me with bringing you to the remainder of the fleet. Will that be a problem?"

"So he wants a hostage, then," Fergus said with a derisive snort. "How long does he mean to keep this person with him?"

"That would be one of those final details, Mr. Fergus," replied Torren.

Redding scoffed. "Of course, we only find that out when we're already trapped." He turned to Fergus. "Why are we listening to him at all? You should have let security do its job."

Fergus, though, was still looking at Torren. "Mr. Bichner," he finally said, "I will send one of our people with you. However," he said, loudly enough to overpower Cardish's surprised and Redding's outraged exclamations, "this person will be accompanied by certain members of our security team, specifically those with a technical background. They are not to be hampered from gathering information during their stay; any hint of interference, and the negotiations between your group and this company will not continue. All negotiations will be carried out with our representative as a liaison; there will be no talks without the representative present. That will be our guarantee that your hostage is still alive and well. Do we have an understanding?"

Torren hesitated. "I'm not sure how the colonel will take that ultimatum, Mr. Fergus," he said after a moment to collect his thoughts. "But I'll bring your people back with me regardless, so that he can learn this for himself. You'll have your answer as soon as we can get it to you."

Fergus scoffed again, but he was still smiling. "I suppose I can't ask for more," he murmured. Turning to the door, he said, "Irena?"

The door opened at his word, giving Torren quite a surprise. Glancing back, he scowled furiously as he saw not only the woman 'Irena,' but also Geoffrey and a security team of at least ten men, all of whom had been standing directly in front of the door and had likely heard every word of the negotiations, despite Torren's insistence on secrecy. "Do your people have no understanding of the word 'confidential,' Mr. Fergus?"

"They understand it perfectly, Mr. Bichner," Fergus replied amiably. "Otherwise they would not work here. Indeed, Ms. Alton here is one of our most trusted associates." Turning his attention again to Irena, a middle-aged woman whose narrowed eyes were turned on Torren as she inspected him, the old man stated, "You know the situation."

Alton nodded. "I heard your agreement with this man," she replied. Her tone of voice made her displeasure evident.

"Good," Fergus replied, not bothering to acknowledge his colleague's irritation. "You'd better pack for a long stay, then. I trust you to choose your own security team, of course; give me the roster before you leave so I can replace them as soon as possible."

Alton blinked at this. "What?!" she hissed. "You're sending me?!"

"Yes, of course. Of the four of us, you're by far the most qualified."

Torren glanced from Fergus to Alton and back, wondering just what Fergus thought qualified this woman to act as M'Quve's hostage, unless the old man only meant that she would give M'Quve the most trouble. Cardish and Redding would have been troublesome enough, but the lieutenant commander had the feeling that the colonel could have overpowered their complaints by simply raising the volume of his voice. Alton, though, made him wonder. She had barely spoken, but already the officer had the impression that this woman could be very stubborn when she wanted to be. More importantly, she seemed to know how to take care of herself; not only had Fergus suggested that she choose her own security team, but she was also armed, as it seemed that Geoffrey had given his gun to her before she had made her way into the room. The woman noticed the direction of Torren's gaze and raised her brow. "Is there a problem, Mr. Bichner?" she growled, shifting the hand that held the gun so that it was out of sight behind her back.

The officer returned his attention to the woman's face. "There might be," he admitted, thinking of M'Quve's reaction to this woman's presence. "But at least it won't be mine."

/**/

"I have a shipment of provisions that needs to get to L1 as soon as possible. How long would it take one of your shuttles to get there?"

The man behind the counter of Von Braun's leading shuttle-chartering service grinned. "Sir, there would be no difficulty in reaching L1 within twelve hours! Our company was founded to take tourists from Von Braun to Texas colony and back again as quickly as possible. You're hardly a tourist, sir, but our freighters won't take much longer than our passenger shuttles. We'll have your provisions to L1 before you know it."

Lieutenant Greene smiled. "I'm glad to hear that," he said as he glanced at the list of options displayed on the counter. "Which of these shuttles has the greatest storage capacity? I have a lot of stuff to move, and I don't want to have to take two trips."

"That would be our Eagle," replied the man behind the counter, pointing out the model on the list Greene was reading from. "Best we've got in that regard, although it's also the slowest in the fleet. It will make it to L1 in those twelve hours I promised you, but only just." The man glanced back up at the disguised lieutenant. "I assume that you're going to Side 5—or what's left of it, I should say."

Greene nodded. "My company was contracted to try to clear some of the debris for use as scrap and mineral resources in Side 3," he said. "We weren't sure how long we were going to end up staying out there, so some of us were sent to nearby towns to buy some supplies."

The other man nodded. "It never hurts to be careful in situations like that," he said. Smiling again, he said, "You'll be glad you came to us. As I said, we'll have your stuff there in no time flat."

'You just said twelve hours,' thought Greene to himself, but he kept a smile on his face nonetheless. "How soon can I start loading up?"

"As soon as we settle your account and assign a shuttle to your use," replied the man. "I'm putting you down for Eagle 1138; it will be on your left as you enter our corporate hangar. As for your payment—"

"Before you calculate the price for L1, could you also put in a possible extension of the trip to Granada?" asked Lieutenant Greene.

Suddenly the other man's demeanor changed. His smile disappeared completely as he said, "You're going there too, huh? It seems like everyone is either coming from or going to Granada—and none of them are good news for us."

Greene shrugged. "I'm sorry to hear you say that," he said. "I don't know if they're all bad; they're just Zeon, that's all. All you have to do is get used to them, and you'll get along fine." Reaching for his wallet, where his new identity's credit card was kept, he added, "I don't actually know if I'm going there anyway. It all depends on what my bosses at Side 5 say. I might just send the shuttle back to you here. I'll pay for the extra trip regardless," the lieutenant added quickly.

The man gazed at his customer before inputting the pertinent information. "The minute you've paid your bill, you may begin loading your supplies," he said without looking up. "The shuttle leaves as soon as you are finished loading."

Greene smiled as the computer terminal in front of the other man whirred and produced a bill for the disguised lieutenant to sign. "Thank you very much," he murmured, picking up a pen and putting his false name down.

/**/

'The colonel won't like this,' Lieutenant Mellin thought in irritation as he glanced around. Everywhere he looked, the presence of Zeon made itself felt: The police stations were filled with Zeon uniforms, the manufacturing facilities of Anaheim Electronics were secured with Zeon rifles, and even the flagpoles outside the school buildings had been redecorated by the Zeon green and yellow. Even a cursory inspection made obvious that Von Braun was now a city under Zeon's complete domination, whether it wanted to be or not. There would be no safe haven here.

Of course, Mellin had guessed that as soon as he had stepped aboard the Envy, the shuttle that had brought him to Von Braun. He had not failed to notice that three of his colleagues on board had remained dressed in their Zeon uniforms, and learned as soon as he asked that there had been a small military escort on board the shuttle when it had been captured. Upon arriving in Von Braun, the lieutenant had seen more of the same, as Zeon soldiers took the place of the spaceport's usual customs and security officers. Luckily, the soldiers were not expecting trouble, and failed to notice the differences between the Envy's passengers and the pictures on their identification cards. At the same time, though, the fact that many of those passengers had been chosen simply because of their resemblance to certain identification pictures meant that several of the men that had come to Von Braun, such as Lieutenant Mellin himself, had no idea what they were supposed to do there.

The lieutenant had initially panicked upon being chosen for intelligence duties, and had protested to no avail to the officer that had picked him out. However, it was quickly made clear to him that Captain Char, who was in direct command of the operation, was in no mood for delays, and Mellin's reluctance was ignored in favor of quickly sending the shuttle on its way. Appealing to the other officers aboard the shuttle, on the other hand, produced better results; all of them knew that a single mistake by any of them could get the rest killed. Therefore the lieutenant was given a few basic instructions, which in the end amounted to, "Stay out of the way and don't get killed." They were enough to get him through the Zeon soldiers guarding the spaceport, at least, and Mellin had done what he could thereafter to make himself unobtrusive while still observing the enemy presence around him.

Of course, he hardly had to sneak around to see Zeon soldiers patrolling the streets and guarding the police stations. They made themselves obvious, sneering at the passersby, harassing the women, and ostentatiously searching bags and briefcases for hidden weapons. Zeon soldiers manned checkpoints to and from the spaceport, and cut off the roads leading to the city's government buildings and life support access points. There was nowhere the inexperienced lieutenant could sneak that would not be under Zeon surveillance. For that reason, he sought the only place in which he could be relatively certain of some privacy, if only for the few moments he required to regain his composure after one soldier looked his way for a second too long.

Finding an empty stall in the nearest public restroom he could find, Mellin barely kept himself from slamming the door and locked it with undue haste. He turned to the toilet with a grimace of distaste. He knew that his rented car would have been a better hiding place—if he had truly given himself away, he would at least have been able to give them a chase before they captured him—but after his last encounter with Zeon security, there was no way for him to avoid the stop without making himself a great deal more conspicuous. So the lieutenant made the most of his opportunity, calming himself with deep breaths even as he sought to ignore the stench that surrounded him. He gave himself a few minutes to clear his head, trying to forget his situation for as long as the restroom stall would allow him to while he hoped that he could regain his composure well enough to fool any other soldier he might meet once he left his impromptu sanctuary. Then, after finally persuading himself that any more time spent in hiding would only make him seem suspicious, the young officer turned back to the door and unbolted the lock.

Having spent so much time calming his nerves had distracted him, however. By the time Mellin realized that he had been listening to the sound of approaching boots for the past minute, he had already opened the door to his stall, and found himself blinking at a Zeon corporal walking toward him. The lieutenant failed to school his surprise, but despite his expression, the soldier simply nodded to him as he turned into the stall next to him, closing the door behind him. Mellin swallowed, before sighing in relief; apparently obvious shock and nervousness was common among the populace when confronted with Zeon soldiers, armed or not. That said, the lieutenant also took the arrival of an enemy as his signal to leave, and he was about to do just that when his luck apparently ran out.

"How do you stand it?"

There was no way to avoid answering the question, as there was no one else in the restroom; the soldier was obviously speaking to him. "What do you mean, sir?" the lieutenant asked, hoping that his voice was not trembling as much as it appeared to be for him.

"This damn gravity," the soldier clarified in a frustrated growl. "I don't know what kind of lunatic decided to build settlements on this godforsaken rock, but whoever it was clearly didn't think the project through. How do they expect people to piss in a pot when there's barely any weight to it? It just won't fall!"

Mellin blinked again. "I've never had any problem with it," he said cautiously. "No one else I know of has, either."

"If you'd ever visited the colonies, you'd think otherwise," the soldier said. "It may flow sideways a little after it comes out of you, but it least it goes DOWN instead of just hanging there for a few minutes." The lieutenant, a native of Side 3, chose not to answer; thankfully, the corporal on the other side of the door did not wait for him. "Why would anyone would want to live in a city with no gravity control is beyond me. Every time I move, it's awkward! I can't even imagine trying to run!"

The lieutenant raised his brow. "Aren't there men that Zeon could send who grew up on the moon?"

"Only the ones who joined up before the war started," the corporal answered. His voice gained a slight edge when he added, "All of you could see the war coming, but so few bothered to get involved… Too lazy to fight for freedom, I guess."

Mellin understood the sentiment, but obviously that was something the soldier did not need to know. "I… I'm sorry," he murmured. Then, for spite if nothing else, he decided to take a bit more offense to that statement than he really had, for the lunarians' sake if nothing else. "But we had our families to consider! You know how the Feddies work; nothing's sacred to them!"

The soldier waited a moment before responding, but after a beat the lieutenant heard him sigh. "I heard that one a few times, too," he muttered. "I suppose I shouldn't complain too badly. At least I knew Zum City was safe enough."

"That's… that's good," Mellin replied, suddenly reminded of everyone he had been forced to leave behind in Side 3 with his defection, from his fellow then-cadets from the academy to his own family and friends, now scattered throughout the colony cluster after the evacuation of Mahal colony for the construction of the Solar Ray. It took the sound of a zipper to alert the lieutenant that the enemy soldier was finally done. "Damn it, I'm late," he said suddenly, as though he had just glanced at his watch. "Have a good day, sir. I hope you get transferred back home soon."

"So do I, man, so do I." The lieutenant, having already made it to the exit, had barely heard the soldier's reply before shutting the door behind him.

/**/

The Eagle was not as large as the picture had made it seem, and Greene initially wasn't sure if it would be able to hold all of the supplies he had purchased during his time in Von Braun. The shipping service had not lied, though. The shuttle was a fine transport, as it was both small and spacious, making for a fast vessel that could still be expected to haul great loads. It took all of Greene's supplies with room to spare, and the former Zeon officer allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

The problem with the vast cargo area was that it was created by taking all the available space from the shuttle. Since there was no means by which the designers could take space away from the vital systems such as the engine and fuel tanks, they took it instead from the crew. Greene, sitting in between the pilot and copilot in the third and final seat, wondered how the pilots in the shipping service could possibly survive the regular use of this particular craft.

When he asked the pilot, though, he found that the answer didn't surprise him: "They pay me a good bonus to use this ship. I'll take that over comfort any day."

Of course, the lieutenant could not say the same, especially since he had been charged extra—no doubt paying for his pilot's bonus—for taking the largest freighter in the charter service's shuttle fleet. The cramped quarters made sleep impossible, and Greene's unfamiliarity with the two crew members made conversation difficult; in the end, the three men spent most of their time in silence. The crew took it in stride, as if they spent most of their service time without speaking a word. For the officer between them, the trip was far less routine, and therefore far less comfortable.

It was with blessed relief that the shuttle finally reached L1, or at least the orbit at which the remains of Side 5 floated. Although the colony rubble floated at a different point along that orbit, Greene asked the crew not to go any farther. "I don't want to be billed your hazard pay," he said with a chuckle. "With what we're doing in there, it could be a lot more dangerous than it would be normally. This shuttle isn't meant to be dodging debris on a moment's notice, after all."

The crewmembers couldn't argue, and quickly agreed when Greene requested to exit through the airlock in order to attract his comrades' notice through the use of a flare. The lieutenant quickly dressed in the normal suit he had purchased in Von Braun for this purpose—as bringing a Zeon normal suit into Von Braun would have alerted customs that something was amiss—and did his job within a moment; almost immediately after the flare exploded against the blackness of space, Greene was back inside the shuttle, wondering just how long it would take for M'Quve's men to recover him.

The answer was not long at all. Within an hour, a dark shape appeared in front of the Eagle, growing larger by the minute. Despite the relatively high Minovsky field density, which Greene assumed was due to the proximity of M'Quve's warships, the shuttle's pilot activated the radio and stated, "This is Eagle 1138 from Von Braun, Eagle 1138. We were chartered to bring supplies to—"

"May I?" interrupted Lieutenant Greene, who didn't wait for a response before speaking into the radio, "This is Connor. Where's the boss?"

This was the prearranged code for anyone bringing supplies, as all of them were expected to use the cover story that Greene had used. The reply was swift. "We ack—ledge you, Con— The boss—on the moon; what did y—pect?" This was more code: M'Quve wanted a report as soon as possible. At least, that's how the lieutenant remembered it.

"I figured," Greene answered. "I've got enough supplies to feed an army, and I'd prefer to get it offloaded as soon as possible. Also, what's the word on the Granada trip?"

"—on't bother," came the reply. "The boss is o—t."

Greene sighed in relief; he had not been looking forward to another twelve or so hours of cramped quarters and silent boredom. "Well, that's good news," he said. "How soon will you be able to rendezvous?"

"T—inutes."

"Repeat that, please."

"Two mi—"

"Acknowledged. I'll suit up immediately." Greene nodded to the pilot, who switched off the radio as the lieutenant rose from his seat and began to put on his bulky normal suit. While he did so, he watched as the approaching object's silhouette finally became fully visible: a Komusai, probably the same one that had lured the original civilian shuttle—Envy, if Greene remembered right—into Captain Char's trap. The reentry capsule had suddenly become a great deal more useful than its designers had imagined.

Greene finished sealing his helmet just as the ship pulled alongside the shuttle and activated its verniers to stop its momentum. The pilot gazed at the vessel for a long time before saying, "I have to wonder why you're using military hardware, Mr. Connor."

The lieutenant shrugged. "Zeon's not too cautious with some of its stuff. We bought this one from a Granada scrap yard. Komusais being what they are, they weren't too useful to the military after Odessa."

The pilot nodded as the first normal suited crew from the other vessel began to float over to the Eagle. Greene was pleased that all of them were using the Federation's standard normal suits, probably borrowed from that Salamis or the Trojan Horse; had they used their Zeon suits, which were far more recognizable, the lieutenant's lie about the Komusai's origins would have become unbelievable. Making his way to the cockpit's airlock, Greene lowered his helmet visor and said to the shuttle's crew, "I'll be back after the unloading is completed to bid you farewell."

/**/

Colonel M'Quve gazed at the newly-recovered Lieutenant Greene as he asked, "How many weeks' worth of food have you brought?"

"I purchased enough to last another three weeks, at the very least, sir," replied the lieutenant, who stood at attention (as well as one can in a weightless environment) on the Hummel's bridge. "If we stretch ourselves, we can make it last for twice that."

"There will be no need for such drastic measures," replied M'Quve, turning away to glance through the Hummel's port-side bridge window. "You are not the only spy to return to us, and our supplies are becoming plentiful again. If this becomes a waiting game between us and Gihren, we will stand a real chance of success from this point onward." The colonel glanced back at the lieutenant. "But since Gihren's chances remain greater still, it would be very unfortunate if that were to be the case."

"Yes, sir," answered Greene, although he knew that no response was necessary.

M'Quve nodded nonetheless. "A military should not fight to exist. Rather, it should exist to fight. This is the philosophy that Zeon chose in its war against the Earth Federation: not to outwait the Federation's pressure, but rather to confront it. Now, we follow our nation's example against the usurper of its throne." The colonel turned away from Lieutenant Greene and floated for a moment in silent contemplation, before refocusing on his subordinate. "Good work, Lieutenant Greene. Get some rest while you are here; you'll return to the Good Hope at 0700 hours to prepare for the upcoming practice maneuvers, so the more sleep you can get now, the better. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," said Lieutenant Greene again, saluting sharply before turning toward the exit. M'Quve didn't bother to acknowledge the man, being too occupied with his thoughts regarding the continuation of the spying operation.

Von Braun, obviously, had been a profitable venture, at least in the short term. Even if flags went up all over the Earth Sphere over the disappearance of an entire shuttle's worth of people, the replenishment of M'Quve's supplies made up for it. Moreover, the colonel was certain that he could speed up the implementation of the next operation so that his people would infiltrate his next target long before the authorities took notice of the first operation. And M'Quve had decided to be far more ambitious with his next project: His people would be sent into Granada, the heart of Zeon's industrial war machine and the second most important bastion of the homeland's military defenses. The risk was dire, especially as Gihren would keep a much closer eye on Granada than on any other military site in the Earth Sphere due to Kycilia's influence there; but that same influence, and the memory of Kycilia's name, would be a great asset for M'Quve to exploit for his own purposes. Moreover, M'Quve had maintained a personal relationship with the war manufacturer Zimmand, and a well-placed spy in Granada had a better chance of making contact with the company than in any other place in the Earth Sphere. With Zimmand on his side, M'Quve would be sure to get some of Zeon's newest technology, including both warship and mobile suit advances. And with the Granada populace still angry at the loss of their governor, or at the very least irritated with the restrictions imposed by a distrustful Gihren, there was every chance that the colonel's movement might obtain new recruits as well as new machinery.

Colonel M'Quve's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden outburst from the CIC: "Sir, there's a civilian shuttle approaching this location! It's broadcasting a laser signal identifying it as property of Anaheim Electronics—"

"Communication from the shuttle!" cried the communications officer. "It's in our code; Lieutenant Commander Torren, from the Zumel, returning from successful contact with Anaheim Electronics. He says he's bringing guests." The officer glanced over at the colonel. "Requesting permission to dock."

M'Quve's eyes narrowed at this. He had not wanted more than one newcomer, though he had known that he would likely have no luck in that regard. "Direct him to the Good Hope, and alert Captain Serak to fill his hangar with armed men," he ordered after a slight hesitation. "I want to greet our guests properly, and I would prefer that they remained in one place until I have the opportunity." Turning his attention to his executive officer, he added, "Have a launch readied for immediate departure."

"Absolutely, sir," replied the other officer as the colonel turned sharply toward the exit and floated out of the bridge, intent on learning just how much he would need to alter his plans for the future.

/**/

The Good Hope's hangar was bustling as the Anaheim shuttle entered, but Torren quickly realized that most of the activity centered around the sudden entrance of armed guards, floating around the shuttle in normal suits and armed with rifles and, in at least three cases, bazookas for use in the event that the shuttle attempted to escape. The lieutenant commander's brow furrowed as he glanced across the cabin's center aisle at his fellow passengers, most of whom were glaring at him accusingly. Irene Alton, specifically, was already reaching into her purse, and Torren was reasonably sure that he would not appreciate anything she decided to retrieve from it when she felt threatened. "How do you justify this kind of aggression, Mr. Bichner?" she demanded with a glare.

Torren kept a wary eye on the security team around his companion as he answered, "We have good reason to be cautious. I might have given those codes under duress, or I might have been replaced by an imposter in order to take our group by surprise. Even if there were no doubt about my identity, Colonel M'Quve would still need to make sure that you are who you claim to be. He isn't simply going to take my word for it."

The security team glowered, already guessing that they would find Zeon's background checks much more troublesome than Alton, for whom Torren would vouch; he could do no such thing for men he had never met before stepping onto the Anaheim shuttle. Even their employer, though, seemed unwilling to cooperate. "I have to wonder just how Colonel M'Quve will go about doing that when he has no access to outside information channels."

The lieutenant commander shrugged. "I trust that he has his ways. It's not my place to ask."

"Then I'll be sure to ask in your stead," Alton promised with a glare. She clearly meant to say more, but even as she opened her mouth, the shuttle's main hatch opened with a hiss, and Torren was spared any more of the woman's irritation. Instead, she turned her attention to the armed men who came cautiously into the cabin, holding their weapons at the ready. "Who is in charge here? I want to talk to him about how he treats his guests."

The first of the armed men returned Alton's glare with one of his own. "Well, that's just perfect, since you're going to sit tight until the colonel gets to talk to you about all of these men you've decided to bring along with you." He glanced over at Torren, who was suddenly very happy that he had taken the time to change into his full uniform during the shuttle flight. "I'm afraid you'll be stuck here until then also, sir."

Torren nodded. "That will be fine. I figured as much."

"That will be fine as long as your colonel doesn't dawdle on his way over here," added Alton pointedly. "How long will we be waiting here?"

"As long as it takes," growled the soldier as he turned back to the woman.

No sooner had the man said this than an announcement from the bridge came over the hangar's PA system: "Hangar crew, prepare for incoming transport. Repeat, hangar crew, prepare for incoming transport. Seal all airlocks immediately."

Torren glanced at Alton as one of the soldiers turned back to the hatch and closed it. "I hope you're happy."

"I won't be happy until I have assurances that this trip was worth it, for me and for Anaheim," replied Alton as she crossed the center aisle to gaze out the starboard windows, ignoring the soldiers who waved their guns threateningly as she moved. "Meeting your colonel might just make me more irritated than I already am."

"That's your problem, isn't it?" Torren snapped, though he didn't bother to look up from the windows as the hangar began to open to admit the incoming launch. It took less than a minute for the transport to land, by which time the hangar door had already sealed. As the hangar began to pressurize once again, the lieutenant commander focused his attention on the launch, inspecting its exterior for a nameplate. "We'll find out soon enough, anyway," he murmured. "It's from the Hummel."

Alton narrowed her eyes as several more soldiers—officers, this time—disembarked from the newly-arrived launch, all but two of them aiming their weapons at the Anaheim shuttle as the others had done. These two returned their attention to the open hatch of the launch as Colonel M'Quve made his appearance, stepping out of the launch as he gazed at the shuttle before him with what appeared to be a grimace of distaste. It appeared that he had some idea of what awaited him in the person of Irene Alton, although Torren had no way of knowing if that inclination came from his message warning the colonel of Alton's escort or not. It was clear, no matter the reason, that M'Quve was not looking forward to this meeting… and considering Alton's equal distaste, the lieutenant commander could not help but become nervous at the prospect of the upcoming interview between them.

Perhaps the executive noticed Torren's sudden nervousness, as she turned her attention to him again. "Is there anything I should know about this 'Colonel M'Quve' before I speak with him?" she asked with a raised brow.

The lieutenant commander glanced over at Alton with a grimace. "Nothing that is going to help you any more than what you already know," he said. "Just try not to antagonize him."

Alton glared once again. "Perhaps you would be better served by warning him not to antagonize me."

Torren hesitated for half a moment before allowing his self-control to evaporate. "Look around you, Ms. Alton. In case you haven't noticed, this isn't Von Braun. You're under the colonel's control right now, so unless you want to purposely piss off the man who decides whether you live or die, you'll shut up and do as ordered from here on out. Do you understand me?"

Alton stared at Torren in surprise, but her gaze eventually hardened as she regained her confidence. "We are doing you and your people a favor by agreeing to come this far with you. If you and your colonel need a reminder of that fact, I'll be sure to provide one."

"Fine," snapped the lieutenant commander as he turned back to the window. "It's your funeral." Torren's anger dissipated, though, when he took in the view. "Wait, where did the colonel go?"

As if to answer the officer's question, the cabin hatch opened once more, and Torren turned sharply as the soldiers guarding Alton and her entourage went to attention immediately. He quickly joined them in saluting as Colonel M'Quve stepped into the cabin, glancing around at the luxurious seating arrangements with what appeared to be professional appreciation. When his gaze fell on the shuttle's passengers, however, his appreciation was replaced by distaste. Turning to the soldiers, he asked, "Which one is Torren?"

The lieutenant commander clicked his heels together to attract the colonel's attention. "Sir!"

M'Quve turned his gaze toward his subordinate for a short moment. "Good work," he said simply, before turning his attention to the woman who stood behind the lieutenant commander. "You are Anaheim's representative?"

Alton straightened somewhat under M'Quve's scrutiny. "I am," she answered. "You are Colonel M'Quve?"

"I am," the colonel echoed, floating forward until he reached out for the seat across the aisle from Torren, stopping his momentum as he narrowed his eyes at his new guest. Still ignoring the security team around him, he inspected Alton for a moment before commenting, "You are not at all what I expected."

"Should I be sorry?"

M'Quve's lips thinned. "With that attitude, perhaps you should be," he replied distastefully. "We're here to help one another, after all."

Alton nodded her head slightly at this. "So we are," she agreed, though her tone indicated that she would reserve judgment on just how helpful she believed M'Quve would be to her. "And we would like to begin immediately, if that's not too much trouble. We'll need your technical data as soon as possible. When will we have access to your vessels?"

"You'll have it as soon as it can be arranged," M'Quve assured the woman. "Obviously there will be some obstacles to any full inspection"—and Torren was fairly certain that any such 'obstacles' would never be cleared to the colonel's satisfaction; regardless of his promises to Anaheim, no commanding officer would willingly provide another party with knowledge or access to any or all of his vessels' weaknesses—"but the technical data to each vessel is naturally stored in that vessel's computers. You will have access to that data as soon as you are settled in your quarters, if you wish."

The Anaheim executive nodded again. "My men and I would appreciate that, Colonel," she replied grudgingly. "How soon will that be?"

"Very," M'Quve answered. "The Good Hope will be your home until suitable quarters can be prepared on my Hummel. We were not expecting so many… 'guests,'" the colonel said with feigned diplomacy as he glanced over at the security men for the first time, though barely for a second before returning his attention to Alton as she frowned.

"You are not suggesting that I should have come to you alone. I am not in the habit of placing myself at the mercy of an unknown entity on a moment's notice, Colonel. Like you, I take precautions."

M'Quve tilted his head. "Of course," he acknowledged. "No doubt they will all become a valuable addition to our company here." Glancing back at the soldiers behind him, he ordered, "Send word to Captain Serak to prepare for ten extra bodies, including a VIP." As one of the men saluted before heading to the cabin to commandeer the communications system to fulfill the colonel's orders, M'Quve turned his attention again to Lieutenant Commander Torren. "You're dismissed. Rest up while you can, then get back to your ship by 0800 tomorrow. Find a crew roster to be sure that you weren't part of the crew exchange we put together while you were away."

Torren saluted, though the notion of a crew exchange confused him somewhat. "Yes, sir," he replied, stepping into the aisle and floating to the hatch as soon as he received M'Quve's nod.

Before he left the shuttle completely, though, the lieutenant commander overheard Alton remark, "I certainly hope that all of your men aren't as reckless as that one is, Colonel, or your operation here won't last very long at all."

'And there goes any hope of a promotion,' Torren thought sourly as he floated through the shuttle hatch and into the hangar.

/**/

One final note: The "Zeon green and yellow" flags I referenced come from Gundam ZZ, specifically episode 25, "Rommel's Face." The flag is hanging on the back wall of Rommel's desert headquarters. I have never understood why Sunrise insisted on playing up the Nazi analogy to the point that everything from the "new" Zeon flag to the quality of propaganda video in MS IGLOO has to look like it came from the Nazi party. The original series had already made the point pretty clear with uniform design and coloration; there was no reason to go overboard, in my opinion. So I have retained the older flag design, which to the best of my knowledge only appeared that one time. As the flag will not have any special importance to this story, of course, you can imagine the Nazi red, white, and black if you prefer it.

I will be posting another update within the next few days. Again, I am sorry for the long delay, and am even sorrier for the hiatus that will follow when these already-written chapters are published. I do hope to get back to this story in the future, but I cannot promise anything at this time.