Those That Carry On

by drakensis

It was the bloodiest war in history. It was the death of half of humanity. And it is over... on paper. Paper does not hate. It does not bleed, or struggle to live with what they have done. People hate, bleed and live... and while they do these things, can the war truly have reached its end for those that carry on?

10. It's A Brave New World

Epilogues – It's A Brave New World

{MSG AC/CE/UC}

One of the Albion's turrets was gone and a gash had been carved along one side of its hull, but the cruiser was under power as Cima drifted closer. She'd locked each hand of the Rick Dias to structurally sound parts of mobile suits, but dragging them was doing nothing for the flight characteristics.

"Do you require recovery crews?" someone asked from the Albion.

"I assume you don't want them rattling around inside the hanger." Slowing, Cima brought all three suits to rest and maneuvered the first of them over to one of the Albion's open hanger doors. The elevator rose into position and with the help of flight deck crew she pushed the Strike Noir onto it and secured it.

The space suited crew saw the open cockpit, hatch torn away by some weapon or impact, and at least one looked inside. Having done the same, Cima knew what they found: a few bloodstains on the controls but no body. Whether Aznable had been wounded and ejected, or simply been flung clear somehow, she didn't know. There had been no sign of him.

As the elevator retracted, Cima went back to the other suit and prepared to stow it as well.

"Major, please keep the other elevator clear," Ramius requested.

Cima directed a questioning look at the side-monitor where she could see the captain had taken over flight control personally. She guessed that given the damage, the Albion was short-handed even more now than she had been after dissenters had been allowed to leave for Luna. "Is someone landing or taking off?" she asked, pulling her burden back.

"Landing." The brunette rubbed her head, uniform cap set aside. "Zala picked up two survivors."

Turning, Cima spotted the Strike Rouge approaching. "I wasn't sure he made it out."

"Nor was I." Ramius looked exhausted. "I guess Kira didn't make it either."

"Kira?"

She got a sigh. "He went by Heero… no, you wouldn't have met him either."

"Oh, him. No, I can't see how anyone would have survived if they were inside the colony." She blinked. "Wait… Kira as in, Kira Yamato? The White Devil?"

"He was no devil. Just a kid who wanted to keep the ship his friends were on intact."

"Then he had a better reason for fighting than most of us," Cima said at last. "It's always the younger ones who pay for our mistakes."

"Stop sounding like an old woman. I looked you up and you're not even my age yet," the twenty-eight-year-old captain grumbled. "I thought he was well out of this mess."

As the Strike Rouge closed in, Cima saw the scars – one leg was a mangled wreck and it had lost its shield, its beam rifle… even the beam sabre sockets were empty. If any of the Specials had come across him, Athrun would have been defenceless.

"Major!" he called as he jetted to a halt, careful not to put too much strain on his own cargo, the torso section of a Dagger, if Cima was judging it correctly. "Thanks for that last shot – I thought they had me."

"You would have done the same for me," she answered, believing it. "I don't suppose you saw the Crimson Lightning out there?"

"No… I haven't seen anyone else." He started moving again, carrying the torso section towards the open hatch. "Sorry, I have a couple of survivors in here – I'm not sure how much air they have left."

"First things first," agreed Cima.

Athrun placed the wreck on the elevator and started helping secure it. "What about Mr Merquise?"

"I found his suit but he wasn't in it." She made a face. "Maybe he just disappeared again. He did it at A Baoa Qu. The man's a survivor, I wouldn't be surprised if he turned up again somewhere."

"Poor Heero, though." Straightening, Athrun raised the Strike Rouge's hand for a salute in the direction where Mahal had been. "He deserved better than that."

"What we deserve and what we get are two very different things," Cima told him. "Help me get this one aboard," she added as the other elevator returned.

Moving over, Athrun seized hold of the mobile suit by its feet and helped her wrestle it aboard. "Is this… the Tallgeese?"

"I didn't get that good a look at it before," she admitted, "But what's left of the crest certainly looks like it."

The exterior of the mobile suit was a wreck. It must have been closer to Mahal than was wise when it blew and while the lunar titanium covered much of it, the chassis had been scoured down to it and even that protective layer hadn't proven entirely resistant.

Nor did the armour cover everything. Like the Strike Noir, the cockpit hatch had been broken away at some point and unlike Char Aznable, there was no question as to the pilot's fate.

Still holding the controls, face serene within his helmet, General Treize Khrushrenada was pinned to his seat by a metre-long shard of metal that had pierced him just to the left of his breastbone.

{MSG AC/CE/UC}

"Major!"

The hatch of Dorothy's Calamity opened at last, much to her relief. The mobile suit's thrusters hadn't been powerful enough to get her away from the blast in time. She'd expected to die, and though somehow that hadn't taken place, the cockpit had warped enough that the hatch wouldn't open.

The panel removed, she could see the helmets of two rescue crewmen against the stars. One reached in and she accepted the hand, kicking off her seat to escape the confines at last. She kicked her legs again lightly as she drifted out, not for more momentum but to work out the stiffness. Sitting still for hours wasn't her favourite experience – it reminded her too much of schools she'd been eager to escape from.

Gratitude was due so she shook hands with the two space-suited workers once they'd stowed the cutting torches and then looked around.

The Calamity was a write off, she thought. The reactor had held – somehow – but the mounts for the main beam cannon were gone and so were most of the limbs. It had kept her alive though, which was worthy of praise and…

Behind it, she saw the looming shape of another mobile suit, one that gave her pause.

It had its back to her but the shape of the sensor head was distinctive – two long aerials rising from the face like horns or – as she preferred to imagine – like giant eyebrows. It was neither a Dagger nor a Calamity, although they had variations on the pattern. The hexagonal shape of the shoulders gave it away.

"The Blu Duel!" she exclaimed. "Where did you recover that?"

The nearer of the two workers shook his head. "It was right here," he explained. "The rear thrusters collided with your own and locked the suits together."

"The pilot?" Dorothy demanded, eagerly.

He shook his head, hardly visible inside his helmet but she got the idea. "Not a chance, sorry. It took the brunt of the shockwave and the debris – the cockpit looks like a cheese grater. Was he one of you?"

"No…" she admitted. "He… he was an enemy."

She scrambled over the shoulder of the Calamity and saw that the two were indeed intertwined. The Blu Duel's damage was no less severe than her own suit – and that despite lunar titanium armour and additional composite layers of protection. In many ways it looked worse off. "Who were you?" she asked the cockpit. "You had better thrusters…"

Mental note: tell the General we need better space combat suits, she added to herself. The Calamity is fine on Earth but we took avoidable losses out here.

The pilot should have been able to get away, she concluded. The Blu Duel hadn't even been particularly near her when the colony laser exploded. Had the shockwave flung them together somehow? It wouldn't make sense, if anything the expanding blast should have widened the distance unless for some reason the pilot had flown after her and…

"No."

"Ma'am?"

"Not you." To her fury and embarrassment, Dorothy felt the beginnings of tears in the corner of her eyes. I don't accept this, she screamed mentally at the dead man who had saved her. You and I were enemies! Why would you use your own suit to shield me? What did you want? Did you think you'd survive?

He gave her no answers, of course.

"Make sure to recover his body," she instructed, not looking back at them. "DNA testing should let us identify him… and I guess I owe him a decent burial."

"Aye, major." The two men took their tool skiff – little more than an underpowered motor linked to a collection of power tools – around and began working on the cockpit hatch of the Blu Duel.

Leaving them to it, Dorothy headed for the recovery shuttle. She needed to assess the losses, get in touch with her chain of command, put together an after-action report… All things that could distract her from the dead pilot who'd put himself between her and what would have been certain death.

For every battle like this one, she thought, day after day of drudgery and administration. It's almost not worth it. Even if Artesia Som Deikun was no pilot, she made all that easier. Maybe I should have offered to cover for her if she'd joined up – it would have been amusing, at least.

You, at least, I'll meet again, Dorothy thought. Even if Noin's squadron somehow failed to catch you, all that that means is that you escaped the blast as well as them. I almost hope you did escape. Jamitov will complain but if we have no enemies out there, then the Senate might start wondering if they really need the Specials.

And until grandfather has solidified his position, that's not a train of thought we want the old dinosaurs to be following.

That can wait until we're past the point on depending on them, she thought, imagining the bright future of a Federation where she wouldn't be constrained any more by them. A trimmer, fitter Federation. One led by the best leaders and one worthy to rule humanity.

Patience, she reminded herself, hard though that came to her. One step at a time, one enemy at a time.

Losing the laser was a set-back to her plans but hardly a fatal one.

{MSG AC/CE/UC}

The shuttle grew in Zechs' vision. A rescue shuttle from the colonies.

He'd been adrift for more than an hour now, having expended every bit of reaction mass he could scrape together to overcome the initial impetus of the explosion and head back towards the site of the battle. To conserve oxygen, he'd entered a meditative state, a lesson he'd been taught at the Flanagan Institute in one of the their less successful efforts to awaken Newtype abilities.

Stretching his limbs, he found them still responsive right down to the finger tips. Good. The shuttle was both salvation and deadly danger. Taking a flare from his belt he ignited it and extended his arm, releasing the device when it was at the full extent of his reach.

The signal flare was a standard issue used by all space farers and his pilot suit was Federation issue, the same sort used by the Specials. On the surface at least, he shouldn't appear suspicious.

To his relief, the shuttle adjusted course and slowed, matching his pace. An airlock opened, streaming light towards him. From within a suited figure waved and then threw a cable out to him.

The weighted cable came close enough to grasp in both hands and Zechs reached out, loosely grasping it but let it run through his hands once it started to retract, purposely giving an impression of weakness, as if he was just clinging to life.

Undaunted, the suited figure secured the cable and this time they jumped out, following it to him. The man – now he was close enough to be sure – rested his helmet against Zechs'. "Don't try to speak, save your air," he instructed and secured the line to the belt of Zechs' pilot suit.

The line retracted, drawing them back into the airlock, the outer door sealing behind them. Zechs' rescuer worked the controls with controlled urgency and gauges went green on the wall. Working together - Zechs deliberately remaining ineffectual, almost hampering the other man – they removed his helmet.

"Breathe deeply," the man instructed him and started opening the inner hatch. "Just get your lungs used to having enough good air. Are you hurt otherwise?"

Zechs shook his head. "N-no," he wheezed. "Thank you."

"It's okay." The man helped him up. "Come one, let's get you inside and into a seat."

The interior of the shuttle was bare of other rescuees. Not too surprising, Zechs decided. There probably weren't all that many survivors. He'd have expected Kira Yamato to give much more time for people to get clear so someone had probably pushed his hand. Idiots. The young pilot wasn't one to bluff.

"Can I take your name?"

What was this going to be, his fourth false identity? Edouard Mass, Char Aznable, Zechs Merquise. "Quatre," he said whimsically as he sank into the nearest seat. "Quatre Winner."

"Uh-huh." The other man nodded. "You just sit tight, Lieutenant Winner. We're still sweeping the area but we'll have you safely on Zeon City colony in the next couple of hours."

Zechs raised his hand and curled the fingers into a rough thumbs up.

"Good man."

Zeon City was the last place he wanted to be – well, second-last. Drifting in space was probably worse. Still, now he had access to a shuttle. That was a huge windfall of resources and only a couple of spacers between him and sole control of it.

Fifteen minutes later the same man returned to the cabin, putting his helmet back on. "Found another one," he said cheerfully. "Someone else beat the odds."

"Great." Zechs grinned. It really was a good piece of luck. He watched as the airlock closed and then rose to move quietly to look through the window next to it. The shuttle was picking up speed slightly although compared to the wreckage ahead it seemed to be slowing. Matching velocities then. They were approaching a Long Dagger, the haft of a heat hawk jutting obscenely from its sensor head. The light of a signal flare lit up the still closed hatch – mostly closed at any rate. One corner had been forced open, creating a space just large enough for an arm to be extended, waving.

The rescuer drifted into view, connected to the shuttle by a cable. He didn't seem to have tools with him and Zechs guessed he'd need them to open the hatch. Looking around, the pilot spotted a tool skiff racked opposite the airlock. With a smile he retreated to his seat and waited.

Only two minutes later the cockpit hatch opened and the pilot emerged. "Okay, we have a two man job," he explained. "I'm going to take out the tool skiff. Are you okay on your own for a few minutes?"

"Sure." Zechs gave him a thumbs up. "Whatever you need for the poor fellow out there."

"That's the spirit." The pilot opened the airlock and carried the tool skiff into it. "Keep an eye on the shuttle for us, okay?"

"Like it was my very own."

The lock cycled once more and Zechs sprang up, checking the cockpit. Yes, he was alone. Perfect. And while the autopilot was set for station-keeping that was all it was doing. No locks or other security.

He returned to the airlock. No one was inside. The only link to the men outside was the cable linking the first rescuer, connected to the winch on the side of the shuttle. And for safety reasons that winch should have emergency controls… He scoured the cabin quickly, not finding them. Where… the cockpit?

Conscious of time ticking away he went back up front… yes! There, in easy reach of the co-pilot, under a cover for safety's sake. Without hesitation, Zechs lifted the cover and pressed the button with his thumb.

There was a dull thump as explosive bolts jettisoned the winch.

Throwing himself into the pilot's seat, Zechs turned the autopilot off and opened the throttle.

The radio squawked with protests and he silenced it abruptly. There would be other rescue shuttles and unless they were entirely negligent, the crew would have called in their location. Someone would pick them up and they could take satisfaction in having saved his life twice: once from the void in space and once from the Specials.

Or maybe they wouldn't. Well, that was up to them.

In the meantime, he needed to get some distance from Zeon and then find a ship with more range. The in-system was a little too hot for any of his identities right now, but at least one of them should be welcome at one refuge he could think of.

Zechs didn't look back once.

{MSG AC/CE/UC}

Murrue Ramius passed two of the drinks on her tray over to the pilots Athrun had brought aboard and kept a third for herself before handing the tray off. "I imagine you have questions."

Captain Lucrezia Noin was nominally Ramius equal in rank and she'd appeared composed despite her situation, but Cima could tell that the footage of the battle against the Delaz Fleet and their combined efforts to defeat the colony drop had left her unsettled. "I have only your word that this is what actually happened," she said warily.

"My word, and that of my crew. Also, of two of the five mobile suit pilots." Murrue paused. "The other three being dead or missing."

"And where do you think the data could be faked?" Cima asked the Captain, passing one drink to Athrun and keeping the last for herself. "I know Zeon ships didn't have that sort of computer capacity – do Federation ships?"

The lieutenant with Noin gave her a thoughtful look. "She has a point – although the fact that you're one of the pilots doesn't exactly strengthen Captain Ramius' case."

"Lieutenant… Sheen, right?"

She got a nod in reply.

"Have I ever denied my part in what happened in Halifax?" Cima forced herself not to snarl. "I don't claim to be totally responsible, but make no mistake: I was there. I deployed the gas. And I am damned as a result."

Sheen gave her a thoughtful look. "You were following orders. That's no defence."

"No, it isn't."

"Not for you, and not for us."

"We," Noin insisted, "aren't war criminals, lieutenant."

"Not yet." Ramius leant forwards. "Jamitov lied about what the Albion was doing. Not a mistake, a lie. There's no way that with the surveillance satellites around the Earth that he missed the fact we were shooting at the Delaz Fleet. No way he couldn't tell that the colony's trajectory changed after we sent people aboard it. So, if he's lying about that, what else was he lying about?"

"Where are you going with this?"

The captain smiled grimly. "I can't prove, not yet, that he had the colony laser fired at the Mars Fleet. But I know he had both Specials and Federation intelligence people on Zeon colony well before that happened. If he wanted to investigate Governor Deikun he had ample opportunity to do that. And if he wanted to take control of the laser… well, the only people on the laser that could have stopped him were Federation soldiers."

"That… that would be monstrous."

Cima's smile was shark like and empty of empathy. "No, captain Noin. That would be obeying orders."

Noin glared at her. "You think we're like you?"

"Not yet."

"Lucky us," Sheen murmured. "For now." She got a sharp look from her commander.

Ramius nodded. "Now, I trust Artesia Som Deikun. I've quite literally trusted her with my life. But you've not met her so that's not much use as an argument."

"Even if what you say is true, that's treason. It's a matter for the judiciary. Not for… vigilante action."

"Good luck pressing those charges," Athrun murmured from the corner where he'd been sitting quietly.

"What's your part in this?" Sheen asked. "You saved our lives, and I'm grateful, but I don't see how you got involved. You're not Federation armed forces, are you?"

He grinned a little sadly. "No, I'm… I was with the Zodiac Alliance. I guess I'm a renegade myself now."

"How so? I mean, you tried to take out the colony laser. I'd think they'd be happy with you?"

"I was also under orders to support the colony drop." Athrun's emerald eyes met Sheen's equally striking jade eyes. "My mother was on Junius Seven, so I have a little bit of an issue with… civilian massacres."

"I can understand that."

"You can go back if you want," Ramius told Noin levelly. "I don't know how I can arrange that, but we're pretty resourceful. But sooner or later, if you follow Hyman Jamitov's orders, you're going to face the same decision that Major Cima and Mr Zala had to make. Which of them do you want to be?"

"Take it from me." Cima crushed the drinks canister in her hand and headed for the door, dropping it into the waste disposal. "You don't want to be me."

She closed the door, walked across the corridor and rested her forehead against the wall.

{MSG AC/CE/UC}

"The reports from your forward base are rather worrying, Patrick." Siegel Clyne leant back in his chair and looked at his old friend with measuring eyes. "What do you make of them?"

Patrick Zala had all but memorised the reports but he lifted them and glanced through them again. "Taken at face value, my son would be the first person to be court martialled by the Zodiac Alliance for mutiny. I can't claim that there's no conflict of interest."

Clyne made a dismissive noise. "This isn't the supreme council, Patrick. I can understand recusing yourself there, but here? In private? Talk to me."

"Being fair to Yzak Joule, he also forwarded the reports Athrun provided. That's… impressive restraint given the provocation. We can probably expect more from his officer." That was all the stalling he was going to get away with at this point. "Athrun was probably too young and inexperienced to be sent out the way I did. With Barton endorsing experimentation on children, coordinator children… I can understand he'd bond with the other pilots who agreed with him."

"Yes, that's another matter. I'd prefer supporting evidence, but no one here in the outer colonies will miss Trowa Barton or his father."

"And in the long run, the colony laser isn't something we want the Federation to have. Particularly in the hands of these Specials. It's not impossible that mitigating Delaz' efforts was some sort of quid pro pro," he suggested, not really believing it but at the same time, feeling he should make the efforts. "The results have still been entirely positive for us."

Clyne nodded sagely. "The Federation's economy is in turmoil; their Mars Fleet is gone and one of their most dangerous weapons is gone. And garrisoning the Zeon colonies will not only drain their manpower, it'll damage relations with moderate colonies."

"On the other hand, the various Zeon remnants appear to have collapsed," Zala conceded. "Karaba is a ghost of its former self at best, the Delaz Fleet are gone. As for Artesia Som Deikun… well I have no doubt she had some sort of plan but I'm inclined to dismiss Jamitov's accusations simply because of the source."

"She's finished politically though." Siegel made a face. "Lacus will be unhappy. She was something of an admirer."

"You can never quite tell in politics," Zala told him drily. "We've both had surprises before, for good or ill. As for my son, if it were my place to say, I'd defer judgement until we know more."

"Assuming, I'm sorry Patrick, assuming that he's alive."

"Of that I have no doubts." He spoke without hesitation. "He and I knew that Lenore was dead, long before the reports. I would know if he was dead too."

Siegel Clyne stood and walked to the window. "There are times I wonder if our forebears had the slightest idea what they were doing when they tried to 'fix' our genetics. They raised the bar, for us and our children, but there are anomalies that we still can't explain."

"Leave that to scientists like the Hibikis and philosophers like Zeon," Zala responded. "If we ever see their like again. Our job is to win the war so that the question is even relevant. You know there are voices in the Federation that would like to close the books on Coordinators and Newtypes, whatever either are."

"Yes, that's true." Clyne still looked out at the gardens. Rain was falling, exactly as scheduled, and a bubble-gum pink-haired young woman sat in a gazebo, apparently heedless of the chill the rain brought to the air. "Very well, Patrick. I agree that it's premature to decide anything about Athrun. We'll call his service to the Zodiac Alliance… suspended pending investigation. That should keep Ezalia Joule from doing anything too rash on her son's behalf."

Satisfied, Zala set the reports aside and brought up a more useful topic of conversation. "With the Mars fleet out of the picture it may be worth expanding our goals on Mars. Asteroid mining is meeting most of our needs but the more mines we control the better our chances of building up a strategic reserve in some of the rarer elements…"

{MSG AC/CE/UC}

Hymen Jamitov looked across his desk at the young major and then shook his head very slightly. "Your report is very thorough, Major Catalonia."

"I regret my failure to protect the laser, sir," she said crisply.

He acknowledged the sentiment with an incremental nod of his head. "What is done is done, major. The losses suffered even before that point indicate that the Specials' hadn't been properly equipped for the situation you were faced with. General Khrushrenada had lodged his concerns previously that exclusively using the Calamity was less than ideal."

Dorothy drew herself up. "May I ask if there is news of the General, sir?"

Fortunately not, he thought. There had been troubling divides in loyalty already within the Specials due to the charisma of their field commander. If he'd allowed their disagreements to surface it could have wrecked the force. "Regrettably not. For the sake of morale, he is listed as Missing in Action but we must face the facts: there is little chance at this time that General Khrushrenada is alive."

The girl deflated slightly. The Prime Minister's daughter and ambitious to go with it, she was a valuable tool and could only grow more useful. It was definitely a relief that her idolisation of Khrushrenada was now focused on someone who couldn't speak for himself.

"The loss of the laser will appease certain elements within the Senate so we cannot entirely consider the matter a defeat," he went on. "For reasons of public morale, its destruction was now on General Khrushrenada's orders in order to prevent its capture by the Albion and its crew of renegades. The inability to otherwise defend it will rest upon the Armaments Committee. I understand the prime minister will be replacing several members as a result."

Catalonia smiled thinly. "The general's death becomes that of a martyr."

"Precisely."

"In his absence will the Specials receive a new commander?"

"As he is merely listed as missing, I will be taking charge of more of the administration. An acting field leader will be appointed until such time as a formal arrangement is made." He paused. "As the Specials' senior officer, the role can be yours if you wish it, Colonel."

That caught her off-guard. "I would have thought, sir, that Colonel Une… A promotion? I hadn't expected…"

"Colonel Une no longer holds that rank." He gave her a wintery smile. "Just as rewards are due for your own successes, the final defeat of Zeon's Crimson Lightning, she has had to face the consequences of a serious failure." Jamitov shrugged slightly. "She has begun to redeem herself but as a result…"

Dorothy drew herself up and saluted. "I would be honoured to serve, sir."

Ambition, yes. And this may have tempered her more. "Then I will make the arrangements, Colonel Catalonia." He steepled his fingers. "While the main focus of the Federation armed forces rests on forming a new Mars fleet and persuading the local defence fleets that they should contribute towards it, we have more pressing concerns."

"Artesia Som Deikun and the Albion."

"Those would be two of them, yes. And there is also the report from a Lieutenant Messa regarding a… grey mobile suit with wings."

"I'm not familiar with such a design, sir," Dorothy admitted. "I saw his report but I don't know if it should be taken seriously or not."

"Captain Une's demotion related to investigation of a group developing new combat technologies. Ideas as revolutionary in their way as the mobile suit." He smiled slightly at the idea. Military strategists were always so shocked when their paradigm changed. The tools of politics and intelligence weren't so easily revolutionised. "The lieutenant's description matches the group's prototype, a unit designated as the Nocturne."

"Could there be a connection between the three parties?"

"That is always possible, Colonel. We must find out. Maintaining order within the colonies is a reactive mission, but all three have the potential to make that task considerably harder, so we must also be proactive when it comes to the threat they pose."

{MSG AC/CE/UC}

Zechs Merquise was set aside as he exited the asteroid mining ship. That identity had no value here, but from the two lines of troops that lined the passage, ceremonial rifles held across their chests, that of Char Aznable did.

Unless this was preparatory to his execution, of course. He doubted anyone in an orbital habitat would load the heavy rifles with live ammunition but they had gleaming bayonets that weren't entirely ornamental.

Char was out of uniform but they saluted him crisply as he passed between them. More than a dozen on each side, a platoon strength honour guard. The lieutenant in command was young – if he'd served against the Federation he would have been in his teens at the time – possible, the pilot thought as he returned the other man's salute.

"Lieutenant Aznable. Lady Zabi and the Regent await you." The man glanced at Char's clothes – a mix of civilian garb and Federation uniform – and made a face. "If I may suggest, a fresh uniform is waiting in your quarters."

"It wouldn't do to be unpresentable," Char agreed. He'd stayed only briefly on Axis after the war, but the sprawling base had been largely empty when they arrived. Even so he was surprised to find that the room he was led to was the exact same one he'd used back then. Had it been held for him? The Regent must have had more faith than he that he'd return – although then again, he knew himself better than Maharaja Karn possibly could.

He took a moment to wash his face and hands before donning his old uniform – the same iconic red version of Zeon's standard uniform that he'd adopted in his need to stand out, to make his name and to rise closer and closer to the Zabi family. The mask slid over his head, masking his eyes and then the silvered helmet.

Looking into a mirror was like looking back in time by five years. A younger, angrier Char. He smirked at his past self and re-joined his escort.

One of the cavernous interior spaces had been refitted as a throne room – it was easily large enough to use as a mobile suit hanger but inconveniently deep inside the asteroid – and since he last visited the metal floor had been replaced with something like marble. The throne on the dais seemed small in comparison and the burgundy-uniformed occupant even smaller.

Five-year-old Minerva Lao Zabi wore the uniform of Zeon. Fair-haired and biddable she reminded Char more of her mother Zenna than of her towering father.

"Lieutenant Aznable." The figure in black at the side of the throne wasn't Maharaja Karn and he was glad of his mask as he looked at her. "You may approach Lady Zabi."

Ascending the dais, Char dropped to one knee before Minerva. Regally the child extended one small hand and he accepted it, touching his lips to the back. She trembled and, at first, he thought it was fear. "Welcome back, Char," she said and he realised it was childish excitement. "I… we have missed you."

"And I you," he lied smoothly. Was that the royal we? Behind his mask he glanced towards the Regent. Perhaps not.

Haman Karn, Maharaja's daughter, was barely out of her teens. Her slightly pointed face was solemn. "The Zeon government-in-exile thanks you, Lieutenant. Our enemies the Federation have been greatly weakened and we see your hand in these events."

"I fear I have made myself somewhat unwelcome."

"Not to the true heirs of Zeon." Haman's hand rose to cover her heart. "The Federation and the Zodiac Alliance are enemies and the balance of power stands more evenly than we could have hoped for, a year ago."

Ah. "And when the powers are in balance, then Zeon may be the finger on the balance," he concluded.

She inclined her head. "We too, are stronger than we once were. The Lady Minerva invites you to dine with her."

"Of course. I am deeply honoured."

On a slight nod from Haman, Minerva stood. All those in the great hall saluted her and the cry went up, the same cry that had heralded glory and bloodshed across the Earth Sphere:

"SIEG ZEON!" they cried out and a shiver went down Char's spine. "SIEG ZEON!"

{MSG AC/CE/UC}

"I'm dead," Duo murmured, sprawled face down on his desk. "Just roll me out and bury me."

"You're not dead," Hilde told him heartlessly. "You just wish you were."

"I thought that adoption paperwork had been simplified to deal with the refugee problem."

"It has been!" she said brightly. "Just think how long it would have taken before the war! You'd have probably been dealing with it for another six or seven months."

"No wonder so few prospective parents came to the orphanage," he realised.

"That may have just been you, Duo."

"I was an adorable child!"

"What happened to the adorable part?" Hilde asked with a good imitation of sincerity.

There was a laugh from the doorway and they turned to see a blonde in dungarees and a leather jacket miming sliding something onto her left ring finger. Hilde went red slightly and Duo rolled his eyes. He wasn't entirely sure if Artesia Som Deikun was trolling Hilde or if she'd been entirely sincere when she asked "When are you two getting married?" less than a day after her arrival at the yard.

Not Artesia, he reminded herself. Cagalli. Proper tradecraft meant not even thinking a name other than the identity being used. "Congratulations." He offered her some of the papers he'd collected at long last from the colony's offices. "It's a girl and two boys."

"Katz, Letz and Kikka," she read off the documents. "I can't believe you picked their names out of a hat."

"I did no such thing! They're the ones who picked their names out of the hat, and given they're all apparently Newtypes even without the drugs, I'm not sure how random it is."

Cagalli shook her head. "I don't believe in Newtypes."

"You haven't tried flying the Nocturne."

"No, and I'm not going to. Only crazy people fly mobile suits." She and Hilde scored a high five. Really, it was bizarre how easily Artesia – Cagalli - had fit into their crazy life at the scrapyard. Maybe it was the shared trauma of dealing with thirteen children, some of them going through withdrawal, or maybe she was just as chameleonic as her brother. Not that Duo was crazy enough to suggest the latter.

"I don't envy you getting three children all the way from here to the Venus orbitals," Hilde pointed out. "The cabins on a colony transport aren't huge and they'll be climbing the walls long before you get to the Riah colony.

Cagalli shrugged. "They probably won't be the only children aboard – there are a lot of people who find the idea of heading for neutral colonies a good idea right now."

Standing, Duo headed for the door. "Speaking of which, not much longer before you go."

"Two more days. You got the paperwork done just in time," she agreed. "Thank you, Duo."

"Don't mention it. Really. I don't even want to think about what I had to do."

Laughter followed him out of the office and there was more of it, from younger voices, on the lot where he'd stored the thrusters. With no other available space, he'd set up another prefab building there to make room to give the kids proper housing. Four was sat on the steps, tossing a ball patiently for Elpeo to rush around and recover.

"Hey," he greeted them. "All okay?" The ball flew through the air, missing Four by the proverbial country mile – Duo had to stretch to catch it. He grinned at Elpeo and flipped the ball off into the corner of the lot, bouncing it off both fences.

Four nodded. "Are you?"

"Yeah, just getting clear," he said. "Hilde and Cagalli have started saying their goodbyes, they don't need me for that."

The girl gave him a quizzical look. "But Cagalli, Katz, Letz and Kikka aren't leaving for two more days?"

"It takes women that long, sometimes. I get the feeling Hilde will miss having Cagalli around to help gang up on me."

"She's been coaching me," Four said solemnly. "Duo!" she continued in a decent imitation of Hilde. "Stop lazing about and go salvage something that we can sell!"

"Oh god no!" he groaned and reached down, grabbing her off the ground. "None of that, missy. I will tickle you, swear I will!"

The ball soared back and Four made use of being held up to catch it. She tapped it lightly against Duo's head and then threw it out again for Elpeo. "You should go in," she said more seriously.

Duo gave her a wry look. "I should, huh?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Very well, my young mistress. I live to obey." He settled her down again, tousled her hair and opened the door.

Sat in a second- or third-hand armchair they'd found in a thrift shop, brown eyes looked at him from a familiar face under tightly curling brown hair. He'd clearly been reading a book to the two girls in his lap but they'd fallen asleep at some point and rather than disturb them, he was just sitting there with his arms holding them in place.

"Getting domestic?" Duo asked lightly and lifted the renamed Leia out of Amuro Ray's lap. Her mother's name was one of the few things that Mariemaia Khrushrenada still had of her old life. Having her Hero leave too was harder on her than she tried to let on, but she would have to give up on one of them and the chances were better of someone identifying her if she tried to get through a space port legally right now. Perhaps things would settle down, but not now.

"Practise for the trip." Amuro held up the tablet computer he'd been reading for. "We have every children's book I could find downloaded onto here." He bent over, careful not to dislodge Kikka, and stowed the computer away. "Paperwork done?"

"In the nick of time." Duo settled Leia on the disreputable couch and went back for Kikka. Once both girls were laid down, heads at opposite ends, Amuro tucked a blanket around them. "Security might be tightening up, with the Specials expanding their reach."

"Have you considered coming with us?"

"Ten more children would be a little more obvious," he replied. "And leaving all this behind…? I'm more of a homebody than I thought."

Amuro nodded. "It's good to know oneself," he said softly. "Don't get into any crazy crusades, Duo."

"Me neither. I get the impression Cagalli's good at wrangling you, but she may be out of practise."

"I'm done with causes." The other man's voice dropped further. "For now, at least. I think I need to figure out who Amuro Ray is before I can commit to anything bigger."

Duo nodded. "I can understand that."

He got a tight smile in response. "Yeah."

"It does ride me a little," Duo added quietly. "This Jamitov… he seems like nothing stuck to him. Slimy creature. But it's not my fight any more. Not with the kids."

"Help them grow up safe from him, that's more than your fair share. If worst comes to worst you have my codes to contact Captain Ramius or a couple of people Re- Cagalli knows. They'll do everything they can for you if you need help."

"Hah! You almost slipped," Duo caught him. "You're not as good at keeping secrets as a certain other person was, Amuro."

Amuro shrugged. "It'll be a bit odd with Cagalli." He said the name without hesitation this time. "I've never had a sister before."

Duo gave him an amused look. Clearly someone hadn't checked his paperwork carefully enough. Amuro Rey and Cagalli Rey shared a surname, but not because they were siblings. Still, that was her revelation to make. Duo wasn't going to tread on the perquisites of that young lady – her brother might be a deadly pilot, but Artesia Som Deikun was unquestionably the more dangerous of the siblings.

"I'm sure you'll work it out," he said and smiled innocently when Amuro gave him a suspicious look. "Come on. We don't want to disturb the girls. You can help me one last time with fixing up the Nocturne. If I ever do need it, I want it in tip top order."

"I hope you never do," Amuro said quietly. "A machine that connects with your brain, one that's killed two people already…?" But he went with Duo anyway.

The two closed the door behind them and Four latched onto Duo's arm. "Piggyback!" she demanded.

"Back! Back!" agreed Elpeo, holding her arms up to Amuro.

They exchanged grins and an agreement that the Nocturne could wait. Life came first.

Fin.