Icarus's Vanguard

by Eyefantasy

Five Gundam pilots find themselves thrown into the distant future of the Post-Disaster era Mars. The pilots soon discover that this era, once again, needs their revolutionary heroism and, most importantly, their Gundams. However, Earth's military police, Gjallarhorn, rules with an iron fist. Can these righteous pilots persevere, or will Gjallarhorn forever silence their defiance?

4. Chapter 4

AN: It's been three months! I'm sorry for the late post but my other fic, The War on Gundam, has got me distracted. Too much Gundam in my life. Anyways, no combat/battles in this one. I can foresee the next battle is when they leave Mars, so if you can hold on for that, I'll be sure to make it memorable. Enjoy the read and Happy Holidays!

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"Whoo! Finished. How many was that now? More than ten, right? Good grief, I can't feel my arms," Duo shouted inside the dock, slouching against the mobile worker's CITV, a black smear of grease on his cheek and his hair a nest of disarray.

Curious eyes from the younger children found Duo and they proceeded to quietly chatter amongst themselves, laughing and pointing at him as he yawned loudly in the hangar. Duo dropped his wrench to the floor. The tool clattered loudly as it collided with the ground, making Quatre wince as it landed near his ear. He had been repairing the underside of the worker's left-sided rear wheel, and he wasn't expecting Duo to drop tools near his head. It would have given him a nice bruise had the wrench landed any closer.

Quatre couldn't help but feel the same. His body was aching all over; his muscles quivering like strummed chords. His fingers were red and burning, and he was sure he had grease stains in his hair and kimaggeh. He had shed his pilot suit for his normal clothes, and they were now soiled and strongly smelled of oil and sweat.

Coming from under the mobile worker, he leaned against the worker's frame, the sweat on his back, which had uncomfortably drenched his clothes, was cool to the touch. He slightly stiffened from the coolness of his drenched clothes meeting his skin, but relaxed and sighed wearily as the discomfort lessened. Hearing the rhythm of his heartbeat and the cacophony of machines being operated, soothed Quatre's mind.

The backup generator had come on, powering half of the facility. Quatre looked down the row of finished and unfinished mobile workers, hearing the tinkering of machines and power tools and the rumbling of dented metal being pounded relentlessly straighter. The mobile workers that could not be salvaged were stripped bare and used either to reinforce those workers that could be saved or used for some other miscellaneous tasks around the base.

Everything had its uses, and nothing was thrown away casually.

The Gundam pilots had just finished most of the repairs on the mobile workers. Many had to be dismantled for their condition was irreparable. Some still had bloody smears and remains of their fallen operators. The scenes were revolting and Quatre's heart took a pounding for each human remains they had come across.

Another thing that took the heir of the Winner family by surprise was those long red cables attached to the chairs. They were some sort of interface connected to the operator and the machine. It was a ghastly device because it meant body modifications on the children at the base – and the thought struck him like lightning.

His eyes quickly roamed the dock, and there his blue eyes found the truth. All the children, sans the adults, had body modifications to integrate into these machines. His mind quickly processed this epiphany. These kids had to be human test subjects, experiments, military tools of war. There was no other reason for the separation between adult and child besides the modification, and then it made complete sense of how the adults demeaned and belittled their subordinates.

Children as old as eight had protruding and oblong growths on their backs: it was how their bodies connected to the systems. All at once, and it came in waves, Quatre fought the nausea to vomit, to yell as loud as he could, at the injustice and inhumanity of it all. He clenched his heart and he bent forward a bit, riding the sea of his heartache. He wanted to confront those responsible, but his mind was still lucid, reason inhibiting emotional impulsiveness that wanted to stain his hands crimson, and he could not let his burgeoning emotions of violence overtake him.

So, he swallowed down the pain and heartache, and kept it, at minimum, to a cool level that was tolerable. Tolerable enough to resent human maliciousness. He exhaled his pain, letting go of his heart, and returned to reclining against the frame, his blue eyes staring upward at the ceiling, seeing nothing but his passing thoughts of sadness. The price of being human always came with consequences when one enslaved another, on both sides.

"It was twelve," Quatre counted, his voice distant, still looking up.

He rubbed his sore arms up and down. The strenuous workout reminded him of his Operation Meteor days with the Maganac Corps. In Saudi Arabia, at the Maganac Corps' secret base in the Al-Rabʿ al-Khali Desert, he had spent many days when he was not on combat missions repairing and rearming their mobile suits. Fixing mobile suits gave Quatre better familiarity with mechanical tools and functionality of complex machines, and it also gave him something to do other than planning new strategies for missions. There was always so much thinking he could do before his thoughts started to overlap and he came away with a minor headache.

"Twelve too many! I'm beat." Duo smelled himself; his eyes jolted, his nosed scrunched, disgust appeared on his face, and he shrunk back. "I smell like shit, guys. I think I'm gonna hurl. Where the hell are the showers and the washing machines? I've gotta get rid of today's stink – and I'm not just talkin' bout my own odor. Although, it's likely it's gonna be hard to remove after all that we've gone through. Damn it."

"Somewhere within the facility," echoed Trowa's voice from inside the mobile worker. His tone was light and playful, a welcoming change from when Quatre had met him last year. Trowa usually held a cool front, but getting to know the mysterious pilot, he was sincerely genial if not sarcastic at times.

"I know that smartass, but where?" Duo's blue eyes roamed the facility frantically like an impatient child.

"The showers are outside the dock, down the hall, and a few turns to the right," a soft voice answered. "I'll have someone show you where."

The voice came from a stout boy of about sixteen. He had a cheery smile on his large face, with an impressively larger cap that covered most of his mousy brown hair. He wore a green jacket with red-orange lining, a white scarf tucked into his upturned collar, a grey shirt and pants, and black combat boots.

The boy gave them an impressive look, his smile growing larger as he examined the mobile worker. He took a few turns around the machine before standing, once again, in front of Quatre. He bobbed his head up and down, the rolls of his neck squeezing together like a slinky, inspecting their work. He seemed to take his time, stopping here and there, his expression turning thoughtful, and then a small smile quirking at the edge of his lips.

"Not a bad job. Impressive workmanship," the boy commented, cupping his chin. "Have you fixed mobile workers before?"

"Naw, buddy," Duo chuckled lightly. He worked himself into a sitting position by crossing his legs. "It's just tricks of the trade of being a Gundam pilot and spending too many hours tinkering on machines and mobile suits. Ya get a feelin' on how they work and move – with the right calculations and mechanics."

"Tricks of the trade?" the boy asked looking at Duo, eagerness showing in his small brown eyes. "I assume you're part of an organization, or a PMC of some kind?"

"That's a funny way of putting it," Quatre stated, standing up and dusting himself off.

Quatre gave Duo a side smile. He knew exactly what Duo meant. Contributing to a guerilla war against a fascist oligarch for the colonies' independence did impart knowledge one would consider less savory and more on the side of ruthless brutality and technical savviness. In the end, the skills attained were instrumental to their survival as Gundam pilots.

In a sense, to Quatre, as handy as these skills were, he was not proud of how he gained them.

Duo caught Quatre's smile and winked in return. Quatre walked forward and gave an open hand to the teen. "I don't believe we have met. I'm Quatre Raberba Winner. You?"

The boy blinked for moment and then, smiling, he grasped Quatre's hand firmly and replied, "I'm Biscuit Griffon, Chryse Guard Security's staff officer of the Third Group."

"It's a pleasure meeting you, Biscuit," said Quatre with a light and tired smile. He would have smiled larger if he could, but the emotional and physical weight of tiredness pressed down on him like bags of sand.

"Where did you guys learn all of this?" Biscuit asked, motioning to the completed mobile workers. Wonder colored Biscuit's voice and his eyes glided their way down the hangar.

"We're specially trained in the field of sciences, mechanical engineering, and all that jazz. Gotta lotta of hell over the years for dismissing the stuff, but once I settled down and focused, it came with ease," Duo spoke.

There was a bit of boasting in Duo's answer, and Quatre didn't doubt that the boy's high intelligence did have its perks, but Duo's answer came with a series of challenges Quatre had an idea of. The Gundam engineers were ruthless if not overbearing in their training and demand for excellence. Only excellence could exist, both in mind and body to incinerate the cancer that was OZ and the Romefeller Foundation.

There was a nostalgic look in Duo's eye. Duo started to chuckle. "I gave Professor G hell, but the old man certainly new his stuff. Turned a wayward miscreant into a machine."

Biscuit's brows scrunched and his eyes looked to be far away as his mind seemed to race, thinking on Duo's reply. "Applied sciences and mechanical engineering? You must have had formal education," Biscuit deduced.

"Not many around here are afforded that kind of tutelage in the sciences and mathematics. You would most likely have lived well off. Or have a high social standing to receive your type of education."

"I'm just a natural, Biscuit," said Duo smugly, his blue eyes twinkling madly, and lips curved into a grin that split his face.

Biscuit chuckled lowly. "Is that so?"

Quatre smiled at Duo's wit. Duo tended to over-exaggerate things a bit. It always came as a surprise that his stories aligned with the truth. "Well, I can only speak for myself, but I had formal education. My father..."

Speaking of his father Quatre paused, feeling as if doused by cold water. Feelings for his father's death, tumultuous and unresolved feelings, were a sore topic for him. There was a heaviness he could not remove, a slow tortuous agony that roiled in his gut. It was like trying to pluck a rose shielded by razor-sharp thorns with one's bare hands: an impossible job without getting cut.

"My father, he hired plenty of tutors. I also had some great, venerable mentors. A group called the Maganac Corps and Instructor H," Quatre managed to say.

"Who knew that?" Duo said sarcastically, earning a smile from Quatre. "They tried to get me into school but when ya too poor for that and other stuff happening, well, you kinda learn from experience. Teach yourself a few things here and there for survival, ya know.

"However, Professor G was a piece of work. I couldn't get passed the man if I wanted to. He was always one step ahead, and I paid the price for every disobedient action - like studying till my head felt like it was gonna explode! Damn him."

Duo shook his head at the memories. He brought his eyes down on the hatch and shouted, "How about you, Trowa? Did those old men overload your brain, too? Did they make you sleep-talk calculations and theories? Spending long, sleeplessness nights training upon training just to get it right?"

"Something like that, Duo, without the insubordination. Everything came with ease," echoed Trowa's voice.

Duo's snort turned into a chuckle. "Figures," he muttered with a shrug. "Some people are just way to brilliant for their own good."

Biscuit nodded his head in understanding. While Quatre wasn't shy about his education, he knew at least between he and Wufei, they both had a good education and structured background. He was sure of that. Wufei wasn't as rough around the edges as Duo and Trowa, but he could be hardheaded like a diamond. Heero was a strange case.

Heero had always given off the vibe of being a loner without a home, more so than Trowa, like a wild wolf living in solitude. Heero rarely reminisced about the past, and if he did it was in relation to the mission. He was more methodical and precise and brutal. Very brutal.

In his mind, Quatre secretly thanked Relena for instilling an overprotective attitude in Heero, although, to Quatre's misfortune, that attitude could not curb his obstinateness. Once the ball was rolling, nothing could curb, stop, or inhibit Heero. Plans be damned, he would smash them all to the ground if he could get better leverage to the target.

Biscuit turned to Quatre, and he turned thoughtful. He frowned for a moment and then brightened. "Winner? I think I recognize that name. Where have I heard it?"

Duo laughed amid the clanging of metal. "Even on Mars your wealth precedes you Quatre."

Quatre looked abashed at Duo's comment. He could feel his cheeks heat up and he turned away for a moment. The Winners were acclaimed in space. Most if not all colony citizens knew of the Winners.

Quatre's father had told him the Winners had a long history in outer space, arriving from Earth as diplomatic ambassadors and entrepreneurs and funding the developments of Lagrange Four's first space habitats. From there space became a thriving industry for the family for mining asteroids and refining and shipping metals and minerals to all Lagrange regions. By AC 195, the Winners had become a conglomerate and actively sought to better space and its development. Quatre was given more luxuries than most, but he decided to go against his father's wishes and become a revolutionary for the Barton Foundation, throwing away his affluence for the hard life of a soldier. His father was not too proud of his decision however, and likely would never be, even to his death.

Freedom through violence was antithetical to the moral compass of pacificism. Something Quatre and his father knew all too well.

"Oh! Now, I know!" Biscuit declared, snapping his fingers, his beady brown eyes shining like a light bulb. "The Winner Conglomerate, or the Winner Industry, a known constructor of colonies and asteroid mining, sometimes in textile manufacturing, are a thriving business in the Earth's Inner Sphere. They're pretty well recognized by the African Union for their perseverance in human rights and worker reforms, though Gjallarhorn's been challenging that lately."

Biscuit grimaced nervously. "It's not looking too good. From news reports, they were said to be sponsoring government uprisings and strikes against Gjallarhorn, promoting violence and rebellion, including assassination attempts on African Union and Gjallarhorn top officials."

"My father or my sisters would never do something like that!" Quatre exclaimed passionately, slicing the air with his hand. He could not believe what he was hearing. The Winner family promoting state violence? It was ludicrous and false. They were pacifists!

"So, you are related to the Winners," Biscuit said, giving Quatre a sad look. "I did not mean to assume something like that. We know that Gjallarhorn's been framing the Winners; anyone who hasn't been swept by false narratives by government-controlled media knows this. But Gjallarhorn is very convincing."

Quatre was about to respond but paused, contemplating Biscuit's words. What Biscuit said seemed out of place. When he had left Lagrange Four, he had set into motion colony reconstruction and improvement apparatuses to increase colony production. The ESUN was supporting this endeavor to bring cooperation with space and Earth. But to Biscuit's point, it would seem this new enterprise had been in motion for years instead of months.

How was this possible?

And this African Union and Gjallarhorn were conspiring against the Winner family? He could not make heads out of the two. He looked at Duo who also wore similar expression of confusion. Quatre could only conclude that they needed information fast. He had a feeling something in the events or time was not right. It was like new governments had come and swept in after their travel to Mars.

"So Biscuit, what brings ya down here?" Duo moved the conversation, but his eyes were still unsettled from Biscuit's explanation of the world. "I'd doubt you be here to fraternize with us, considerin' those old goons be lurking."

"I'm reviewing the work of the Third Group, to see how operational the mobile workers and weapon systems are. Mr. Yukinojo's group usually does this - I believe Yagami's in charge - but were down on men. We need to make sure they're fully operational and everything's optimal. We can't be caught off-guard if Gjallarhorn attacks again."

"Gjallarhorn?" Quatre said strangely. The unfamiliar word rolled off his tongue like oil on water.

A serious look struck Biscuit. He nodded gravely. "Yes, Gjallarhorn, Earth's peacekeeping force has targeted us. We've been -"

"Peacekeeping? Who in the hell brings ten mobile suits and tens of mobile workers to demolish a single base? For peace, right?" scoffed Duo, giving a critical eye on Biscuit.

Biscuit grimaced once more. "Gjallarhorn isn't a normal organization. They're Earth's military police and their reach is endless. We're a colony that fuels Earth's prosperity. We've lately been given enough independence but some of Mars's elites have thrown their weight with Gjallarhorn."

"They must want something, or someone gone." Trowa popped his head up from the hatch. His green eyes were narrowed and trained on Biscuit. Biscuit pressed his lips together, his face earnest, his response catching Quatre's attention.

What does Biscuit know? Quatre pondered to himself. He agreed with Trowa's assessment. A force this large to simply quell a single base was alarming. CGS was hiding something here.

"This was an overwhelming response uncalled for to suppress a base your size. This was either meant for intimidation or a mop-up operation. What are they after?" Trowa pressed, words cutting like a blade.

Quatre could see by Biscuit's ambivalence, he was struggling not to tell them as his frown deepened. "That is… that is… something I'm not at liberty to say."

"It is okay, Biscuit. You can tell them," Orga's voice chimed in. She was dressed in the same attire except her red scarf wrapped around her neck. She had a small smile on her face as she surveyed the busy workers. Her cut lip was still defiantly red.

Biscuit gaped at Orga as if she had two heads. "You cannot be serious, Orga! The First Corps and Maruba said -"

"They don't need to know about this," Orga waved off nonchalantly, patting the boy on his shoulder. "They've more than made up for the help. I've been watching. Thank you, guys, for the much-needed help."

"No problem, babe, you can count on me anytime," Duo proclaimed, righting himself up. Quatre couldn't help but chuckle from behind his hand.

"Babe?" Orga gave a pointed stare at Duo. Duo smiled, slouching a bit against the mobile worker. "The name's Orga, keep that on your lips, Duo, no other name."

"Sure thing," Duo said, winking.

Orga snorted and cocked her head to the side, giving Duo a sly look, and then turning to Trowa. "To answer your question, we're guarding a very important person. Her name is..."

---

Kudelia Aina Bernstein watched the CGS crew repair their damaged base from behind a glass window inside a storage room with a heavy and suffering heart that nearly brought her to tears. She wanted to cry, to weep for the children and adults (more so the children) that had died because of her, but the tears wouldn't come, just unimaginable dread and sorrow burrowed into her heart, making it heavy and burdensome. Filled with these sorrowful thoughts, her heart sank to her stomach where it agonizingly churned her emotions into waves of depression so visceral it was as if she was shot in the heart. The pain, the torment, her gnawing guilt, her gnawing guilt, racked her being and attacked her relentlessly.

She soon sank on a lone, green, shoddy couch in the room, her feet collapsing from under her. The guilt had become unbearably too much. It was the world falling from under her and she was helpless to stabilize herself. Her world had been changed.

Biscuit Griffon, a staff officer of Third Group, had put her in the room for her safety, to shelter her from any further assaults from Gjallarhorn's military. Kudelia had tried to be useful during the assault, had tried to help Mr. Yukinojo and Yamagi, but they brusquely refused her help. She could not blame them really; she had no idea what to do. She had never used mechanical tools in her life, had never been as dirty and as sweaty as the boys hustling to and fro during the battle, realizing their lives and those of their friends were on the line. She just wanted to be useful to them and their resolve to the chaos ensuing outside.

What had confounded Kudelia most was Mikazuki Augus's entrance to the battlefield. She had watched Mikazuki enter a large and old mobile suit that had to have been seventeen meters. The mobile suit had something regally ancient and sinister about it. It had an aura of power that emanated from its size and armor, but it also came from its unknown and probably storied history. Its green eyes almost seemed sentient, human in its stare, like the machine was observing the mechanics in the room with something akin to curiosity. She was afraid of it and yet entranced by its gleaming and proud countenance.

Kudelia had watched Mikazuki connect to the dangerous and self-destructive Alaya-Vijanna system inside the mobile suit. She had read about the inhumanity of the Alaya Vijanna system, how it was outlawed by the Earth government, but some PMC organizations had deliberately implanted them in children for military use as tools instrumental in making war. Alaya-Vijanna was dangerous and made children into slaves for war. Their bodies were nothing but gears that turned machines.

She could not believe Mikazuki had undergone the surgery. She knew many had died from its debilitating effects post-surgery where the nanomachines had caused accelerated cell growth, resulting in infection and loss of bodily functions. Sometimes it was the loss of a hand or a leg if they were lucky. A child, despite their harsh setting and the rigorous jobs they faced afterwards, could survive with a loss of one functioning limb in the slums.

Often paralysis resulted from the failure, leaving children broken and crippled, laying helpless like newborn babies. They couldn't work and couldn't feed themselves. They died as they laid when they're supports systems were lacking. It was a gruesome reminder of what these kids endured.

How could he put his body through so much suffering? Was his life not important?

Mikazuki had reasoned it was for his comrades, and his response had left her speechless. He had put his comrades, his friends, her, above his own life. Never had she seen such bravery and altruism from one as young as he. His resolve was comparatively greater than hers, his confidence tremendous, where in return she felt like a child to an adult, a naïve child that had never learned to leave her parents' bubble of safety.

Kudelia had convinced herself she was free from her parents, never noticing until today they still had a leash fastened around her waist in case she strayed too far.

She never thought Gjallarhorn would be so ruthless in their conquest for her, to deliberately eradicate everyone on the base to attain or kill her. Gjallarhorn did all this damage because of her and what she stood for as the unofficial leader of the Martian independence movement. Gjallarhorn wanted her and as a result, they killed so many. Their bodies, frozen in time and forever young, were the steppingstones to equality and independence for Mars. She wanted to vomit from that notion.

"All of them dead. All those children gone… because of me. Because of me," she moaned in the silent room.

Kudelia had watched the weeping children put their comrades' lifeless and bloodied bodies in black body bags and load them on trucks to take them to their final resting place from the safety of her window. She saw them hug each other, scream at each other, and mourn in silence over their friends. She wanted to comfort them, to hug their tears away, to shield them from their pain, but she trembled at the notion of interfering in their pain when she was the one behind it. She despised herself, her uselessness, and wavering heart.

She put her head in her hands and moaned, "If only I wasn't so useless. If only I…" the sliding doors to the facility interrupted her bemoaning and she looked up. There standing in the door was an exhausted Fumitan Admoss, her personal maid.

"Fumitan!" Kudelia exclaimed, relief flowing through her and pushing her depressive thoughts to the background. Overcome with joy, she stood up immediately. Kudelia had not seen Fumitan since the start of the battle. She had feared that something dreadful had befallen the older woman whom she likened to an older sister. Fumitan was everything to Kudelia.

"Young Miss," spoke a composed Fumitan. "There you are. I was told you'd be in here." Fumitan's words were formal and straightforward, but from years of knowing her Kudelia could sense the concern in her words, which made her feel lighter than the dread that was previously anchoring her down.

Gazing upon Fumitan's bespectacled face, Kudelia noted how tired she looked, and there was something else, something she could not discern in Fumitan's eyes that made Kudelia slightly frown. Her normally immaculate appearance was in disarray. Her deep blue Victorian-styled bustle with a white buttoned-down front where the drapery was tucked inside an odd choice of brown knee-length boots were ruffled and soiled, and she was clutching her right arm. Her trademark stoicism and demeanor were offset by her tiredness and bags under her eyes. Her black hair that was usually held in a formal bun had random stray hairs sticking out; some of them fell loosely into her face.

Seeing Fumitan's awful appearance, Kudelia's breath hitched. She nervously rubbed her thumb against the back of her hand. "Where were you? I was worried."

Fumitan gripped her right arm tighter as her face scrunched minutely. She noticed where Kudelia's gaze was focused, and she shook her head. Kudelia was about to rush to her when Fumitan spoke, stopping her in her place.

"Do not worry. It is just a scratch. But rather than that, I am sorry. I was ordered to contact Mr. Bernstein first in an emergency. I am sorry for my absence."

Kudelia opened her mouth, then, stopped, fumbling for the words that were at the tip of her tongue. Relief and thankfulness flooded her, making her heart flutter in gratefulness. Her father really cared about her safety, really cared about her, after all their fights and disagreements. Kudelia lied her hand on her heart.

"What did father say?"

Fumitan looked at her, her expression still tired, still impassive, and Kudelia could not read anything else from her. "He was very worried. He wants you back right away."

Kudelia felt like a knife had run through her. She could not betray these children, not after so much had happened only hours ago. She balled her fists. "I cannot do that yet."

Fumitan's eyes widened; confusion came, and her eyes asked why.

Kudelia exhaled deeply. "The trip to Earth was supposed to be done in secrecy. Only mother and father were supposed to know where I was. Someone… someone else had to have known. There is no doubt the target of Gjallarhorn's attack was me. And father, who is usually against my actions… was supportive this time."

Kudelia's heartfelt emotions for her father dissolved, revealing something, to her, she had denied all along. "I do not want to think of this."

The drop of clarity that brought a ripple of incertitude crept on Kudelia. It troubled her deeply, and to think the ones responsible, whom she only confided to, were her parents – her father – broke her heart. Her father Norman and she were always at odds with each other. Norman wanted nothing more for Kudelia to continue her studies, silent on the issues of Mars's governance and corruption, the endless poverty and colonialization that spiraled out of control. Norman wanted Kudelia isolated from the rest of Mars's citizenry except those that were in power, those like him.

Her father had given Kudelia everything she desired, but that did not make her happy. It should have been, it was supposed to be, but learning about Mars and her citizens, she wanted them to have the same prosperity as her, to be as equal as her. To think that her father sold her out, she couldn't stomach thinking about it. Her father wasn't that type of person; he could never betray her like this… But Kudelia was smarter than this, and she knew, at bottom, the ones that she trusted the most, that were supportive of her endeavors, did not truly believe in her.

Norman Bernstein was a selfish man, and now Kudelia could see how her stepmother's obliviousness and disassociation with everyone instead of the elites, her condescension for the poor and impoverish, and her privileged background from Mars's aristocracies, attracted her father. They both wanted to lavish in their wealth. Kudelia felt the sudden urge to contact him - she had to know! If her father was the one who told Gjallarhorn, then -

"Miss." Kudelia blinked. She returned her gaze back on Fumitan whose observant eyes probably knew what was going on in her head. Fumitan always seemed to be in the know somehow, which was why Kudelia treasured her. Fumitan knew her best.

"I understand," Kudelia said at last. "But I cannot return to my father unless I confirm that."

Fumitan's impassive expression lessened, softening her features. Kudelia liked her more when her expression opened like this; it made her easier to read and understand. It did not feel like a barrier separated her between her and her maid.

"I understand," said Fumitan, "However… there is no point in staying here."

"That is…"

The door behind Fumitan slid open and in walked Mikazuki. His young face, which normally was stoic, seemed uncharacteristically serious. His wild, chin-length, black hair swayed with the briskness of his walk and his deep, penetrating, blue eyes swept the room, then, found her form, a question or were it an accusation on his upraised brow. His gaze tore from her and he moved with purpose in the room.

Kudelia stuttered for words. Her heart was beating fast, and it threatened to beat even faster the more she stared at the short boy. "Mi-Mikazuki, well… Thank you for protecting me."

Mikazuki didn't seem to hear her as he knelt by a small metal box. His large hands travelled over the box, and he shook it. He opened it up and nodded to himself. He picked up the box and the contents jingled.

"I don't need thanks," replied Mikazuki, offhandedly, as he started walking to the door that led deep inside the base.

"But because of me, so many people…"

Mikazuki froze in place. He turned his head towards her, and his blue eyes morphed into hardened sapphires. "Seriously, cut it out."

Kudelia looked surprised at the harshness in his tone. His tone, so far that she'd known him this morning, had always been leveled, if not condescending, even when he prepared for combat. This new tone cut her bone deep and chilled her blood.

Mikazuki watched her. Time stopped and all Kudelia saw were those cold blue eyes, and she trembled under their intensity. "They all died because of one mere person like you? They gave their lives for you? Don't you dare look down on my comrades."

His glare paralyzed Kudelia. "Those guys… Those strong guys that came to help, to fight the enemy, they weren't here for you. If you can only think of yourself when others are in need, then you're just a coward."

Without another glance, Mikazuki left for the door, leaving a stunned Kudelia and a silent Fumitan. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. The sound of Kudelia heartbeats rose to her ears. She shook. She shook so badly she couldn't ball her hands into fists.

A coward he called her. Was she that? A selfish coward who only thought of her own wellbeing than others? His words cut deeply into Kudelia.

"Fumitan. Fumitan, have I been wrong all this time? I thought I – I thought if I shared in these children's lives, I could be their greatest ally, and we could find better solutions to solving Mars's problems, but I…" – Kudelia looked down, afraid of meeting Fumitan's watchful gaze, afraid of knowing what she would say about her own obliviousness. Fumitan said nothing, but Kudelia didn't need her voice to know how wrong she had been.

"He's right, isn't he Fumitan? I did not know anything. I was just an ignorant young lady who thought she was better than them. Thought that she knew better for them. But that is why I want to know. I want to know these children even more. But… Those eyes… It was like he could see right through me. Like he was laughing at me." Kudelia's voice broke at end, so overwhelmed with emotion that drowned her.

"Young Miss," Fumitan spoke softly, after a moment of silence. Kudelia raised her eyes to her. "If you want to know more about them, then step outside of your own world. Step into their world and see what they see. Hear what they hear. Feel what they feel. Sometimes we need to leave our places of comfort, the spaces we cage ourselves in, to find something new within ourselves that wasn't there before."

Fumitan walked to the glass door and opened it. Kudelia looked at her unsurely, and then outside – to the chaos and death and destruction, the world she sought to understand; the world that had spit her back into her comfortable bubble. Feeling like invisible strings were pulling her body, she slowly let her feet guide her out the door.

A somber, reddish-orange dusk had come upon the sky, the light, in its entirety, lit everything. Nothing escaped from its glow, and it was this glow, in all its hellish glory that bore down on Kudelia after leaving the building. It was like the world had crashed on Kudelia, and she was left, all alone, to make sense of the devastation.

A steady wind blew in and she wrapped her arms around herself, pulling on her long-sleeved, white shirt for warmth. She had changed out of her red dress during the invasion into more appropriate clothes she had packed before she left Chryse Autonomous Region. She wore a long-sleeved white shirt, a slouching brown belt that sat loosely on her hips, green cargo pants that ended at her ankles, and black slippers. Her voluminous blond hair was tied in a ponytail.

The smell of devastation rankled her nose. It was acrid, and although the wind had whisked most of it away, the smoke and gunpowder still lingered in the air, unforgotten, and as an important reminder: war and death could never be expunged away. It always left an imprint, whether physical or mental.

Kudelia's feet took her between the armored and lined beige mobile workers. The intimidating and cold mobile workers, machines of steel and death, glared down at her. To Kudelia, they seemed defiant in the dusk. They shined golden red, like fire had swept on them – or, in her mind, as if they were still on the battlefield.

Her eyes roamed the long barrels of the 30mm machine guns and newly replenished 8-tube missile pods, the armaments pointed toward the sky like soldiers saluting. They made an intimidating sight. Mechanical vessels of death. These were the children's weapons, these were their hands and feet, and these were their bodies and souls.

She got closer to one, putting her hand along its frame. The reddish golden glow did not bring warmth to the steel: it could never bring warmth, nor did it have the means to. As her hand slid against the armor, she noticed its veteran injuries: gray metal scrapes and dents scarred the surface, the paint cracked, peeling, and weathered.

As she went down the mobile workers, she was soon at the crest of the hill. Yawning before her was the battlefield. Although most of Gjallarhorn's and Chryse Guard Security's wreckage had been cleaned up, she could still see the ravaged combatants, their mobile workers their coffins – or what was left of them – sticking out of the dirt like broken tombstones. The smoke had gone out on some, but they remained visibly clear and completely silent. It was unnerving.

Within the battlefield Gjallarhorn's Grazes lay in ruin, their limbs and bodies, on all sides of the base, were separated and oil oozed from their bodies, soaking the red soil brown. The scene was ghastly, and to think those children were able to do this was not lost on Kudelia. No - even the ravaged battlefield, filled with debris and littered large shell casings – so many! – and the soil was rendered with thick and long lacerations, only seemed to make the image starker. She could see in the distance, mobile workers attached with flatbeds moving destroyed workers and the body parts of the Grazes to depots for who knows what. She speculated CGS would scavenge the parts or reuse them for something. They were a PMC, after all. Anything of use was reused, recycled, or traded.

She then walked to the damaged defense tower. Glass and debris surrounded the structure. Looking up, Kudelia saw the result of the damage. A large chunk was missing from the middle, and the windows at the top, from the shockwave of the artillery strike, had caused the glass to come crashing down, and large spiderweb-like cracks ran up and down the building.

As Kudelia got closer, she came across a young boy with shaggy blond hair in the front and dark brown in the back. He had a small bandaged over his cheek. He wore a white tank top tucked inside gray, fatigue-pants that were rolled up at the ankles, and black combat boots. He was crouching on the ground, meticulously picking up glass and debris with black gloves and putting them in a black bag. Next to him was another mobile worker with a flatbed full of large black bags filled with Kudelia assumed was debris and glass.

Kudelia watched the boy. He was smiling to himself as he moved from object to object, collecting one thing after another. Kudelia wondered why he was smiling, what was he happy about? What happiness could be found from this destruction?

And then Kudelia saw: He wasn't really smiling; it was more of a sad smile, the one where one puts on to hide their pain. He started crying softly but would swiftly shake his head and angrily wipe his tears away on his forearm.

"Stupid Danji," the boy murmured. "Why? Why did you have to go and do that to yourself? I should have been the one to do it instead of you. I should have been… should have been…" The boy stopped abruptly and wiped his eyes again, sighing. He looked out into the hours-old battlefield, sadness displayed on his face, his lips trembling then pulling into a tight frown to hold back the pain.

Kudelia could not help herself at this moment, feeling the boy's ache. "Um… I."

The boy, finding he wasn't alone, turned to her swiftly, hazel eyes wide, in shock. "H-Hello," he stuttered out.

"I – do you need help?" Kudelia asked. She stepped forward insistently; her emotions emboldened her to assist. There had to be something she could do, something her hands could mend, to ease this boy of his pain. "Is there anything I can do?"

The boy at first did not know what to say, but he seemed to have something on his mind. He then shook his head – which made Kudelia frown in dismay – but his expression soon brightened. "No. No, if Mr. Todo or Mr. Sasai saw someone helping me" – his expression turned inward, and he frowned – "I'm afraid I'll be punished. It's best for me to do it alone. But thank you, um… Miss – "

"Kudelia."

"—Kudelia. I appreciate it."

The boy returned to his work; however, Kudelia would not let things be. Her greatest trait was her stubbornness to stick to issues larger than herself. It was also her greatest weakness for stubbornness led to rigidity and singlemindedness. "Are you all right -?"

The boy stopped again and turned to her. "Oh. I'm Takaki Uno. I…" Takaki paused, seemingly unsure how to respond. "I honestly don't know. I – I'm trying to be strong for the younger kids, they're scared too. I'm in charge of managing the younger ones since they're too young to fight. I'm happy to be alive, I guess.

"I lost a good friend, Danji," – Takaki wiped his eyes hastily – "but it could have been a lot worse, I could have been gone – then Fuka wouldn't have anyone else. At least we all didn't die."

Takaki looked over Kudelia, to something behind her. "It was thanks to those guys and the Third Group."

Kudelia followed Takaki's gaze to the five mobile suits on the hill, the conquerors of the battle, their bodies lying on their backs, their armor gleaming menacingly and triumphantly from the dusk's waning sunlight. She first saw the mobile suit Mikazuki piloted; it was still on its knees. Then she saw four more of them, all looking the same but noticeably different, like brother suits. One lone figure, wearing a blue tank top tucked into loose white pants with a black sash, sat atop of a machine, a tablet in his hand.

He looked to be doing maintenance. Occasionally, he would stand and travel across the body of his machine, open some sort of a hatch, and fix something. As if feeling their stare, he stopped his task and his dark eyes on his calm face, zoomed in their direction. He watched them briefly before returning to his task.

"Who are they?" Kudelia asked. She had never seen those suits before. They were like Mikazuki's mobile suit – intimidating but more artistically designed and awfully garish. They were striking in their boldness against the weathered red of the Martian soil, their paint grand and arresting. Kudelia almost compared it to a child's picture book.

Takaki shrugged. "I don't know, I don't even know why they came and yet they did. They fought with Mr. Mikazuki and beat back Gjallarhorn. You should have seen them! They were amazing!" Takaki's voice had taken on childish delight but soon deflated.

He looked to the ground. "I wish I had that kind of power. I could protect my comrades, you know. No one would have to lose their lives, like Danji."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Takaki," Kudelia said softly, reaching out to comfort the boy, but stopped, feeling something familiar pull at her thoughts.

It came as a rush of nostalgia and she was overtaken by the emotions of that day, remembering with clarity her own speech to the masses at the Noachis July Assembly at the Noachis University, in 322 PD, her last year in college. Kudelia remembered the day like it was just yesterday. Her confidence, which had felt like tempered steel, bolstered her on as she spoke truth to the crowd of thousands. She remembered every attentive and eager face, the fear she had saw and had cut through when she had ended her speech.

The speech was a changing point for her future on Mars. It was to deliver kids like Takaki into the arms of freedom and safety from exploitation. Naively, Kudelia had believed she had made a difference. When her mind flashed back on that day, as she stared at Takaki's face, she realized what that day had meant.

"After the long Calamity War, Mars was divided and governed by the four economic blocs. The four economic blocs, seeking to profit from Mars's untapped resources and minerals, exploited her people. This continued for millennia and still continues unchecked and out of control, the wealth gap increasing astronomically each year. As a result, poverty spread across Mars.

"The effects of Earth's colonization have left its victims trapped in an endless cycle of poverty and violence. The majority of these victims are children. And even now, many are dying. They are just innocent children. But they are used as disposable tools in our world. They are preyed on and used for nefarious and deadly purposes – war, child sexual slavery, prostitution, servitude, human trafficking, and child labor – all crimes against children. All crimes against humanity.

"They are forced into these tragic situations through economic, political, and social factors by Earth's four economic blocs, backed by their military hand Gjallarhorn, as they slowly eat away our economy and resources until we are starved and left in irreversible deprivation. We cannot be silent about this! To be silent, to go with the status quo, is only to doom us in the end. No. We have a voice, and it's the voice that we carry within us, always, and it must not be silent, must not be lulled into complacency and indifference! We must demand an end to this! Independence is our only answer! Autonomy, Martian autonomy, must be demanded, and we must govern ourselves to end child poverty. If there is any hope in the darkness, I pray that hope will guide us to a freer future. Hope is…"

Kudelia's hand gently fell to her side, and she smiled sadly at Takaki. "Miss Kudelia, where are you – Ah!"

Takaki cried out in pain as a baton struck him over his injured cheek. He crashed to the ground. Standing over him was Mr. Sasai, a man she had briefly met when she had arrived at the base yesterday. He had shown her to Maruba and Mr. Gunnel. He had been formerly polite then. Now, a darkened expression had overcome Mr. Sasai as he glared down at the boy, his baton meeting his open hand in impatient pats.

Sasai's uncharacteristically ugly face became uglier as he stood over Takaki, scowling, "You useless space rat – who told you to stop? Idiot!"

Sasai pushed the rising Takaki down with his foot. Takaki grunted from the blow, his hand coming to rest on his now bruised cheek.

"What are you doing?" cried Kudelia.

Sasai, apparently surprised, either by Kudelia's presence or surprised at being questioned – Kudelia could not discern, - relented, but not before glaring at Takaki, who was now spitting out blood on the ground.

"I'm sorry you had to see that Young Miss. But, you know, space rats must be disciplined. If their minds go astray, they start to think that they could slack off. They'll get lazy, and we can't afford to be caught off-guard again."

The sheer dismissiveness of his words caused Kudelia to bellow out, "Takaki was only talking to me because I wanted to help!"

Mr. Sasai looked at Kudelia as if she was a ghost. It seemed Sasai was far removed from comprehending a kind gesture. He continued giving her a baffling look. "Why in the world would you want to help a space rat?"

Seeing Kudelia's stunned silence, he shook his head angrily. "Whatever. You nobles gotta be nice to the poor folk huh. You gotta feel happy somehow, eh? But you see," – Sasai raised Takaki's head up with his baton, - "These space rats aren't children – they're not even poor folk. They're things – nothing. We pay them pretty well, but in doing so, they gotta obey any order we tell them to.

"They're a bit more expensive than human debris, but that's cost of finding good working lads willing to fight for money. So, if I wanna hit him, I can; he was disobeying his orders. If he wanna leave, he can, but he knows what will happen if he does," Sasai mocked Takaki while patting his injured cheek. He smiled smugly at a fuming Kudelia.

Sasai's smile was like looking at a squirrel as his overly large front teeth displayed when he opened his mouth. Kudelia shook in anger. Not seeing Kudelia's furious and disgusted expression, or simply not choosing to, Sasai continued merrily:

"Space rats have behavior problems, which is why we beat them. Like wild animals, they need to be restrained and beaten to know their place. Otherwise, they'll misbehave and cause a ruckus. We'll lose money because of their behavior. We can't have that. They gotta learn the works of discipline. The world isn't kind – and neither are we, and if you work here, then you gotta follow the rules."

Sasai's expression turned vengeful, and he raised his baton up. Kudelia watched horrifyingly as he lowered again to Takaki's wide eyes, the weapon soaring with hated purpose down on the boy. Kudelia reached her hand out to stop the momentum of the swing. She couldn't let this go on any further.

Kudelia did not care if she was going to get hit in the process. She would rather be hit than to watch harm come to a child. She was determined not to be a bystander, determined to act at the call or plea of another. However, the baton stopped an inch from Takaki's head.

Kudelia stared hard at the weapon and the hand that had stopped it from its ill-fated journey. She followed the pale-yellow hand to the face of the boy on one of the mobile suits. His dark eyes stood out on his ovular face, and they were intense. Compared to the muscular CGS children, he was sinewy, and his clothes reflected those of an outsider.

"Isn't that excessive, coming from a weakling like yourself?" came the boy's dark and cool tone.

"Who the hell are you? Let me go!" Sasai shouted, trying to yank his hand away.

The teen's grip tightened on his wrist and his other hand went to Sasai's wrist just as Sasai was about to deliver a blow to the boy's head with his free hand. The boy merely exerted some force on Sasai's wrist, forcing him to drop his baton and sink to his knees. Sasai moaned in pain as his hand bent toward his wrist.

Although the boy's dark eyes stood calm and firm, there was something else flickering in his orbs. To Kudelia, it felt heavy and dark. "Weaklings like you don't deserve to have power."

"Please—please stop! Please stop! I'm sorry! I'm sorry," Sasai begged and pleaded repeatedly as his wrist bent forward, his eyes bulged in pain, and sweat clung to his craven face. The boy's expression did not change; hatred, dislike, sympathy, or pity, never made its appearance. The boy simply watched Sasai like watching the clouds, as the man continued to grovel on his knees.

"Fine. Get out of my sight." The boy let go and Sasai shrunk away, scurrying across the base, tossing hateful looks at his offender over his shoulder until he was out of sight.

The teen turned to Takaki, taking his hand, and lifting him up to his feet. "Men like him run when they encounter someone more powerful. They're like barking dogs: they think they have power in their bark and fangs, but they're only a miniscule threat to another bigger dog that doesn't just bark but also bites."

The boy turned to leave. "Hey! Thank you! For what you did! You were very kind!" Kudelia complimented gratefully.

The boy looked at her, and she, again, felt like she was staring into Mikazuki's eyes. They have the same eyes, she thought, eyes that had seen so much, eyes so unlike her own. Once again, she felt there was an invisible wall between them, and she couldn't find a way to get over it.

The boy's expression soon had a look of interest. He hummed to himself thoughtfully, appraising her appearance and by his eyes gleamed, he seemed to draw something of a conclusion. Kudelia fidgeted slightly under his gaze. "So, you're the one they were after," he said softly.

The boy then snorted. "I don't need thanks." And he turned again. Takaki raised his voice.

"What is your name, Mister?"

"Call me Wufei," said the now-named boy.

Wufei finally left, heading towards his mobile suit. As Kudelia's eyes trailed after Wufei, she heard something in the distance like a shuttle. The sound rumbled her ears and shook the ground. She looked up.

A vibrant-colored, large aircraft came towards them and landed across the mobile suits. Its features resembled that of a mechanical bird. A large gust of wind came from its engines, and Kudelia used her hands to shield against the current as it set itself on the ground. The cockpit opened, and a boy with wild brown hair came out from the cockpit to greet Wufei.

There was a moment of silence, but it was broken by Takaki's squeal. "Oh, man! I can't wait to tell Ride and Yamagi about this! Wufei was so cool! I had never seen Mr. Sasai like that! Never! And that mobile suit can turn into an aircraft, too!"

He soon paused and blinked, his energy vanishing. "But I need to finish cleaning this up first." Takaki turned to Kudelia. "Well, um, it was nice talking to you Miss Kudelia."

"Takaki, are you sure you're okay?" Kudelia asked, seeing him in his excitement massage his cheek. It looked painful as blood leaked from his mouth. Takaki waved her off, telling her it would heal and that he couldn't be slacking again. What he didn't say was enough implicit meaning to Kudelia of how his superiors would treat him when her presence was absent.

Nodding numbly Kudelia was off, thoughts of Takaki's treatment lingering on her mind, Wufei, and Sasai's words, words she had once advocated against. Seeing the treatment of these Martian children with her own eyes, everything seemed to click for Kudelia.

"This is what I'm advocating for," she realized, the photos she had seen, the words she had read, the television reels she had saw, had only become more visceral when she saw, with her own eyes, the condition of these children.

Fumitan was right. Kudelia had to leave her sanctuary to see. She felt empowered. She felt terrible. She felt sadness. She felt so many things, but through these emotions she felt the fog of uncertainty leave her. She had no doubt of what she must do, of what she must fight for, and what was hanging in the balance if it all remained as it was: the same: an oppression that feasted on innocents and the downtrodden.

Then, in the distance, Kudelia heard laughter, distinct girlish laughter. The laughter sounded strange over this morbid battlefield like a clash of two different languages and cultures. It sounded carefree and innocent and reminded her of her younger days in primary and early secondary school, before the Martian independence movement swept her off her feet. She didn't realize there were more girls on the base. If she remembered correctly, she had only seen one.

Kudelia assumed Orga was the only one, though, in it all, she doubted Orga would chortle like this. Orga seemed more boyish in nature and lacked femininity and softness. Her voice was rough and coarse like the desert itself. It would be a surprise of a lifetime if she had a girlish laugh, let alone showed such vulnerability in public.

The peal of laughter grew as Kudelia made her way to the mess hall. At the kitchens she found the sources of the disturbance.

"This looks like a butt!" A chorus of girlish giggles soon followed, echoing into the solemn air of the base. The giggles danced and soared in the air, vanishing Kudelia's heavy baggage of the day. She felt lighter and her mood a bit brighter.

"Stop," another voice came, just as young, just as feminine, and a bit sterner. "That's food. Don't play with it."

Kudelia came upon three different girls, huddled around a long, rectangular, kitchen table. The peals of laughter were coming from two twin girls. One was holding a yellow tomato, and she was staring hard at it as if she could not believe what she was holding. She had brown hair in braided pigtails, shiny green eyes, and a pink shawl draped over a beige button-down dress, which was open at the bottom showing her blue pants and black slippers. Her twin, who was uproariously laughing next to her, had her hair in a ponytail, her dress fully buttoned and her pink shawl, which was also over her shoulders, formed a large bowtie. She held her stomach as her laughs grew louder.

There was another girl who was a bit taller and moving what seemed to be food from the ground to the table. The girl had short curly hair the color of ash that framed her small face and beautiful, large, ruby eyes. She wore a light, baby blue jacket over a white shirt and short, rusty, orange shorts; black stockings crawled up her legs and sank into large, brown, scruffy boots.

"Um… I am sorry to interrupt but I heard talking and I wanted to see…" Kudelia paused, feeling embarrassed and shy as the girls' attention focused on her.

The twin with the single ponytail cocked her head to the side, watching Kudelia as if she was the most interesting thing she had ever seen. Her twin turned to the ruby-eyed girl. "Who is she? Is she your friend, Atra?"

"Yeah. Do you know her?" echoed the twin with the braided ponytails.

Atra shook her head softly; her dangling curls bounced, and she gave Kudelia an odd look. She was just as perplexed as her friends. "No… I don't think so, Cookie. I don't believe I know her, Cracker."

Kudelia stepped forward. "I am sorry for interrupting. I am Kudelia Aina Bernstein. I heard you talking outside the kitchen, and I didn't think there were any girls around here besides Orga."

"Kudelia?" said Atra, her face giving way to a puzzled expression. The girl seemed to be searching for something in her name and face.

Kudelia laughed slightly as the three girls watched her. She didn't mind being watched but the silence was getting to her. The girls didn't seem upset, on the contrary, they looked confused and excited and curious. Maybe they weren't used to seeing another girl here. "I heard you talking, so…"

Atra eyes brightened in recognition. She nearly dropped her sack but hastily re-caught it. "Oh! The one in the news a lot? You're the girl the reporters can't stop talking about!"

Cookie smiled brightly, ecstatic. "She's a celebrity? I want an autograph!" Her sister, Cracker, echoed the same, both raising their hands in unison as if eagerly waiting for a teacher to call on them.

Kudelia embarrassingly smiled. She could feel her cheeks heat up. She still felt uncomfortable to her rising fame among the civilians on Mars. Sometimes throngs would surround her when she was about, yelling, screaming, touching, all enamored by her fame and popularity.

But seeing their bright faces, she couldn't help but feel the tension releasing from the day. The dreadfulness of the battlefield seemed only a distance away if she chose to stay inside this innocent sanctuary.

---

Orga was first to the storage room door. The metal door was closed, but she knew what lied behind it, and whom. She stared at the door for a moment, waiting, feeling the air in the hallway grow thick with foreboding tension. The tension was oppressive. She pocketed her hands into her jacket pockets and sneered at the door.

"Damn that man."

A chorus of footfalls clicking against the floor caught Orga's attention. They moved across the floor softly under the dim lighting. She glanced behind her. She saw Biscuit first, his face determined and grim.

Behind Biscuit was Shino. He was a tall teen with messy, short brown hair, and he wore an orange tank top under his green jacket, which hung loose over his muscular chest. Usually gregarious, loud, and good-natured, cheer was far from his face, as his face rivalled that of Biscuit's. Besides Shino was Eugene, looking anxious and angry. He shot Orga a concerned look, then his eyes found the door and hardened. Coming in last was the silent and brooding, black-and spiky-haired Akihiro.

Out of all four of them, Akihiro was the definition of fit. Every muscle on his body was toned and defined and hard like granite. He was a workout enthusiast who trained more than anyone else on the base – well, she inwardly snorted, Mika could rival Akihiro's persistence. Akihiro was usually cold and withdrawn and he rarely if anything said how he felt – unless challenged to a competition. Competitions brought out another side to Akihiro he seldomly showed to the outside world.

Akihiro's face showed no emotion. He wore the same uniform; however, a red stripe marked his green jacket, indicating his status as human debris, a human slave who had no rights or will, just property to be bought and used. CGS had seven human debris employed. They were treated more viciously than the orphaned employees because their value amounted to the total worth of space debris: absolutely nothing. They were so cheap to sell and buy, Orga didn't doubt Maruba would have bought more if he had found a stable market for them.

Orga eyed them one by one, eyes drifting from face to face. Everyone met her yellow eyes in a silent agreement: they were ready for the confrontation. "Let's get this over with," said Orga, finally.

She brought up her hand and knocked on the door. "Captain Orga Itsuka of the Third Group, along with her staff officers, is reporting in."

Silence, then, "You may enter."

Orga and company filed into the room. The storage room was semi-dark, and the three lights that hung from the ceiling, could barely ward off the darkness and shadows at the far corners of the room. Inside the room resided most of the First Corps, sulking against the wall, their eyes hostile – some vengeful; some indifferent – but most angry, angry at her anyways.

The coward Sasai was there, pissed, looking equally as stupid as his face. He gave Orga an awkward, knowing smile. It was unpleasant, but he seemed to be rubbing his wrist, his mouth grimacing in pain. Todo was on Sasai's left, looking as if he wanted to be some place far away.

The man was a coward, too, but in all that he did around the base, he always made feeble attempts to punish them, that is, unless the higher ups were looking over his back. Gunnel was in the middle, his hands on his hips, and his fingers tapping impatiently as if he couldn't wait to begin. Gunnel's face said it all: there was an eager malice and retribution in those dark, ugly eyes of his.

Let's get this over with, Orga thought, as she and her group stood near the door. "Form rank against the wall," Gunnel commanded.

Orga and company took their place against the wall, - Orga, Biscuit, Eugene, Shino, and Akihiro - shoulders back, and chests up, feet shoulder length apart, chins up. Like they were taught. Like they were beaten to do.

"Now!" Gunnel barked, pacing across the room, his steps measured, and his face accusatory. "Which one of you did it? Which one of you planted the fucking flair that made us a decoy for Gjallarhorn? Who blew our positions?"

No one spoke, and Orga could see that bothered Gunnel the most. Gunnel needed a scapegoat, and the fact that he couldn't get an answer made his jaw clench even harder. His dark blazing eyes ponderously moved over their forms, pausing at each person. His glower became murderous. Gunnel grunted loudly, demandingly, at their rebellious silence.

Gunnel angrily stomped his foot. "ANSWER ME!"

Seeing no reaction Gunnel swiftly focused on Orga. She knew what was coming next. He spat on the ground. "Captain Orga Itsuka, leader of the Third Group, step forward."

Orga tensed but smoothly fell into place, placing herself in front of her men. The First Corps woke up. Their bodies seemed to tense as if to spring forward. Entertainment was here to satiate their loss, a feast to consume their empty and dispassionate hearts. And it all started with her.

Gunnel eyed Orga, his ugly face expressionless but that dark, hunger lingered in his eyes. There seemed to be a moment where Orga thought he wasn't going to do anything. She was wrong.

"Fool!"

Gunnel's first punch came like a rocket and met Orga's split lip viciously. Surprise came, then pain pushed its way through her face. The punch threw her head back as his knuckles smashed against her lips. She fell from the blow to the ground, her hands catching her fall. "You made a fool of us. You used me – us!"

Orga wiped the blood that ran down her lips. She spat some to her left, but her yellow eyes never left Gunnel's face. Gunnel seemed visibly dismayed that he could not get a rise from her. She would never sink to his level. To show physical defiance to defend herself would give Gunnel and the rest permission to tear into her.

"You're talking about when the First Corps went for the pincer attack," Orga said coldly. "I heard you were attacked in an unfortunate accident. Why is that our problem?"

Gunnel's dark eyes flashed at Orga's resistance as she stood up, and, another harsh blow came, this time to her nose. The pain came and it was sharp as the skin on her nose broke. Orga staggered back. "Listen to you babble, you pitiful space rat," scowled Gunnel.

Gunnel's eyes seemed to scour the others behind Orga. Orga looked back briefly, and her comrades were glowering, some half-shaking in rage. "What's with that look, space rats? Do you want some too?" encouraged Gunnel mockingly.

Something struck Orga. She would never let him touch them. "Only me… Just me should be fine," she grounded out.

Gunnel looked down at her, and Orga never hated him more than this. "Is that so? Then…" The blows came more roughly, and they pounded her body like she was a mere sandbag. Gunnel wanted to break her. They came to her face and to her stomach and Gunnel's hands roughly grabbed her by the lapels. She felt weightless as her legs dangled off the floor and then felt the air rush through her mouth as her back sputtered in pain when she hit the ground, skidding a few feet from Gunnel.

Gunnel was breathing hard, his fists still balled, covered in Orga's blood. Sweat and anger, lust and fear, swirled in his dark eyes. "You're lucky the calculations added up correctly. A pity. I wanted to enjoy myself some more." Without looking at her, Gunnel opened the door and left. His silent but gleeful entourage followed suit like lapdogs at the heels of their master.

Orga moved slowly to her hands and feet. Something inside her chest moved and raised upward, building inside her mouth. She coughed and spat more blood on the dirty gray floor. She wiped her face with her sleeve. She could hear her comrades' footsteps run to her.

"Orga…" Biscuit said quietly, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Rats! I won't forgive them!" Shino shouted and stomped indignantly.

Orga smiled, and her smile widened her split lip. The blood oozed down her chin. Orga wiped the blood away. "That's right. We won't forgive them. Maybe it's perfect."

Orga shakily stood up. "Meet me by the mobile workers outside in five. I have an idea."

The group nodded and left. Orga went to clean herself the best she could. She soon found them by the mobile workers, their shadows dancing in the yellow dusk, morphing into monstrous silhouettes. Their burning silence was music to her ears.

"You're all here. Good. It's time for us to lead CGS," Orga stated without preamble. Her mouth ached and that burning reminder only grew to serve Orga's ire.

A stunned silence greeted her statement. Her comrades looked at her as if she was out of her mind. Eugene looked taken aback. "Us? CGS? Orga, you're -!"

Orga turned swiftly to Eugene. "You said it before, Eugene. About taking over this place. I've been thinking about what you said then, 'that we're no more than toys.' Now is our chance. We finally wrest power from them and claim it for ourselves, for our survival."

Eugene nodded unsurely. "I did, but in this sort of situation? We lost many comrades in the Third Group… we don't have the numbers like we did before the battle."

Orga clenched her fists. "Exactly!"

She looked around the group. "Maruba was quite a scum, but the First Corps guys are worse. You know this. They only think of our lives as collateral. And with their brains, business will go south. Then they will take on more dangerous jobs. We'll definitely be killed. Then they'll replace us like tools. We're expendable in their eyes and only worth the dirt on their boots."

Biscuit moved a little, shaking his head, worry dancing in his eyes. "But there are no jobs even if we leave here. Most of us don't have the education or qualifications any business will hire – and we're, to them, nothing but space rats."

Biscuit flicked his eyes over his shoulder, noting the very thing that challenged their situation, that made them nothing more than tools, and it protruded outward like a disfigured spinal column, a curse that kept them in manacles of the lowest caste: the whiskers. He sighed tiredly.

Eugene watched Orga, his stare was ponderous and thoughtful, but it was also full of grave resolution. "So, we have no other choices do we Orga? We have nowhere else to go."

"We always have choices, Eugene. It's just about making the right choice." Orga turned to Akihiro, who had remained silent and immovable, sitting atop a mobile worker.

"What will you do, Akihiro?"

Akihiro closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were steadfast. "We're human debris. We're here regardless of our will. I'll obey whoever is in charge. Even if it's them. Or you guys."

Akihiro jumped down from the worker and walked away. Orga smirked, she expected that answer. It was not a no or a yes, but that still left her room to work with. If they could seize power, Akihiro would surely join them. They were comrades, after all, and, more importantly, she valued him, and the other human debris more than the adults ever would.

Eugene gave Akihiro a smirk and placed his hands on his waist. "If that is so, let's have a strategy meeting. We need to be prepared and cover all our bases. We must be serious. No slip ups."

"What about Mikazuki?" Biscuit asked. "Did you discuss it with him? Do you think the G-Team would help out?"

Orga blushed. She had not really had time to talk with Mikazuki. Too much had happened, and she knew Mikazuki would want some alone time. "Oh! I forgot."

"How could you forget?" Biscuit whispered whilst rolling his eyes.

Orga looked to the kneeling Gundam. "If Mika is against this…" she said softly, "Then I'm sorry, but we'll cancel."

Eugene double turned, "What? Are you serious, Orga?"

Shino looked flabbergasted, dropping his hands to his sides from behind his head. "Orga? Are you sure? It's Mikazuki we're talking about, right?"

Still staring at the Gundam, Orga hardened her resolve. "That won't happen though. If I'm serious, then Mika will answer that. Quatre, Heero, Wufei, Duo, and Trowa, I don't know. I would like to keep them at arms-length for now. This is a CGS matter. No outsiders. I don't think they'll stand with us if it came down to it."

---

"Second Lieutenant Ein Dolton, Commander Coral requests your presence. Please report to the nearest terminal immediately for another debriefing," said an officer among the dreary noise of the wounded and dying.

The officer saluted and left the medical room. Ein gingerly sat up from his bed and undid his hospital gown. It pooled lazily to the floor in a small heap, leaving himself shirtless. He had his arm in a sling, and a white bandage wrapped around his forehead.

He was thankful those were the extent of his injuries. He hadn't been this roughed up since bootcamp. He slowly stood up and looked for a top. He needed to be presentable as Coral had a disdain for untidiness, no matter the condition of the soldier.

He found his shirt folded on a locker in front of his bed. The blood was cleaned, and it was pressed. He took his arm out of the sling and used his right hand to place the sling on the bed. He pushed the shirt over his head and angled his arm, awkwardly, through the sleeve.

He grimaced, feeling the strain of his arm move through the opening but succeeded in getting it through. Ein was grateful for small wins as it made him feel a little better than he had been since arriving to the base. He put his arm through the sling and felt himself put together, mostly. He looked around him and felt his anger boil once again at the wounded and dying in the room, the nurses and doctors speeding around the room in urgency like white blurs.

A blur. The word encapsulated how he felt and what he saw from the previous day's events. Images and feelings disconnected and in disarray, but all with the same fierce and terrible lasting feelings, plagued his mind. He had barely got any sleep over it. His mind wouldn't give an ounce of rest as it remained in a relentless state.

Ein sighed wearily and left the room, feeling slightly dizzy from the pace of the atmosphere. It was like walking through a hurricane of chaos. He walked down the corridor to the mobile suit bay. His booted feet clicked against the floor like distant echoes. He was at Chryse's main Gjallarhorn military base in the Lunae Planum, the strike team's forward operating base. The bay looked emptier without the hulking machines of his comrades. Ein found the scene gut-punching.

Ein paused, temporarily paralyzed at the empty slot where Lt. Crank's Graze had docked to from space. It was just empty, space, a void. It used to hold something of importance but that importance, still lingering, as if felt in the air, was somehow gone. He choked back a sob and clenched his fists.

He could cry later in the darkness of his room. Right now, he had to face his commander. He wrenched all the discipline of his years into a mask of impassiveness, even though inside despair clenched his soul in a terrible vice grip. Ein went to the terminal and activated it, using Commander Coral's frequency aboard the Gylfaginning orbital station.

Commander Coral's long and enraged face welcomed Ein. Ein swallowed deeply and saluted with his good arm. He had a feeling this debriefing would leave him with a vicious headache. As Ein gazed upon Coral's darkened expression, he braced himself for the worst.

Commander Coral was an older man in his late forties with a long nose and an equally larger forehead that seemed to rival the length of his ambition. He had an undercut with fading black hair swept to his left. His thin lips were upturned into a deep frown that barely contained his snarling teeth. His brown eyes seemed to darken and flicker with barely concealed wrath.

"Second Lieutenant Dalton. Report," Commander Coral grounded out. "Explain to me why this mission failed!"

Ein stammered for a moment, recalling the effects of the day, his mind retaking him through the battle and Crank's sacrifice. "I-I – It started at…"

Ein explained his position, Lt. Orliss's brashness into the battlefield after the mobile worker division was losing, and Orliss's impatience, and then the arrival of the new mobile suits. When he reached their appearance, Commander Coral stopped him with a dismissive hand. With a sharp tilt of his head, as if he were looking down on Ein, his verbal assailing commenced.

"You mean to tell me Gjallarhorn's Martian elite Mobile Suit Corps was blown away by Martian trash? Not just Martian trash, a PMC filled with inferior workers and mobile suits! You had one job and one job only! Destroy them – get rid of them! I sent an overwhelming force! Ten! Ten mobile suits and I return with only one? And ten percent of my mobile workers! Do you know what happens now? How much of a bind we are in? No! You don't!

"I wanted them gone! I prepared with ten suits just in case this happened! In case of reinforcements! But to be defeated by Martian shits like them – pathetic! Absolutely pathetic! I told Lieutenant Orliss to take this seriously, but what did he do? He got himself killed. Damn Stenjas and their arrogance! Damn them! This wasn't supposed to happen! This -!"

Ein took this all in, but he needed to speak. "Permission to speak, sir?"

"Speak?" Commander Coral laughed humorlessly, bitterly, and mockingly, in Ein's face. "What in the world do you have to say for yourself, you pathetic half-Martian?"

Anger came, and then Ein quelled it. "I-I want to avenge Lieutenant Orliss and Lt. Crank's deaths. I want to avenge my comrades' deaths. These monsters – these Martian monsters – these space rats killed them in cold blood. Lt. Crank always taught me that the true soul of Gjallarhorn was in its soldiers – we are one family, a single unit to protect the Earth and Earth's interests. I want to avenge them so this shame I feel as being the only survivor would go away."

Commander Coral's face darkened expression transformed into expressionless, then thoughtful. His brown eyes seemed to appraise Ein in a new light. "How interesting. Indeed. How interesting. A half-Martian throwing his brethren under the bus. Interesting. I think I was wrong about you, Ein. What you're thinking of right now, as noble as it is, is a fool's errand. I can't send anymore forces because we have auditing from the Inspection Regulatory Bureau upon us."

"But Kudelia Aina Burnstein –" Ein interjected.

"—will have to wait," Coral finished. "We can plan from here. I'm receiving all intelligence and data from the mobile worker divisions and your Graze's battle history, to formulate a counterstrategy to this menace. If we move now, they'll expect it, and I can't have more troops getting killed. You're to stay where you are for the time being. I need you healed for the coming operations. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Bernstein's planning on leaving Mars. We'll be ready for her up in space. If what you told me is true, then this situation bodes well for us. I'll see you there," Coral signed off, leaving Ein in a stunned silence.

The difficulties of his Martian blood had been Ein's reality all his life, and it still hurt being seen as less than a person. But Lt. Crank approved of him, and Coral? Coral saw something in him, Ein had somehow earned his respect, right? If he could prove his loyalty by defeating those monsters, then the path to success as a pilot and soldier was endless. He was sure of that.

Exceptional success led to humbling one's pride through adversity.

Blood did not make a warrior. It was their fighting spirit and will. Ein had learned that from Lt. Crank. His reverent words bolstered his spirit.

Ein soon found himself in the locker room where his mouth fell open in shock. There were two officers gathering the personal effects of his fallen comrades and storing them into boxes: pictures, mementos, cards, miscellaneous. They moved stoically, carefully, organizing the fallen's personals with saintly care. He saw an officer move to Crank's locker. He opened the locker and removed his formal uniforms, and a Gjallarhorn medal.

The medal was a golden horn and was awarded to those fighting against the Pirate Rebellion of 319 PD. The pirates had taken over the space lanes to Mars and were raiding Martian and Earthling transports. Gjallarhorn staged a massive operation against them called the Mjolnir Campaign. Twelve Gjallarhorn soldiers were lost in the subsequent battles. The pirates were obliterated, and Gjallarhorn regained dominant control of most of the primary space routes.

"Can I take this?" Ein said, referring to the horn. The officer looked at him questioningly. "Lt. Crank was my mentor. It would mean a lot if I could have something of his."

The soldier nodded compassionately, and Ein took it. The officers soon departed leaving Ein alone in the quiet locker room gazing at Crank's medal, silent tears streaming down his face.

---

The sky was beginning to turn a beautiful dark blue with luminescent stars awakening when Orga saw Mika. The boy was dutifully refueling the Gundam from a gas tanker attached to a mobile worker. He seemed no worse for wear, but looking deeply at him, Orga knew his mind was somewhere else than on his job.

Orga called his named. Letting go of the gas pump Mika's face brightened and a smile eclipsed his face as he turned to Orga. His deep blue eyes searched her face, always reading for something in her expression. When he had found it, he barked out an uncharacteristic, open laugh.

"You got beautiful," Mika laughed, and then returned to refueling the Gundam.

Orga smiled sincerely at him. She guessed her wounds and bruises did make her appearance more pitiable. She could live with that. "I guess."

Orga stopped by the boy and turned her eyes on the kneeling suit. This was the mobile suit Mika was piloting. Orga peered into its inactive green eyes and the eyes seem to light just for a second. Orga blinked, perplexed, and quite bothered by the display. She looked into its eyes again seeing nothing of the sort.

It must be a trick of the light or a malfunction, Orga imagined and put those thoughts aside. She would have Mr. Yukinojo and crew check it out when they had the time.

"Don't you want to say goodbye to your comrades that died," Orga said softly, still looking at the mobile suit.

Mikazuki stopped what he was doing and watched Orga. "No, it's alright. You said it a long time ago. 'You can see the dead when you're dead. So to keep the living alive, do everything you can.' Barbatos wants that."

Orga chuckled sadly. "Maybe I said something like that."

She had remembered saying that quite clearly. It was their first mission after joining CGS and they had suffered quite a loss then against a rival private military contractor group. She had said those words in loss and anger, trying to rationalize, despite her rigorous training, the consequences of joining this outfit.

Orga's gaze continued to watch the mobile suit. The light from the sinking golden sun outlined the crest of the mountain tops and shone its last light of day on Barbatos, its golden crown sparkling majestically. Orga was spellbound. She reached her right hand out to capture the golden light. She grabbed nothing, but in her hand, she felt warmth. An invisible power moved through her.

She turned and smiled at Mika. "Barbatos?"

Mika nodded and smiled knowingly, like he could read the machine's thoughts. He brought his eyes onto Barbatos. "Yeah. It's this thing's name."

Orga smirked. "Barbatos," she tested on her lips. It was a strange name. She could not recall if she ever heard it before.

"What did you think of those Gundam pilots?"

A strange look overcame Mikazuki as he gave Orga a look of confusion. "Gundam?"

Orga nodded, grinning, "That's what the G-Team referred to the Barbatos and their mobile suits. Although different, these machines bare a strong resemblance."

Mikazuki remained silent, thinking, then nodded to himself. "Strong. Interesting. They knew what they were doing."

Mikazuki frowned and looked pointedly at her. His blue eyes sharpened, looking like ice. Orga could feel the coldness from his expression roll off him. It was the look of cruelty and protectiveness.

"Are they a threat to you?"

Orga shook her head. "No. I just wanted to know what you thought. They are an interesting bunch."

A peaceful silence entered their conversation. To Orga, it felt nice, relaxing, as if all her troubles were somewhere else. Mika returned to fueling Barbatos. Orga knew the silence could not last for she needed Mika's commitment. Her heart trembled for a moment, but she silenced it with her hardened resolve.

"Hey Mika, I want you to do something." Orga unbuckled her handgun from her holster and, using her right hand, grabbed the barrel. She extended it towards Mika. Before Orga could say anything, Mika snatched the gun from her hand and began checking the weapon with mechanical efficiency.

Surprised, Orga blinked before chuckling softly. "You accepted before hearing it."

Mika responded but his attention was still glued on checking Orga's sidearm. "But it is something you decided; I'll do it," he said firmly.

A sad and grateful smile pulled at Orga's lips. "Listen to you."

Mika looked up and it was this obsequious and childish expression that churned Orga's insides. "What?" Mika questioned.

Orga shook her head and turned to the Gundam. She did not want Mikazuki to see her face, to see her need, her shame, and her gratitude. The vestiges of sunlight shined on Barbatos's eyes. They flickered green and then dark as the sun, finally, sank below the horizon.

"Nothing. Thank you."

---

Stationary in Mars's low orbit floated the Gylfaginning, Gjallarhorn's Martian orbital station that oversaw all Martian operations. The station was made of large, cylindrical modules that were divided into two sections toward the aft of the craft. The bow was a spherically designed and contained the bridge. Large solar panels flanked the sides of the station, capturing sunlight and storing energy. The station housed up to forty mobile suits it could use in defense of Earth's interest in space or sent to Mars.

The station lay in wait as a flash of light illuminated from the distant stars. The light grew closer to the orbital station, metal plating glinting sharply from the Martian light. A small, Gjallarhorn, Biscoe-class vessel flew into view of the station and docked inside the starboard hangar. The ship ramp opened without preamble, and two men soared out, heading towards the awaiting elevators. They entered the elevators quietly and it took them to bridge level.

Entering through the corridor, guided by revolving handles, the two men weaved their way forward. The first of the two men was Specialist Major Gaelio Bauduin, a man of superior birth and esteemed privilege. He was the son of Gallus Bauduin, the head of the Bauduin family and one of the Seven Star families ruling Earth's military police, Gjallarhorn.

Gaelio was a bright young man, who, usually, liked to relax more than work. He was very easygoing, talkative, but also impulsive and brash. His good and bad traits often collided when on the field, but he had enough emotional control to rein them in. At the age of twenty-two, Gaelio had made a name for himself in Gjallarhorn, as an auditor for Gjallarhorn's Inspection Regulatory Bureau and his combat feats on the battlefield during the Mjolnir Campaign had distinguished himself from his peers.

Gaelio also prided himself on his appearance, for a man's appearance, instilled into him by his father, was just as important as his actions. Just like his spotless record, his uniform was immaculate as his purple and well-groomed hair that he had spent endless time perfecting: it was swept to the side where a curled strand came from the top and floated pompously by his left jaw.

Gaelio's uniform was a one button breast opening, dancing in the colors of gold, white, black, and blue. He sported a black standing collar with gold piping the edges that flowed down the breast and ended at the coattail. A double gray belt wrapped around his waist and a rectangular golden buckle framed the middle. The Seven Stars emblem was proudly emblazoned on his left breast in bright gold with a light blue background. Golden shoulder coverings glinted brightly, and three golden bars were on his cuffs while white gloves covered his fingers. Gaelio's pants were a light blue with a single black stripe running down into his knee-length boots. Lastly, draped over his left shoulder was a dark blue cape that rippled as he moved through the corridor.

Gaelio's purples eyes found the man in front of him, whose cool green orbs were facing forward. The head audit inspector, his best friend, Major Specialist McGillis Fareed, wore a frown on his handsome face as he fiddled obsessively with his dangling blond bang. McGillis was also dressed in the same uniform but had a light blue cape over his left shoulder. He had short blond hair that was windswept to the side and a perfect, lonely, dangling bang fell into his eyes.

McGillis was the same age as Gaelio, and was the heir to the House of Fareed, another Seven Stars family. They were childhood friends. The first time Gaelio saw McGillis he had never seen a boy so dirty, untamed, and pitiful. He looked as if he came from the jungle. Initially, Gaelio had kept his distance – the boy looked untouchable, unapproachable, and possibly rabid, but it was his friend Carta Issue (bless her heart) that had warmed up to McGillis first, and then he did too when the boy started rivaling him in academics.

Gaelio soon discovered that McGillis was the illegitimate son of Izanario Fareed. Rumor had it McGillis was produced from an illicit affair Iznario had, no doubt his mother a poor whore living in destitution, with the condition he came from. Whatever McGillis's lineage was, it did not detract from his worthiness as Gjallarhorn's elite soldier. On the contrary, no matter if any nobles besmirched his birth, McGillis remained true to the Iznario family and Gjallarhorn's sworn duty of protecting the Earth. He was a genius in every sense of the word, and he embodied it proudly.

Gaelio envied McGillis. The man was nearly perfect in all that he did. He had charm and grace that gravitated others to him, but he could also be serious and coldhearted. He never seemed to care about his illegitimacy nor his aristocratic looks. He was a man of merit, intent, which had bought the fealty of the file- in-rank soldiers. It had also bought Gaelio's own, for his goals aligned in the same direction… and maybe, perhaps, to be acknowledged by someone as great as he.

On this trip, Gaelio was McGillis's escort on this mission to Mars. Gaelio was confident McGillis did not need an escort; he was perfectly capable of performing the auditing for Gjallarhorn's Martian Branch by himself. But Gaelio needed a break from the Earth and, - especially Carta and her pestering - he had wanted to assist the cleanup of corruption running rampant among some branches of Gjallarhorn in the Outer Sphere. Gjallarhorn was a large imperial military body, and they needed the manpower to audit any misuse of power, to, as McGillis would put it, "scrape the rot of depravity from Gjallarhorn's soul."

Speaking of cleansing Gjallarhorn, Gaelio had wondered about the ineptness of the Martian Branch. There were files in their records that seemed off. He suspected McGillis knew something about the discrepancy.

Gaelio asked, "McGillis, how long do you think this will take? Major Conrad has been rather quiet these last few months. His logistics and financial records have seemed consistent, but they don't quite match the files we got from your informant. I smell lies."

McGillis looked back, a humorless smile on his face. "We'll find out soon enough, Gaelio. Lies tend to crumble fast when their foundations are built on fabrication and deceit. A simple" – McGillis's green eyes smiled – "push brings it all tumbling down."

As they made their way to the bridge's entrance, Major Conrad stood in front of them in his red chief of branch uniform. He had two escorted guards with him. His arms were outstretched, and a welcoming grin was plastered on his face. Gaelio raised a delicate purple eyebrow. Conrad's grin was wider than he remembered, almost like the over-pleasing nobles back home, the ones who over-aggrandized their positions.

"Thank you for coming all this way, Specialist Majors, Fareed and Bauduin," Coral greeted pleasantly, giving a tip of his head in respect.

Gaelio smiled. "It's been a while, Major Coral,"— you've gotten considerably older and uglier than the last time we met. The stress hasn't been too good for you, thought Gaelio to himself, noting Coral's severe wrinkles on his forehead. It made him look hideous.

Coral nodded and motioned to the corridor. "It is a bit cramped here, but I have prepared a little party. Get a good rest and soothe the fatigue of travel. You can start your inspection when you're well rested."

"Thank you for your hospitality," McGillis said, his eyes quickly glancing around him, and then focusing on Coral.

Coral smiled wider. "If I can be any help, do not hesitate to ask. My men have been waiting for you. We can prepare any necessary data –"

McGillis raised a hand, cutting the man off midsentence. "Please let us do the inspection at our own discretion. I appreciate the kindness."

Coral chuckled, his cheek twitching. "You are right. You should do as you please. Let me show you around. There is, oh, something I would like to show you that concerns Gjallarhorn as a whole."

Coral turned his guard on the left, and his voice became less flattering and harsher in tone. "Is all prepared?"

"Yes sir," the guard replied.

Gaelio moved in closer to McGillis, his eyes wandering onto the bridge where officers were working frantically behind the window. There seemed to be something amuck as the atmosphere appeared heavy and unsettling as Gaelio watched their faces increasingly look under duress. It was as if a knife was at their necks.

"It's all so busy around here," he whispered. "Look how nervous the soldiers are. It clearly says they are trying to hide something."

McGillis simply smiled, but his eyes were cold and calculating like a wolf beginning a hunt. He said nothing, but Gaelio read the expression completely and smirked. That was what he liked about McGillis. He had already smelled blood and was looking to sink his teeth into the rest of the Martian branch.

---

"This can't be possible! I don't believe it!" Duo exclaimed, looking down, blue eyes mired in fright and incredulity. His voice, briefly, silenced the festive atmosphere that had grown in the mess hall. The child soldiers, whose faces were puffed from eating stew, gazed curiously at Duo. Their stares revealed a tremble of fear but mostly interest; however, an even louder voice interjected, breaking the silence –

"Oh, man! This is delicious!"

Trowa's eyes and the eyes of the onlookers found an ecstatic teen named Shino shoveling stew into his belly like no tomorrow. The guy had a childish delight that seemed to warm the jovial yet heavy atmosphere. Trowa would have found the situation humorous, but humor (and any every other emotion except dread) had drained from him. Shino looked thoroughly entranced by what he was eating and shouted his delight to anyone who could hear him. The children's voices rallied around Shino's enthusiasm and chatter filled the mess hall again.

"Delicious!" Shino echoed again.

"Shino - don't talk with your mouth open!" chastised a younger blond-haired boy with a long fringe. He seemed to sigh in exasperation at the state of Shino's obliviousness.

Gazing at Duo's expression, Trowa could only nod. He felt his gut sink to the floor, his active mind retreating inward, trying and failing to find something tangible that he could grasp to make sense. He really could not fathom the truth. But the truth, in all its brutal glory, had a way a knocking the sense out of anyone discovering it.

Trowa's eyes fell downward to the center of the table, where Biscuit's tablet lay. Biscuit had an online subscription to the newspaper Chryse Times, and the date read: October 17, 323 Post Disaster (PD). The date was emblazoned at the top of the screen, and Trowa found this unbelievable. But there it was – the truth!

What on Earth had happened during that solar flare? Trowa thought frantically. What was so abnormal about the solar flare that they traveled to another time? That could not be possible. Such things only happen in fairytales and fiction, right?

It was hard to imagine, but then again, as Trowa kept reminding himself, Mars was terraformed and oxygenated. Imagination was reality, and the more he thought about it the more the weight of such a thought rocked him to his core.

His frantic thoughts slowed to a crawl, until they landed on one person he held precious to his heart. The one person, besides Heero, that had illuminated his world, and made it sustainable for living: Catherine. Thinking of her crushed him, crushed everything, and then shredded it into oblivion. Trowa was not able to keep her promise.

Catherine, he thought with fear and dread that stirred and churned his stomach.

Trowa felt so low, so pained that he feared something would erupt within him. Anger and sadness that had been firmly subdued threatened to break from its locked confines. He could feel tears start to form, but he savagely held them back. The fact that he felt like crying meant something was probably wrong with him.

These are my feelings and emotions, he wondered thoughtfully, feeling amazed that he could actually feel something, and was not succumbed to the bitter cold and numbness that had once deadened him to the human touch. He analyzed these new emotions with a clinical gaze, trying not to be frightened by how raw these feelings stirred him. And yet, these feelings meant something, had gravitas that was beyond anything he had ever known. They yearned for him to be acknowledged.

However, they were also at war with his control.

Control was all that he had now. Restraint, restraining his emotions before they overwhelmed him in a deluge of sadness had to be managed fiercely. He was a soldier first and the mission, held above his own life, came first. Soldiers always had to be prepared. Diligent and vigilant of their surroundings. It was a tough life to live, to trudge one's life through orders and action, without the clarity of reflection, but it was a necessity for survival.

So, Trowa hardened his heart and kept his torrent emotions at bay. He would have to deal with his emotions later, preferably by himself. Right now, the necessity for information was the objective.

Trowa scanned his comrades' expressions slowly, noting, with imperceptible ease, the states of his fellow pilots.

Duo looked as Trowa felt, and he sank down to the table and shook his head in disbelief. His cobalt blue eyes, now trembling, looked far away. Quatre was very quiet, his hands hiding his face. He did not move and was silent as the wind. Wufei, strangely enough, looked to be more intrigued than unsettled as he casually, and silently, perused the article with his finger. There was a sparkle of curiosity gleaming in his dark eyes. Heero looked to be equally disturbed, his head bent in a ponderous silence. His Prussian blue eyes were shimmering in thought.

Trowa put a comforting hand on Quatre's shoulder and Quatre reacted, leaning against him, his hands still shielding his face.

"We'll figure something out Quatre," Trowa whispered. They had to; they had to move forward and develop a plan. Hearing him, Quatre nodded his head. A moment passed and Quatre leaned away, his hands uncovering his tear-stained face. A sad but determined expression laid on it. This was the resolute Quatre that he knew, the one that had participated in the Eve Wars.

"We need a plan," Quatre said quietly, his tone serious and determined as he made eye contact with each pilot.

Broken from their thoughts, the Gundam pilots were roused by Quatre's voice, all four focusing on platinum blond. They answered Quatre by nodding in unison. "We need more information, about this world, this place, Mars, about Gjallarhorn - everything. We're in new territory here. A good strategic plan creates new opportunities. I, for one, suggest going into the Chryse to gather intelligence. Hit up the libraries, scout out the areas."

Quatre turned to Heero. "Did you find anything from your reconnaissance Heero?"

Heero straightened and said, "Yeah. I found a Gjallarhorn base located in the Lunar Planum, quite a few kilometers from Chryse. Judging by its size they should hold about 15 mobile suits. The quantity of mobile workers: unknown. Most of this place is rural farmland and in between grand canyons and spread across the surface, like Earth, are cities. There is a spaceport an hour out west of CGS."

"Let's leave Gjallarhorn alone. There's no need to stir up the hornet's nest or CGS will get caught in the crossfire," Quatre decided, his sky-blue eyes looking at the Gundam pilots. "Chryse should be our main focus."

"Yeah, but how do we get there? It's unlike we have transportation at the ready," Duo said, rubbing his hand through his hair. His face, suddenly, became annoyed. "I doubt they would let us stroll down the avenues in our Gundams. It's like a sign inviting trouble, saying, 'Look at the big targets right here!'"

Wufei raised an eyebrow, words coming to his lips, paused, and then snorted.

"Do you think CGS would lend us some transportation?" Trowa asked.

Quatre shook his head. "I'd rather not rely on them, and I doubt it, considering their overseers. They need all their resources in case Gjallarhorn attacks again."

"So, what do we do? Walk?" Wufei scoffed, throwing up a raised eyebrow.

"I can always ask Atra for you?" said a familiar voice. Turning, the Gundam pilots found Biscuit. He had a smile on his face as he moved a wheeled table with a pot of stew over a low-burning burner. Underneath the table were two shelves filled with maroon bowls.

An easy smile spread over Duo's face. "Atra who?"

Biscuit pointed to the kitchen where a young girl with a white head scarf over her chin-length ash hair was working diligently. She moved with purpose in the kitchen, her hands a blur as she sliced vegetables and meat. She had delicate precision with a knife that would make even Catherine delighted. She then scooped up the pile of meat and vegetables and added them into a boiling pot.

"Atra is a friend of ours," Biscuit continued. "She usually comes over to chat with us and cook us dinner when she has a break from Mrs. Haba. We get our groceries from her and her boss, Mrs. Haba."

"She'll do that for people she doesn't know?" Duo asked skeptically. He looked between the girl and Biscuit, his head slightly cocked to the side and an eyebrow raised doubtfully. "Hmph. Better friend than most."

"Yeah. She's" – Biscuit smiled warmly – "a very nice and a good girl. She'll help if she can. Before I ask her – here." Biscuit filled up five bowls of stew and distributed them amongst the boys. Trowa looked curiously into the bowl where he saw meat and vegetables. The aroma smelled delicious.

Quatre looked touched by the gesture. He smiled warmly at Biscuit. "Thank you, Biscuit. How come?"

"It's a thank you. We're all thankful for the help you provided during the battle and after. You guys deserve it, so please accept this token of our hospitality," Biscuit said, and he left to the front where Eugene had come through, searching the mess hall until his eyes found Biscuit. The two gathered near the entrance and conversed quietly in hushed whispers.

Trowa picked up his spoon and mechanically stirred the steaming stew. Lifting his spoon to his lips, he was quite surprised by the taste. It was quite good as the beef and okra, their tenderness and flavor, flooded his taste buds. The beef melted on his tongue, and the okra was soft. He plundered eagerly into his bowl for another bite.

"Damn, this girl can cook," Duo said between mouthfuls. A slight smile formed on Trowa's mouth at his friend's expression of delight.

"Are there any volunteers for the mission?" Trowa said, after finishing his meal. He pushed his bowl away and leaned on the table with his elbows.

"This base needs to be protected, so we can only send one or two," said Quatre, looking at his fellows. "Who's up for the challenge?"

"Count me out," Heero replied. He pushed his empty bowl to the side. "These guys don't have any aerial reconnaissance, considering their air tower is out of commission. They're lacking in aircrafts, too. This should pose a disadvantage if Gjallarhorn uses aerial bombardments."

Duo raised his hand eagerly. "I wouldn't mind touring the place. It'll be good to see the sights, get to a library, and scout out our enemies. I do love sightseeing. That and gathering intelligence; it's one my specialties if ya remember.

"Sweepers pride themselves on intelligence," Duo said, giving a wink at them.

"So, we declared this Gjallarhorn our enemy," Wufei said, looking into his half-finished bowl. He wore a small smirk. Again, glimmered in his dark eyes, besides curiosity, was a faint eagerness.

"That was obvious. We left few survivors. They got intel on us, a consequence, by mistake of not finishing them off," Trowa said pointedly to all of them. "I'll volunteer with Duo. It'll be good if we stayed in twos and threes. Scouting in large groups will draw too much attention."

"Precisely, Trowa," Quatre said. "Anyone else disagree?"

Duo and Wufei shook their heads. Heero closed his eyes and remained silent. Confirming the new arrangements, Quatre smiled and nodded his head.

"Good. Then it's all agreed. Heero, Wufei, and I will stay at CGS. Duo and Trowa will pull reconnaissance in Chyrse," Quatre determined. "You'll leave with Atra, and we'll provide a solid defense against incoming enemies."

Trowa turned his eyes on Atra, whose ruby eyes were on four others, - an embarrassed Kudelia teased by two twin girls and Mikazuki eating, a blank expression on his ravenous appetite – a longing expressed in her eyes, focused solely on Mikazuki. She seemed to be in her own world, her eyes deciphering every motion, every flicker or change in Mika's face. Trowa smiled slightly. It was love, and there was nothing more dangerous than to be in love with a Gundam pilot.

---

After dinner, alone inside her room she shared with Fumitan, Kudelia could not keep her hands from shaking as she held Fumitan's tablet on her lap. Her nerves were up, and she was quite sure her heart was going to burst from her chest. The thumps of her heart were overwhelming as slender hands fumbled and fidgeted with the device.

She had asked for privacy, because she needed to confirm for herself the truth: did her father divulge information? She needed to hear the truth from his mouth, although, in her heart, she already knew, as Fumitan's quiet stare revealed more than she kept on.

She sighed, feeling even more restless as her nerves raged on, her hesitation growing with the unrelenting persistence of time ebbing away. "Better do it now than face regret."

Her finger hovered over the call button, and she pressed it. Her stomach churned as the rings sounded, like time, the past, vanishing beneath her feet, and leading her to the present. The rings came and came, and her anxiety barreled into her gut, clenching, pulling, and sinking. Sweat poured from her underarms and her breath quickened with each momentous ring. Her breath came to a sudden halt when the screen went black and then an image of father appeared in front of her.

"Kudelia? Kudelia!" her father called.

Kudelia saw him from the chest up. He was still in dress clothes. He looked tired and the lines on his face seemed to deepen, perhaps, Kudelia thought, by worry. His aged and dull blond hair was matted in a light sheen of sweat, and there was a nervous gleam in his blue eyes.

He spoke fast, voluminous, and urgent. "Thank God you're alive! Fumitan told me everything. You must come home! I need you home. This was too dangerous for you to be there. I cannot believe you let me talk you into doing this – that nonsense with those children and those types of people. The Martian children can survive by themselves, but you must come home now. I – your mother and I have talked – "

"Father!"

"Kudelia?" Norman uttered in surprise.

"Father, is it true?"

Norman crinkled his forehead, bewildered, and astonished. He looked down for a moment. "I'm afraid I don't what you mean? But you must – "

"Father," Kudelia interjected once more. "Did you betray me to Gjallarhorn?"

A heartbeat passed. Two heartbeats passed. A third heartbeat passed before Norman, whose lips had thinned and sweat started to glisten anew on his forehead, spoke. "Kudelia, dear, where did you hear these rumors? Ha ha ha," Norman laughed nervously, slowly.

"You know I could never do that. Why would I do that to my only daughter, a daughter I cherish the world of? I love you, Kudelia. You know that, right? A father wouldn't do that to his daughter. Now please come home, your mother is gravely worried about you."

Something in his tone set Kudelia off. "I will not unless you answer the question: Did you betray me" - her voice cracked and became fragile like glass – "to Gjallarhorn? Father, please tell me the truth."

"Kudelia…" Norman shook his head. "You know me. You know I wouldn't do that you. How could I? What reason for it? You're my only daughter Kudelia, right? Please, enough of this prattle. Come home," he said gently.

"Father," Kudelia cried, feeling tears well and fall softly down her cheeks.

"Yes," Norman said, a hint of eagerness coloring his gentle tone.

"Only you and mother knew I was going to Earth. I've made the plans in secret with Fumitan's help. We discussed this for weeks. Only you two knew… only you two."

"There is some sort of mistake, Kudelia," her father said, smiling, shaking his head. "You know I and your mother would never do this. We love you, right? Don't you believe us? There must have been a mole in that PMC. He's the one who sold you out."

"No. No!" Kudelia cried, tears falling faster. She could not believe her ears.

"Yes, yes," her father followed, vigorously shaking his head up and down. "You can never trust those Martian peasants, those space rats and poor idiots. They're cannibals. When they see greed, they turn on themselves. When they want power, they'll betray their own. They lack decency and are supine – the worst kind of individuals.

"You should know this. Yes. You've seen their depravity, and they want you! All they want is our wealth. They're jealous! Leave them Kudelia, they're just rats who cannibalize other rats to be on top."

"Father, I…" and her anger grew, "I can no longer sit here and listen to your babble."

"Kudelia?"

"They're good kids! They saved my life! Gjallarhorn tried to kill me and they… they paid with their lives. And you sit there and tell me their cannibals? That they are cowards and afraid of our wealth! Father! Now I truly know that you sold us out!"

"KUDELIA!" Kudelia went rigid, her voice silenced by her father's outburst. Her father was heaving heavily, but a storm brewed in his blue eyes. "Kudelia. Stop this. Stop this now. They brainwashed you with their infantile dreams of freedom. Liberation! Ha! All they ever want is power, and you're just a tool for them. A means to an end. Enough of this, Kudelia. Pack your things and come home! Now! I as your father demand it!"

"No!"

"What?" Father watched on wide-eyed.

"NO! Gjallarhorn had planned their invasion. With this much force, it could have only taken them weeks. Fumitan and I were discreet with our arrangements. Only Mr. Maruba knew of our coming and that was the day before I came. I only showed him – and they wanted nothing to do with Gjallarhorn. I trust Fumitan. So that only leads to you and mother. Why won't you answer me this?"

Norman sighed, and the tone of his voice became something that sent chills down Kudelia's skin. It was harsh, cruel, cutting, and demanding. And very much angry.

"You bloody fool! Fine! I did it! Are you happy? Do you know what you're trying to do? Foolish daughter, our wealth is stable because of Gjallarhorn, because these Martian rats are broke. We own them! I own you! I let you dance around for them, preaching your little spiel of saviorism – because it was cute, because we looked good! But you did not stop! You continued to speak this gibberish shit and – "his voice became shrill and mocking - "independence, freedom, autonomy, end child exploitation."

His voice returned to the normal anger. The anger that made her fine hair stand. "That kind of shit. You went on and on and on until I realized I could not control you anymore. You had slipped from my grasp, and now, as your father I demand you back! Let these space rats be trash. Return to your place."

Norman breathed heavily and continued, "Kudelia, don't think I don't know of your sponsors."

Kudelia visibly stiffened and Norman, like a sly fox, leaped to pounce. "Oh, yes. Who was it now, the enigmatic Nobliss Gordon? How would your squeaky-clean image be if that somehow got leaked to the press that such individuals, who was also an undercover arms dealer, supported the pacifist Kudelia Aina Bernstein. How hypocritical. The truth is not always so noble. It will stab you in the back if it can… and it will laugh while doing it."

"How did you –"

"—know?" Norman finished unkindly. "I know all about your deals. I'm your father, and even I know not to cross Gordon, who also controls most of the Martian media. The man may not be a saint, but he's filthy rich from all his dealings. Do you think Nobliss Gordon will -"

The screen went black. A long slender finger had pushed the off button. Kudelia followed the finger to Fumitan's stoic face. "That should be enough, Young Miss."

She felt numb. And then rage and sadness collided and erupted into hurt. Kudelia started to shake uncontrollably. Her vision blurred as tears ran down her face like a swollen stream. She grabbed ahold of Fumitan's waist and buried her face into her dress, sobbing hysterically.

---

"Why do you have long hair?"

"Yeah! It's so long! It's like a girl's, and it's in a braid like mine!"

"I bet you're good at braiding girls' hair!"

"Are you secretly a girl?"

"I wanna see that braid!"

"Me, too! Me, too!"

"I don't think so! Now stop touching my braid!"

Duo grumbled as he parried the swiping hands of danger belonging to the two energetic twin girls, who, in their precociousness, tried grabbing at his long, dangling braid. He evaded a swipe and a grab, ducking underneath a limb just as the twin with two ponytails launched herself from her seat. Duo maneuvered himself, switching places with her sister, who was in the far-right seat, distancing himself against the far end of the backseat, trying, if he could, to meld into the door.

When Duo found he could not, he stretched one foot out like a pole. Duo used his foot to keep his distance from the attacking children from climbing on him. The girls grumbled and complained, and he offered a smile of relief.

"Gotta keep your clawin' hands away. This braid isn't for touching! You hear that, girlies?"

The twins pouted and cried, their faces puffing up like pufferfish. Duo smiled uneasily at them. He disliked being purposefully mean to kids, but he had to keep them away from his person. They were like bees attracted to the scent of pollen, or, in Duo's case, his braid. His French braid was something personal, a special skill he had learned on Colony V202 when he was child living with clergy and nuns in their church. It came with load of memories he tried not think of too often.

It was not that Duo was afraid of his memories - he would heartedly contend that he wasn't - but they came with too much trauma, too much pain. Even the happy ones… the ones where he should feel ineffable joy and happiness were also drenched from the rain of pain and sadness, because the people in them no longer existed. They did once, and they had smiled and laughed and cried. Now, they were just figments in the confines of his idle mind in constant replay, over and over and over.

The past never changes, Duo thought, while taking his braid in his hand. He lifted it up to his face, feeling the smooth cross sections in his hand. The number times he was smacked in the head for getting it wrong and tying it into a knot brought a smile to his face.

"Neither has this hairstyle," he whispered wistfully.

Duo broke free of his thoughts by shaking his head and looking out the windshield. Atra was driving on the road to Cookie and Cracker's grandmother's house. Trowa sat in the front – the lucky bastard – and Duo had to squeeze his way in the back, dealing with two boisterous and raucous girls that could not keep their hands to themselves. Apparently, the two girls were Biscuit's sisters and they lived with their grandmother, Sakura Pretzel, on their family farm. They usually visited CGS on the weekends to see Biscuit.

"Leave him alone, Cracker and Cookie," Atra scolded from the driver's seat. She would intermittently look behind her as she drove or into the rearview mirror, keeping an eye on the two rambunctious twins. She acted like their older sister with how familiar she was with them.

Duo breathed out another grateful sigh and gave a slight nod to Atra. The twins looked at him, their small lips and cheeks puffed out in a cute pout. It was awfully cute, like little angry dolls, Duo mused humorously to himself. Duo could not stand their childish expressions, nor could he contain the breath building up in his chest. He laughed heartedly at them, earning two small smiles from the girls.

"So, how long till we get to your house, Atra?"

"It's about a thirty to forty-minute drive after the farm, Duo," replied the ash-haired girl.

"Hey! Hey! Where do you live? I've never seen you before and I know almost everyone at CGS," the twin with the single-ponytail asked. Cookie was her name, Duo thought unsurely, or was it Cracker?

Duo smiled at the girl, and his eyes traveled to the windshield where an ocean of stars past by them in the Martian darkness.

He pointed to the winking stars. "I'm from space, Cookie!" he exclaimed proudly.

Cookie nodded happily – and Duo secretly thanked himself for getting her name right. They looked too alike for his liking. Her twin, Cracker, spoke, "Really! That's so cool! We're from space, too!"

"Yeah! We're from the colonies!" Cookie added, giving her twin a smile.

Duo could not keep the grin off his face. "The colonies? Really now? Now that's sweet. What's two Spacenoids doing down here? Which sector are you from? I hail from Lagrange-2 Colony Clusters."

"Um," Cracker paused unsurely, and then turned to her sister.

Cookie smiled at Cracker and then answered Duo's question. "We're from Dort! You ever hear of Dort? We don't know the area. But we'll find out!" she added hastily. Her sister nodded at her words.

"What about you?" Cookie asked Trowa.

Trowa blinked slowly but kept his eyes on the road. "I don't have a home, really, but I was born on Earth."

There was a loud gasp between the two girls. Duo looked at their awed-filled expressions amusedly. From their expressions, Earth must be a nice place. Awe and wonder shined in their eyes. Duo could see the brimming questions building on their faces and shimmering in their eyes.

Duo gulped, gazing at the twins, and privately thanking the whatever luck he had, he wasn't the center of their questions anymore. Now their spitfire questions would be hurled at Trowa. Would Trowa be receptive? Probably, but Duo doubted he would offer a full explanation. The guy was too quiet sometimes.

Duo scooted his back against the seat's corner and crossed his arms. "I always thought you were from L-3, buddy? You didn't seem as tight-ass as most Earthlings I met on Earth during the whole engagement."

("Engagement," Atra said quietly.)

Trowa nodded at this. Duo watched his green eyes flash with mirth from the rearview mirror. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant to be," Duo chuckled.

"I was born on Earth, but I immigrated to Lagrange-3 when I was thirteen," Trowa answered.

"Really? You're from Earth?" Cracker shouted. "What is it like? Are there really oceans like we read in books? Can you drink them? Are deserts really hot?"

("Can you swim in the oceans? Are you rich?" Cookie fired out at the same time as her sister.)

"Whoa - one at a time," Duo said, chuckling. "Let the man breathe."

A small smile appeared on Trowa's face. He seemed to enjoy their curiosity. He answered them softly and patiently, "No. I'm not rich. Yes – you can swim in the oceans of Earth. The Earth's oceans are not a source of drinkable water, though, as they are made of saltwater. Ninety-seven percent of Earth's water is made of saltwater and contain various marine and aquatic life. And yes, the desert is extremely hot."

"If you ever get the chance, go see Earth's oceans. At sunset, when you're lookin' over the horizon, there's almost nothin' more beautiful to see," Duo added. "The colors will blow your mind!"

He could not forget his days with Howard during the old days of Operation Meteor. Laying back and watching the sunset with that old man, sharing some beers, and prepping for his next missions, those were some good days. Earth was nothing like how he had imagined – from textbooks, pictures on the internet, magazines – and smelling and breathing the salty air of the ocean, feeling the sea breeze sweep in the from endless horizons, left an immutable imprint on his soul. It showed how much Earthling and Spacenoids needed to take care of their environment.

There was a chorus of ohs and ahs from the twins. Judging by the glances she was giving Trowa, Atra was listening just as intently as the two girls. Her brow would crinkle in thought at Trowa's explanations as if she was not certain if these things existed. She might one day find that out, Duo thought offhandedly, if she ever gets off this red planet.

"Are you sure you're not rich? That's where rich people live?" Cracker said skeptically, leaning forward in her seat towards Trowa.

"Cracker," scolded Atra, "don't be rude."

"Why not?" Cracker whined.

"Why would just rich people live on Earth?" Duo asked aloud.

From what he had seen on Earth, besides the oligarch of nobles from the Romefeller Foundation – the rich assholes – economic status varied from a person's region. There were some regions where the Foundation or the Earth Alliance had an iron grip contributed to the economic stratification. Most people he had encountered were doing okay. Some, he came to find out, were just as poor because of war and displacement like the people in the colonies.

"Because stupid, that's where the government is," Cracker said slowly. "Everyone knows that."

Atra chastised Cracker again, and the girl stuck her tongue at her. Atra clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"The government? You don't mean the Earth controls Mars?" Duo asked the two twins, eyes slightly narrowing.

"Yes. The Chyrse region belongs to the Arbrau government," Atra expounded softly. "The Arbrau is one of four economic blocs of Earth that rules over this area. I, um, don't know too much about politics because I don't understand most of it, but I do know most of our resources are taken by the Arbrau government."

"Whoa! Another oppressive Earth governs a colony," Duo said aloud. He sank in his seat, feeling a bit deflated. "Great."

This felt like déjà vu. Earth was the enemy once again in its greedy path of tyranny and imperialism. Those bastards never change, he thought. He was reminded of the Alliance's hold on the colonies.

Living in the colonies had been a struggle. The Alliance had closed colony communication and performed brutal suppression acts in the name of peace and freedom. Most colonists suffered under their occupation. Duo's life amid the occupation had its share of terrible heartache.

He could never truly forgive OZ or the Alliance for what they did to him.

"Oppressive? What does that word mean?" Cracker asked curiously, looking at Atra.

Atra explained the word to the twins while Duo made eye contact with Trowa. Trowa's eyes were sharp and focused. Duo knew he caught everything Atra said and dissected it piece by piece. They were in another bind, where it seemed that Earth's ruling parties had majority control over the Martian people.

The truck made a right down another path, into a sea of undulating shadows. The headlights flashed on the shadows as they swayed to a gentle breeze. The light revealed tall, dark, green stalks of corn. The truck ambled its way to a glowing house, down a dirt road.

The windows and outdoor lights were alighted in white. The truck came to a stop at the porch and Atra honked her horn twice. A black silhouette appeared at the door. The door creaked open, followed by the screen door, and an elderly woman with sharp and cool eyes, in worn pink overalls, stood at the doorway.

Atra opened her door and collapsed her seat. The two girls scrambled from the backseat and climbed over Atra's folded seat and stood with her at the opened truck door.

"Atra, are you coming over to harvest the corn," Cracker asked eagerly, bouncing on her toes.

Atra gave them a warm smile. "Of course, I will!"

The two girls smiled and giggled. "You two should come too! The more help the merrier!" Cracker aimed at the two boys. Duo simply shrugged and Trowa gave a noncommittal grunt.

The two girls waved their goodbyes and ran to the house. Atra watched them greet their grandmother and hurried inside. Sakura gave Atra a curt nod and closed her doors. Atra retreated into the truck, opened her seat, and restarted the engine. They pulled out of the field and into the main road.

They drove a few miles in silence. The road was quiet. The only sounds were the rushing of the wind, the thrumming of the engine, and the crackle of rocks moving and breaking under the truck's thick tires. Atra kept her sight on the road but her ruby eyes lingered on Duo and Trowa, probably a growing question in her head.

"You gonna keep starin' or are we that good looking?" Duo asked, breaking the silence. "You seem to have a question on your mind. Shoot."

"What – no! I mean… I..." Atra blushed to her roots. "Well," she started hesitantly, "So, why are you two here?

"I don't mean to pry," she said quickly, embarrassed, "but… since something awful happened, and everything looked horrible and I – no one wants to talk about it. Mr. Yukinojo didn't say much, too. I don't really know what happened and no one is saying anything about it."

"There was a battle," Duo said simply. "We arrived here by accident and were forced to intervene."

"So those big mobile suits belonged to you?" asked Atra.

"Yep," Duo confirmed.

Atra bit her lip. She mulled over her next question, her fingers sliding up and down on the steering wheel. "How many died?"

Silence met her question. She sighed sadly. "I see. I'm sorry that I asked, I was just concerned, that's all. No one wants to talk about it. I just feel at a loss at what to do. It's never been this bad."

"Atra," Trowa said softly, "forty-four died."

"We could have saved more if we arrived earlier. Damn it. But what can you do now that the battle is over?" Duo sighed resignedly.

He crossed his arms tightly as he wrestled with his uncomfortable feelings. Sometimes it was maddening to arrive late to something that could have been avoided. It was one of the worst feelings to have, to have power but miss the opportunity to use it fully. Duo agitatedly raked his hand through his hair.

"Okay," Atra said shakily. She wiped her face with her sleeve and looked at the road.

They drove silently for another forty-five minutes until they reached the specter of city lights. The amorphous shapeless night ebbed away from the glow of the city lights and its form became apparent. They drove up a hill, passing dilapidated houses and phantoms in the shadows of buildings.

Duo peered at moving phantoms, hidden from the lights, in alleyways and corners. Sharp elbows and knees protruded from the darkness like skeletons, barely concealed in their hiding spots. The shapes were those of children, crouching and slumped, sinking and humping in alleyways and corners.

The children were hidden in the darkness. When the headlight flashed on them briefly some scampered away while others looked on, their faces lost in a blank daze. They looked malnourished and starved of hope and food. A terrible feeling pulled in Duo's belly, and he had to force himself to look away as images of another boy his age with scruffy brown hair and bright brown eyes flashed in his mind.

"Damn, Solo," he muttered.

The truck slowed. Atra finally pulled to a storefront that said Haba's. "Okay. We're here. I don't know if the manager will let you stay. I'm already intruding on her as it was," she said apologetically.

"Don't concern yourself, Atra. We're capable people. We thank you for giving us a lift. It would've been a helluva walk to get here," Duo said.

Trowa was the first to exit the vehicle, and then Duo climbed over the passenger seat to get out. Looking around the vicinity, everything was still, the yellow lights casting deep shadows that stretched and merged into other shadows. The yellow lights looked dirty. Duo felt, more than saw, eyes bearing down on him, hidden and tucked away in the shadows.

Trowa glanced around, his gaze lingering and moving through windows, corners, and alleyways. Duo joined him, pushing his hands into his pockets. He looked up and the stars barely shined; dim and bleak, intimidated by the yellow incandescence of streetlights. Finding nothing in the sky, he turned them on the girl.

Atra went to the front door, her keys jingling with each step. She opened the door and they walked into the storefront. Yellow streetlights streamed into the room. There was a worn wooden counter at the front.

Products and containers lined the shelves against the wall. It was a quaint little storefront, organized and accessible. As soon as they entered, there was rush of noise coming from a stairway behind the counter. White light flooded from the ceiling. Duo squinted briefly. The ceiling lights were sudden and unrelenting for his eyes.

"I could have gone blind," Duo muttered, rubbing his eyes. Incessant blinking dots kept popping in his vision.

"About time you arrived, Atra," a woman's voice came. "I was really getting worr—"

The woman's voice ceased as she made it to the floor, staring at the two young men in Atra's company. Duo got a good look at her, and boy, he could say she was a beautiful lady. The lady had glowing brown skin that was blemish free. She arched a delicate black eyebrow up on her brow and a smile took its form on her mouth, a little mischievous, a little amused. She shifted in her black robe, a black glint of a something was sticking out of her pocket, and she pushed it down, and leaned against the wall.

"Atra, you did not tell me we were having guests." She glanced at clock on the wall. "At this hour?"

Atra started, fretfully nervous, "Mrs. Haba, I –"

She put her hand up. "You don't need to explain. I understand." Her smile grew larger; her purple eyes shined.

Atra blinked, and she again fumbled for words, surprise plastered on her face. "You do?"

Haba nodded knowingly as she crossed her arms under her breasts. "Of course, Atra. These two boys are your lovers, are they not?"

("What!" Duo nearly fell over from her question.)

"What!" Atra exclaimed, her face redder than the planet. "Mrs. Haba – it's not!"

She glided over, her robe fluttering in her wake and patted Atra's head. "It's okay, Atra. I didn't believe when I first saw it but now, I understand. Although, I'm surprised you ditched that boy, Mikazuki, right? You have been on him for years. I guess love comes in many forms."

Haba gazed at the boys, appraising, and her eyes twinkled brightly. "My, Atra... not some bad looking choices at all. If I was younger – and not married of course, with a child – I wouldn't let them leave my bedroom."

Trowa shifted awkwardly; his face appeared perplexed. Duo grinned widely and said, "Who knows, lady, you might still have the chance."

"Ooh. He's a talker, this one. I think I like you," Haba said winking. "So, tell me boy, how is my Atra? Does she throw it down? Does she make you beg? I know she's a screamer with how she's -"

"MRS. HABA!" Atra squeaked, and she hid her burning red face with her hands.

Haba laughed, gently rustling Atra's hair. "I'm sorry, Atra, but I couldn't resist. You're so easy sometimes."

She bent down lower and whispered, "I know your heart desires that boy."

Haba rose, standing behind Atra, her arms winding around her neck and her chin resting in her hair. She looked at the two boys. "Now, Atra, why at this time, are two handsome boys in my store with you? I hope nothing illicit."

"Well, um, they needed a ride into the city from CGS," Atra said, playing with her fingers.

"Did they now? Why couldn't they do it themselves?" Haba asked, her gaze boring into the two boys.

"There was a battle," Trowa answered. "All CGS vehicles were not permitted to leave."

"A battle," Haba repeated quietly. "I see. That still doesn't explain why you're here with my Atra and why you're not related to CGS."

Duo hummed to himself. This Haba was an astute woman. Perhaps part of the truth would suffice.

"Atra gave us a ride, and we're…" - Duo looked to Trowa, a roguish grin on his face, and half-shrugged - "reinforcements that are new to Mars. We wanted to check out the sights, see the libraries and Chryse."

Haba looked at Atra and sighed. "You couldn't say no, could you Atra?"

Atra continued to play with her fingers, nervously chuckling. A small smile pulled at Haba's lips, and she said, "Silly girl – one of these days you're going to get yourself into some trouble with that open heart. You're too trusting and kind. An open heart is beautiful, but there are those aren't afraid taking advantage of it. Make sure you keep that in mind, Atra."

Atra nodded slowly, her face taking on a thoughtful yet still embarrassed expression. Haba turned her attention to the two boys and said, "So, you thought you could stay here, is that the reason?"

Duo nodded. "Pretty much, however, we're accustomed to living anywhere. We don't mean to bring much trouble, lady –

"Haba."

"– Haba," Duo repeated, grinning. "If you tell us to leave, we'll go."

Haba pursed her lips for a moment, her eyes gliding from Duo to Trowa. "Okay. You can stay. But you're sleeping on the floor here, got it?"

Duo smiled and Trowa nodded. Haba looked down at Atra, a warm smile on her face. "Atra, could you go and bring down some extra blankets and pillows." Atra smiled and nodded, wiggling her way out of Haba's arms and climbed the stairs.

Haba glanced at the stairs, and as soon Atra was gone, her smile fell, and she removed a revolver from her robe and trained it on the two. Duo's smiled never left his face, but he was getting tired of people pointing dangerous things at him. Couldn't he get a break? At least, privately, it was a beautiful woman doing it. He could live with that – or maybe end with that.

"You are to remain here. You will not go into the other rooms unless to use the bathroom. I trust Atra, but not the two of you," Haba said forcefully, her gray eyes darkening.

"It's okay, Haba," Duo said conciliatorily. He put his hands up. Trust, if the situation got too dangerous, he had a gun in his back pocket for insurance. He was sure Trowa was also packing, too. Trowa was not one to go undefended.

"We're only here till morning and then we're gone," Duo said carefully.

"Are you sure about that?" Haba said seriously, but there was gleam in her eye that Duo did not like. Her question set him on edge, as if to imply there was something more dangerous ahead.

"What do you mean," Trowa said, his green eyes swinging from the revolver and Haba carefully.

"What if I don't want you to leave," said Haba, her voice coming off strange and cool.

Duo laughed until it faltered seeing Haba's expression had not changed. His look became incredulous. He could feel the annoyance building at this problem. "Excuse me?!"

"I could use some free labor to move things here and you boys are kind of cute," Haba said, and Duo felt his stomach tighten. "I might keep you around for some, ah, night sessions."

Duo looked astonished. This could not be real. He took a step backward, eyes enlarging, and face recoiling, and said, "Um. Aren't you married and have a child?"

Haba's voice became husky. "They don't have to find out."

And Duo knew they needed to leave this place fast. He quickly glanced at the door as he spotted Trowa subtly deepen his stance. Haba's shoulders began to shake and that gleam in her eyes became tears as she roared in laughter. "The look on your faces! I-I can't breathe. Did you really – Did you really think that?"

Duo and Trowa exchanged wide-eyed and shocked looks. Of course, they did! She threatened them with a lethal weapon. Haba put away her revolver and continued to laugh, though they were reduced to chuckles.

Atra came down, her arms full of pillows and blankets that towered over her small stature. She dropped them down and turned curiously to Haba whose eyes were sparkling with mirth. She looked around at Trowa and Duo whose faces were unreadable.

"Did I miss something?"

"No. We were just discussing no midnight encounters," Haba said brightly. "That includes you too, Atra.

Atra went red again. Haba laughed in delight – a delight Duo felt that was unsettling. "Don't worry – they are gonna help prepare for your first delivery tomorrow, although, it might be light because of the continuing protests. Right, you two?"

Duo and Trowa shrugged. "We can do that, I guess," said Duo.

She really was not leaving them any choice. This woman was something else. He thought of Colonel Une, when she was with OZ, crazy and deranged in her schemes. But this lady here? Duo feared what would happen if he got on her wrong side.

The woman nodded. "Great! Hurry up to bed, Atra."

Atra smiled awkwardly at them. "Good night!"

"Night," the three chorused together.

"Remember – No going upstairs," Haba warned as she followed Atra up the stairs.

"What about you?" Duo called out to her retreating back.

Her melodious laughs echoed down the stairway. The laughs carried her amusement, and Duo began to wonder if they made the right choice. He said his thoughts aloud, turning to Trowa in askance. He could not be the only one unnerved by their host's penchant for mischievousness.

"No," Trowa replied, unfolding a blanket, and placing it on the floor.

---

Orga stood gazing at the stars. The stars glimmered back silently, and she wondered for the umpteenth time what laid beyond this barren desert of Mars, of where the oceans of stars would lead her when she and her crew plunged into them. A building pressure made its way up her chest, impatient and impulsive as it spread to her fingertips; her calloused fingers curled and straightened from the rush of adrenaline; she was restless.

She felt a burgeoning smile ease the frown from her lips and she exhaled through her nose. She was nearly there. What lay beyond was a new frontier to move forward. She was ready.

The clacking of boots on the hard floor surface greeted her. They rustled next to her, patient, deliberating, and awaiting. Orga knew who it was immediately, and her smile became an earnest frown.

"Is everything setup?"

"Yeah," responded the soft voice of Mika. "Everyone is awaiting your next orders outside the First Corps barracks."

Orga turned to Mika and scowled, "Mika, it's time."