St. Moritz, Switzerland, March 12, UC 0094
Tina Mass lies on her back on the cool green grass on a hillside overlooking Lake St. Moritz. Colorful sailboats drift lazily across the serene, crystal waters of the lake, a leisurely pace at odds with Tina's increasing consciousness of the passage of time.
The Lyceum Alpinum Zuoz, currently on Spring Recess, would resume classes in three days. Tina is approaching the end of Grade 11, two full years ahead of the grade level that she, turning fifteen in September, would be enrolled in if not for her extraordinarily high scores across the board. So difficult for Tina to believe that in less than two years, she would be graduating from high school.
Then what?
Tina sighs. Exactly one year since Edward...Char, left them. Left her.
Her project, a final gift from Char, was finally completed the previous day. Tina realizes that she has only three days to really get much use for it, at least until the arrival of summer in several months.
Conscious of the approaching noon hour, and knowing that lying in the spring sun contemplating the passage of time would only drive her barmy, Tina rises and makes her way down into the town below.
Thirty minutes later, Tina is seated at a table at the Cafe Hansselmann, examining the menu.
"May I take your order, Miss?" a honey blonde waitress asks in a faint Zeon accent shortly after she is seated, "May I recommend the coffee to start?"
Green eyes stare at the older woman in mild surprise. Tina didn't expect to find someone from Side 3 here. It makes her curious enough that she has nearly forgotten she was supposed to order.
"A cheese croissant and a cup of tea, please," Tina states calmly.
"Coming right up!" the waitress smiles, cheerfully.
"Hey, Shirley! Another cup of that coffee of yours!" a random man hollers out.
"Two more over here, please!" another joins in.
"Calm down. I'll be right over!" the blonde waitress chides playfully.
"If you don't mind, may I have a cup as well?" Tina requests out of curiosity.
The waitress, Shirley, seems surprised by the request before her baby blue eyes glitter in pure joy as if she were serving royalty, "Of course! I'll have it out shortly!"
Tina mildly suspects that Shirley might know who she really is, but thinks nothing of it. She isn't one for coffee, but her curiosity makes her wonder what gets the people praising it so much. In fact, she actually grows interested in the chatter around her, starring her infamous waitress.
"You know, for a Zeon lady, she sure makes a hell of a cup!"
"Heard she owned her own coffee shop before the war."
"What?! You're pulling my leg here!"
"Not kidding! Apparently, it was one of the best shops in Side 3 at the time!"
Tina frowns upon hearing this, but the rumors don't stop there.
"I heard that she's a former Zeon soldier from the war."
"You seriously gotta stop pulling my leg on this one! There is no way in hell a sweet woman like her is a Zeke soldier!"
"I'm telling you, she was one of those ZTF guys! Why else would she be down here to begin with!"
Why, indeed,Tina wonders thoughtfully.
A barista who's a former soldier of the Zeon Terrestrial Forces? Tina agrees that Shirley is a sweet woman, but she sees more as she inspects the woman closely from her spot. The older woman's arms show a fair amount of muscle from military training. Her blonde hair is short and wavy to keep it out of her face. Her slender hands appear rough and callous from combat. She wonders how someone like her managed to return to normal after the war.
Tina looks up as a tall, handsome young man, dark of eye and hair, enters the cafe. She immediately captures his eye, causing him to smile in response as he approaches her table.
Jordan Vance, a year older than her - her classmate in multiple classes and center forward on their Zuoz Ibex varsity soccer team, of which Tina is team captain and center midfielder.
"You waiting for anybody?" Jordan asks.
"No," Tina replies, "It's hard to get a seat at this hour, so if you want to share a table…"
"Thought you'd never ask," Jordan answers, taking a seat, "Where have you been all during Spring Recess? Nobody has seen you lately. Everybody thought you must have gone traveling."
"I did for the first week," Tina says as the Zeon waitress brings Jordan a menu and Tina, her coffee and cheese croissant, "but I've been back for a while now. I've just been...busy."
There is a pause as Tina takes interest in the pleasant aroma of the black liquid. She takes a careful sip as Shirley takes Jordan's order. A smooth, yet rich flavor hits her tongue before the bitterness creeps up at the end. Otherwise, it isn't at all bad.
"School is resuming in just three days," Jordan says, after placing his order with the waitress "What are your plans?"
"I want to go to the summit of the Matterhorn," Tina answers casually, as if people ascend the peak every day.
Jordan stares silently for a moment before responding, "You're going...climbing?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes," Tina answers mysteriously.
"Sounds dangerous," Jordan remarks, "Are you going alone?"
"That depends," Tina says, "Want to come with me?"
A long silence, followed by Jordan's "You're kidding."
Tina tells him, "I want to do...something special, something challenging."
"It's kind of crazy, though," Jordan replies as Shirley brings him a sandwich and a cup of coffee, "Do you even have any climbing experience? I don't."
Tina smiles mysteriously, "You busy after lunch?"
Jordan shakes his head, "We don't have soccer practice until tomorrow, so nope."
"Then you can come home with me and meet 'Eddie,'" Tina says.
"Who's 'Eddie?'" Jordan wonders aloud.
"You'll find out soon enough," Tina answers, taking a sip of her tea.
Fifteen minutes later, having finished their lunches and paid their bills - Tina leaving a generous tip for Shirley's coffee. The two teenagers depart the cafe, hand-in-hand.
Within the hour, Tina takes Jordan to the Mass Family's palatial estate, where Tina resides with her adoptive parents. Jordan has long known that Tina lives here, though he has never visited. The home of a prominent retired Earth Federation Government senator is not a place into which one casually strolls without an invitation.
Senator and Madame Mass are not at home, which is not unusual, as the august couple are important people in both local and global society. Their chief housekeeper Suzanne opens the door for them.
"So, where's this dog of yours?" Jordan asks, looking around at the luxurious environs.
"Dog?" Tina smiles.
"Yeah, 'Eddie,'" Jordan answers.
"Eddie isn't a dog," Tina tells him mysteriously.
"Cat, then?" Jordan ventures.
"Wrong again," Tina smiles.
"Mountain goat?!" Jordan wonders.
"Come with me," Tina says, taking his hand and leading him to what appears to be a large hangar behind the estate.
"This 'Eddie' is one humongous beast, whatever it is," Jordan comments wryly.
Tina lets go of Jordan's hand to run ahead into the hangar and activate a bank of powerful overhead lights.
Bathed in the illumination is an RB-117 Hobby Hizack, a civilian-oriented, recreational modification of the Earth Federation Forces' Gryps War era frontline combat mobile suit RMS-106 Hizack (itself a derivation of the Archduchy of Zeon's once-ubiquitous MS-06F Zaku). To underscore its non-combat orientation, the Hobby Hizack is painted in colorful hues more apropos for an amusement park than for a warzone. Affixed to the Hobby Hizack's left arm is a decal marked in stylized script as "EDDIE."
"That's…?" Jordan begins.
"Eddie," Tina affirms, with a grin.
"This is awesome," Jordan says, marveling at the towering mobile suit, "I never would have guessed."
"It was a gift to me from my brother Edward," Tina remarks.
"The one who…" Jordan chooses his words carefully, "...went off to the war?"
Jordan knows that Tina's older sister, Sayla, was one of the heroes of the Earth Federation Forces' White Base during the One Year War, fighting alongside the likes of Amuro Ray and Bright Noa. Of her older brother Edward, less is known, though Jordan has heard vague rumors that he was also a soldier and had perished during the recent war against resurgent Neo Zeon Forces led by Char Aznable.
"Yes," Tina says, clearly repressing feelings too difficult to allow to rise to the surface, "It arrived in dozens of boxes. It's taken me over a year to put it together. That's the reason you haven't seen me around much during Spring Recess. I just finished it yesterday."
"Far out," Jordan exhales, putting a hand on the armored texture of the Hobby Hizack's right leg.
Tina and Jordan board a lift platform that carries them to the mobile suit's cockpit. Tina seats herself in the cockpit and brings the mobile suit's systems to life. The activation of the glowing monoeye scanner affirms that all systems are go.
"This is how we're getting to the top of the Matterhorn," Tina tells Jordan.
Before conquering the Matterhorn, however, comes the conquest of the soccer field.
The Zuoz Ibex Varsity Soccer Team, UC 0093-0094, is one of two teams favored to win the International Amateur Soccer Tournament in the year ahead. Their closest rivals, the Wolfsburg Wolfe, defeated the Ibex the previous season in a closely-contested 3-2 showdown.
Ibex head coach Paolo Villanueva vows that this season, the Ibex would have their revenge, and with star players Tina Mass and Jordan Vance returning, Coach Villanueva has absolute confidence that the Ibex would prevail over the Wolfe.
The Ibex, like nearly all secondary school varsity soccer teams in UC 0094, is a co-ed team: four girls (including team captain Tina Mass) and seven boys (including Jordan Vance). They take the field in their team's practice colors, a grueling all-day training session.
"Move it, move it, MOVE IT!" Coach Villanueva shouts, "Vance! You're slow today! Coordinate your pace with Mass and Bieri!"
Tina sets Jordan up for a direct line into the goal. Jordan makes the kick...strong and straight, but his shot is deflected by the goalie.
"Shit!" Jordan curses, turning the other way to help his scrimmage squad on defense.
Tina, physically the smallest player on the team, tries to put her body between the driving player, a taller boy named Tozier, who slams his shoulder into Tina, putting her on the ground.
Tina reaches out, grabbing Tozier's ankle and tripping him, and promptly receiving a yellow card.
"MASS!" Villanueva bellows, "What the HELL was that?!"
"Sorry, Coach," Tina responds, rising to her feet, "Lost my temper for a second."
"Get it under control," Villanueva glowers at her, "You're the team captain, and I put you in that position because you showed you have a good head on your shoulders. Don't blow it."
"Yes, Coach," Tina answers meekly, "I won't let it happen again."
Gregory Tozier approaches Tina, "Hey, Tina...what the fuck was that about?!"
"Yeah, I'm sorry," Tina says contritely, "I got fed up with you bodying me so aggressively."
"You could have broken my ankle, or worse," Tozier says.
"All right," Tina sighs, "My bad. You OK?"
"Yeah," Tozier confirms.
Tina picks up the ball, "Let's continue, then."
"No, short breather," Jordan Vance interjects, "Coach?"
"Ten minutes," Coach Villanueva agrees.
The team disperses for drinks or to take a brief rest. Tina and Jordan remain at centerfield.
"Dirty play, Tina," Jordan winks at her.
Tina grins slightly, "I'm a dirty girl, after all."
"We still going to the Matterhorn this Sunday, 'dirty girl?'" Jordan asks, bouncing the ball on his knee.
"Absolutely," Tina replies, taking the ball back, "Come over after practice and I'll show you a few basics about mobile suit operation."
Later that evening, Jordan joins Tina in the mobile suit hangar as she runs the Hobby Hizack through a number of system checks.
"I never would have guessed you're into this kind of thing," Jordan smiles, standing on the lift gantry.
"Doesn't fit my image?" Tina answers from the cockpit, testing both of the mobile suit's arms and hands.
"Not at all," Jordan responds, "Is this what you want to do after high school? Become an MS pilot like your brother and sister?"
"Don't know," Tina says as she next tests the Hizack's legs, "Haven't thought that far ahead."
"I thought you might go into politics like your dad," Jordan remarks.
"Don't think so," Tina answers.
"You know…" Jordan begins hesitantly, "People at school talk. You know they...say things about you."
Tina sighs, "That I'm a wealthy, spoiled brat? My adoptive father is a prominent Earth Federation Government senator, and I do have my own mobile suit, but we're all students at the Lyceum Alpinum Zuoz, so those digs fall pretty flat."
"They also say…" Jordan is about to continue, but hesitates.
Not caring to hear the rest, Tina shrugs, "Let them think and say what they want. I don't give a shit."
"I don't believe any of it, though," Jordan brightens, "Never have, never will."
Tina smiles. While she couldn't care less what anyone else thinks, she takes satisfaction that Jordan doesn't believe the worst about her.
At 04:00 Sunday morning, Tina and Jordan are ready to depart aboard the Hobby Hizack affectionately named "Eddie"
Having received the necessary clearances from the local authorities, Tina filed her trek plan with the FMVA (Federal Mobile Vehicle Administration). As long as she checks in regularly with the regional authorities, her Hobby Hizack will not be identified as a hostile combatant machine.
Tina loads a picnic basket filled with sandwiches, fresh fruit, and thermoses of hot tea into a secure locker built into the mobile suit's armor.
She turns to Jordan, dressed in a normal suit, holding his chin, regarding the cockpit dubiously.
"There's only one seat," Jordan says, "How are…?"
"Get aboard," Tina instructs him.
Jordan seats himself in the cockpit seat, fastening the safety straps before saying, "And what about you? It's not like I know how to operate this thing."
Tina smiles, boards the cockpit, and seats herself on Jordan's lap, much to his unexpected thrill.
"Arms around my waist," Tina tells him as she pulls on the helmet of her own normal suit, "You're using the safety harness, so I'm counting on you to be my harness."
Jordan, still pleasurably flustered by the presence of Tina on his lap, stammers out, "R-right."
Tina opens up the comms of her helmet, hailing the local FMVA authority, "This is HBHZ7902. Pilot Tina Mass, departing from St. Moritz, course to Zermatt."
A voice replies momentarily "Copy, HBHZ7902. You are authorized for departure."
"Roger, thank you," Tina answers before turning back to Jordan, "Ready?"
"Ready," Jordan affirms.
"Ready, Eddie," Tina affirms playfully to the mobile suit under her control.
"Eddie" steps forward from the hangar, bounding into the sky before the power of its jet thrusters, the setting moon looming ahead of it.
Four hours later, "Eddie" is scaling the eastern face of the Zermatt...Switzerland's famous Matterhorn.
Using carefully measured bursts of jet thrust and rappelling cables built into its arm housings, the Hobby Hizack scales the nearly vertical, rocky mountain face. The pointed summit of the conical mountain towers hundreds of meters above them, while potential disaster sprawls thousands of meters below.
"The sky looks purple up here," Jordan remarks, "We must be getting near the edge of space."
"Not quite," Tina answers, "The Karman Line is 100 kilometers above the planetary surface, but the atmosphere is thin enough here that it's unable to scatter light on a wavelength that our eyes perceive as blue."
"Smartass," Jordan snorts, unconsciously tightening his grip around Tina's supple waist.
With one more jet booster assisted leap, "Eddie" reaches a point within 500 meters of the summit. Tina retracts the rappelling cables, but uses the hooks to secure the mobile suit on its back, against the face of the mountain.
Tina opens "Eddie's" cockpit hatch, and monitoring atmospheric pressure and temperature, opens the visor of her helmet.
Cautiously drawing in the cold, thin mountain air, Tina tells Jordan, "It's safe to breathe in for a few minutes, though we should reseal our helmet visors at regular intervals and reoxygenate."
Jordan opens his helmet visor, taking in a lungful of the frigid, clean air, "Makes St. Moritz air like London's or LA's by comparison."
Tina half listens, her face turned skyward. Up here, she can almost feel them...hear them…
Strains of waltz music from the 19th Century peal softly from "Eddie's" cockpit as Tina and Jordan share a simple picnic meal of sandwiches, fresh fruits, and hot tea.
Having finished their meal, the two snap as many photographs as they can onto their phones, with Tina even taking a few shots from the unique vantage point of the Hobby Hizack's monoeye camera, sharing the image with those whom Tina believes would appreciate it.
"School continues this week, and so do soccer tournaments," Jordan muses.
"Please," Tina replies, "Let's not ruin the day thinking about that."
"How about a little farther in the future, then," Jordan proposes, "Where are you going for college after next year?"
"Anywhere I want to," Tina says confidently, but not condescendingly, "but I might just enroll in the EFF Officer's Academy instead."
"I guess being an MS pilot really is in your blood," Jordan says.
"Could be," Tina answers noncommittally, leaning her head against Jordan's shoulder.
Jordan strokes her hair with his hand, holding her closer.
She looks up at him,...their faces closer than expected, but far from unwelcome.
Jordan leans forward, lips pursed for the kiss, but to his dismay, Tina turns away.
"It's...beautiful up here," Tina remarks, somewhat awkwardly, blushing slightly.
"This is...nice," Jordan remarks, for lack of anything better to say, struggling to hide his disappointment.
"It's peaceful here," Tina continues, "so far removed from the problems of the world."
"Hey, look!" Jordan points into the distance.
Tina smiles, "It's an ibex! Our school mascot!"
The horned animal, an emblem of the Swiss Alps, crouches around 100 meters from their mobile suit. It is a young female, evidently very pregnant.
"It's a little early in their breeding season," Tina observes, adjusting "Eddie's"video and audio receptors to focus on the ibex.
The two teenagers watch, fascinated, as the young mother ibex strains and pushes, bearing down with all her strength to bring forth life . Outside of educational videos, it is the first time Tina and Jordan have witnessed a live birth.
Tina and Jordan quietly observe as the young female ibex digs into the craggy Alpine mountain soil. Through "Eddie's" powerful audio sensors pick up on the animal's short, shallow breaths and grunts as it continues to strain and push.
"You think there's anything we can…?" Jordan begins to ask.
"No," Tina answers, "the best thing we can do is sit tight and let nature take its course."
On Tina's advice, the young pair continues to do nothing but observe the creature's struggle to deliver her young. Several more moments of intense straining and pushing brings forth the foal's head, rupturing the amniotic sac and causing amniotic fluid to mingle with the blood, urine, and fecal pellets on the Alpine earth. After one final, mighty push from the mother ibex, the wet baby foal topples at last from her body onto the ground.
"Wow…" Jordan marvels.
"Beautiful," Tina smiles, as she quietly photographs the new mother ibex affectionately licking its offspring.
Tina notices the sun rapidly descending.
"We'd better go," she says, bringing the idling "Eddie" to life, "We want to get off the mountain well before nightfall."
"Eddie's" monoeye illuminates. The Hobby Hizack rises, disengaging its hooks.
A flash sparks forth from Tina's helmeted forehead, and she spots it a half kilometer behind them on the aft monitor.
"Oh, fucking shit," Tina exhales.
"What is it?" Jordan asks, alarmed.
"Avalanche!" Tina yells by way of explanation as she jet boosts "Eddie" into the air. She knows that the combat-grade titanium shell of the Hobby Hizack is resilient, but she is not about to test its durability against tens of thousands of tons of snow and stone.
Fewer than ten seconds after "Eddie" bounds away, the force of the avalanche crashes into the spot where the Hobby Hizack had planted itself a minute earlier, pulverizing the mountain face. Tina's and Jordan's hearts sink as they think of the mother ibex and her three newborn kids.
Their compassion for the imperiled animals becomes sheer terror for themselves as the tide of stone and ice bears down behind them, threatening to overtake "Eddie," running at its top speed of 120 kilometers per hour.
"Tina!" Jordan calls out in terror.
"Come on, 'Eddie,' don't fail us," Tina pleads with the machine.
Tina applies a burst of jet booster thrust that she has been building for 15 seconds, releasing it in a powerful forward thrust that carries the Hobby Hizack half a kilometer ahead of the onrushing avalanche.
Twenty seconds later, "Eddie" hits the ground running, nearly slipping on the slick rocky terrain below.
"It's going to overtake us!" Jordan warns.
Watching the avalanche in the aft monitor, Tina redirects the Hobby Hizack to a 45 degree angle away from its path, putting on another burst of jet booster thrust as the avalanche crashes upon the spot where "Eddie" had stood a second earlier.
The avalanche, having lost much of its momentum, oozes behind and past them.
"Close…," Jordan exhales, "That was close…"
"We should head back," Tina adds a moment later, after collecting her breath and her wits, "We've had enough of the Zermatt today."
"Eddie" arrives back at the hangar on the Mass Estate in St. Moritz around 11pm local time.
Tina and Jordan disembark from the mobile suit, exhausted from their long day.
"We have practice tomorrow morning at six," Jordan sighs.
"I know," Tina says, "Back to reality. Well, as close to reality as sports get, anyway."
"Pick you up tomorrow morning at five?" Jordan asks.
"No need," Tina tells him, "I'll meet you down on the field."
Conscious of how that must sound in Jordan's ears, Tina plants a quick, reassuring kiss on his cheek before saying, "But you're welcome to come by if you like."
Tina and Jordan are on the field by 05:30 the following morning, kicking around ahead of the arrival of Coach Villanueva and the rest of the team.
They once again attempt a trick shot that has defied them for months, in spite of repeated tries...the acrobatic, but difficult "bicycle shot."
Jordan attempts it on a set-up by Tina, and promptly falls on his backside. Tina's attempt a few minutes later with their roles reversed is no more successful.
"I don't think we're ever going to get that move down," Jordan complains, still on his back on the turf.
Tina, back on her feet, declares, "We will."
Two hours later, the campus of the Lyceum Alpinum Zuoz is abuzz with activity as students return for their first day of classes following the conclusion of the Spring Recess.
Tina is gathering her books for her first three classes of the day: Engineering Mathematics, Advanced Physics, and Political Theory.
"Hey," Jordan smiles, sidling up to her, both clad (as are all the other students) in the male (trousers) and female (skirt) versions of the dark blazer, white shirt, and school emblem necktie uniform.
"Ready?" Tina asks.
"Yeah. No rush...not exactly eager for zero period Engineering Mathematics with Dr. Palmiter," Jordan answers.
"We have three minutes," Tina says, looking at her watch.
"It's just around the corner," Jordan says, "and so is trouble."
"Trouble" appears in the form of Julian Brandis, senior at the Internatsschule Wolfsburg, captain of the Wolfsburg Wolfe soccer team, and troublemaker who twice before had come close to being expelled from the Internatsschule, and would surely have been had Julian's father, Nathan Brandis, not been the founder and proprietor of Brandis Industries, manufacturer and supplier of crucial computer systems for the Earth Federation Space Armada. The Brandis Family is known for having deep ties with Earth Federation Forces General Manron Blackhead and Senator Terrence Torrance of the North Atlantic Sector.
Julian's visits to St. Moritz twice every school year are not events to which the students at the Lyceum Alpinum Zuoz look forward. Most avoid Julian as a loudmouthed, obnoxious bully, particularly notorious for his boorish treatment of female students.
Julian, accompanied by two of his cronies, a pair of knuckleheads named Malcolm and Jeffrey, similarly over-privileged and under-disciplined sons of wealth and power, smirks as he spots the pair.
"Well," Julian says nastily, "it's the Goofball Nerds, boys! Good to see you again! Been too long since we kicked your sorry asses!"
"Come on," Jordan says to Tina, taking her hand, "We don't have time to waste with these clowns."
As the young couple prepares to leave, Julian sneers, "Hey, Tina! Is it true what people around here been saying about you?"
Tina turns to face the ruffian, her voice calm and steady as she asks, "What have you heard?"
Julian approaches her menacingly, "I heard you were easy."
Jordan rushes forth, growling, prepared to deck Julian, but is held back by Julian's two goons, Mal and Jeff.
"You want to see how easy?" Tina says to Julian in a sultry tone.
Julian reaches over as if to stroke Tina on the back of her head; Tina steps closer to him as if to permit him to embrace her…then releases an EXPLOSIVE jab of her right knee straight into the soft flesh of his crotch!
Julian crumples to the ground, wincing and grabbing at his crotch, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes.
In the ensuing chaos, Jordan unleashes a left hook that floors Jeff, while Tina takes Mal down with a blow to the cheek from her three-kilogram, hardcover Engineering Mathematics textbook.
The couple spares the three delinquents, all rolling around on the ground clutching their injuries and groaning, a brief disdainful glare before heading to their zero period class.
Across the street from the Lyceum, an Earth Federation Forces' general issue jeep fires up its engine and departs, its wide-brimmed black fedora-crowned driver satisfied that, at least for now, Tina Mass has proven capable of taking care of herself.
Two days into the new academic year, the students of the Lyceum Alpinum Zuoz and the St Moritz community in general eagerly anticipates the rematch between the previous season's two finalists: their own Zuoz Ibex and their German rivals, the Wolfe of the Internatsschule Wolfsburg.
The Wolfe had defeated the Ibex in a closely-contested championship game at the end of the previous season - a controversial game wherein many believed that the Wolfe had prevailed in the closely-contested match by playing in a dirty, excessively physical, and unsportsmanlike manner. Indeed, two Ibex players had suffered season-ending injuries as a result of the Wolfe's highly physical style of play.
Consequently, both Coach Paolo Villanueva and team captain Tina Mass had focused on strength- and core-building over the spring. Any time Tina was not tinkering on Eddie, she had been in the gym working out, building her strength, stamina, and muscle tone, the result being her slender adolescent body becoming more robust and athletic.
Though their bodies are stronger, however, the Zuoz players still feel somewhat emotionally intimidated by their more physical opponents, and the pregame tension is palpable in the Zuoz's girls' locker room one hour before the game.
Tina pulls on a tube sock and white soccer cleat, lacing up. The three other girls on the team - Ginger Melvoin, Emilie Mesa, and Wendy Tesch, are silently anxious.
"If that Kurt Becker elbows or knees me again, I'm going to clod him, HARD!" Ginger, a junior, snarls through set teeth, "I sat home for the first four weeks of the spring when his hard bump left me with a sprained ankle and knee."
"Don't lose your head," Tina tells her, inspecting her cleats, "If you get hit, hit back to show that you aren't going to be intimidated, but don't let it get out of hand. This is football, not mixed martial arts."
"Those Wolfe bastards…!" Ginger begins again.
Tina cuts her off, "Keep your head on straight, and don't do anything stupid. Focus on the goal and don't let your fears rule you. We're all here for each other, and we'll watch each other's backs."
The game begins promptly at 6pm local time at Ibex Field. For this game, the Ibex have home field advantage. The previous year's championship round had been played on neutral ground in London, England.
After a final huddle with her teammates, Tina serves the ball from centerfield and the game is on!
As expected, the Wolfe play their usual physical, aggressive, intimidating game, putting the smaller Ibex players on the turf more often than not. The officials, content to let the game play out instead of interrupting the flow with frequent foul whistles, provide little help.
The difference in this game, however, much to the Wolfe's dismay, is that the Ibex are hitting back, giving as good as they get.
With the Ibex down 0-1 to start the game, Tina finds herself in a grind against the Wolfe's center midfielder, a tall, muscular boy named Oskar Moller. Weighing 22 kg more and standing 35 cm taller than Tina, Oskar uses his greater physical mass and robustness to his advantage, knocking Tina down.
The official mercifully blows the official, and Jordan rushes over to Tina.
"You OK?" Jordan asks, his eyes full of concern.
"Fine," Tina answers, scrambling back to her feet, "Go! Go! GO!"
The Ibex rush back on the attack as their goalie successfully blocks the Wolfe's latest shot, saving the Ibex from going down to a nearly insurmountable 0-2.
Using her nimbleness against Moller's strength and size, Tina sets up Jordan for a corner shot that Jordan succeeds in getting around the Wolfe's goalie and into the net!
Game tied. 1-1.
Tina and Jordan lead the team back on defense, throwing themselves in front of the advancing Wolfe kickers and disrupting their opponents' advance with surprising physicality that the Wolfe were not expecting. Accustomed to using their superior size and strength to bully opposing teams, the Wolfe team is not prepared for the Ibex to reciprocate. Elbows fly...knees thrust...bodies slam into bodies. Both teams are assessed a dangerously high number of yellow cards, and both teams lose a player each to red cards.
Bruised, bleeding, and muddy, Tina and Jordan briefly catch their breath before Jordan pants, "Tina...only three minutes left, and we're down a point."
"OK," Tina pants in response, "We're going for that maneuver we've been working on."
"But…" Jordan begins.
"DO IT," Tina's eyes flash.
The Ibex advance, coming at the Wolfe in a blitzkrieg run.
As the other Ibex run interference, Tina advances the ball up the field, trading off with Jordan, their footwork and speed keeping the Wolfe defenders off balance.
Jordan advances the ball towards the goal, approaching the Wolfe goalie, who stands ready to block the shot.
Ten seconds left on the clock.
Jordan aims the shot, with a beautiful, powerful kick that clears the Wolfe's goalie...but then, infuriatingly, bounces off the top post of the goal above the net!
Shit, Jordan kicks himself mentally, I overshot it!
Five seconds left.
Tina sees it, but the angle is awkward. To have any chance of reaching it would require…
Tina launches herself into the air, rotating her slender, lithe, athletic body 180 degrees as she rises to make the shot, twisting her body around with gymnastic agility for a nearly impossible backflip bicycle shot!
The ball sails into the goal past the Wolfe's confused goalie as the clock ticks down to one second.
2-1, Ibex as time expires!
Jordan runs towards Tina to offer a congratulatory high-five, but finds himself suddenly felled by a heavy shove by Wolfe team captain Julian Brandis that knocks Jordan onto the field.
Brandis begins kicking the fallen Jordan as elsewhere on the field, brawls break out between Wolfe and Ibex players. The referees and coaching staffs of both teams rush to the field to try to restore order.
"You aren't better than us, you little shit!" Brandis snarls as he continually kicks Jordan, who is bleeding from the mouth, "You cocksuckers just got lucky! You're nothing but SHIT!"
Brandis is about to stomp on Jordan's chest with the bottom of his cleat, when Tina takes him down with a flying tackle!
Julian rises, ready to choke the life out of Tina, but she swiftly kicks his right ankle, fracturing and undoing his lateral malleolus and talus.
As the massive youth drops to his knees, wincing, Tina lashes out with a powerful fist to his nose, shattering it.
Julian pitches face forward on the field, quiet and still as death as blood pools underneath his face. A gasp echoes throughout the stadium.
Tina grabs the fallen Julian by his scalp, hellbent on inflicting more pain upon him.
"Oh, my God!" Jordan gasps, struggling to his feet and towards Tina, who is about to further pummel the already unconscious Julian.
"Tina, knock it OFF before you kill him!" Coach Villanueva thunders.
Together, Jordan and Villanueva pull Tina off of Julian Brandis, who lies disturbingly motionless as his father and two medics reach him.
"Julian! Julian, do you hear me?!" demands the young man's father.
To the elder Brandis's relief, Julian stirs and groans, too dizzy to rise.
Tina is about to charge at him again before Coach Villanueva, Jordan, and several of her other teammates pull her away.
"Tina, get a grip!" Jordan pants, holding her around the waist.
Coach Villanueva, Jordan, and a few other Ibex players pull Tina into the locker room as the medics attend to the injured Jordan. The officials deliberate momentarily, then announce that the game is over and will be recorded with a final score of 2-1, Ibex.
An observer clad in a black tank top and naval digital camo fatigues trousers, the same man who drove the jeep away from the Lyceum and was the patron at the Stübli Bar, had been watching the game. He disappears silently into St. Moritz night, his presence hardly a ripple in the cool Alpine air.
An hour later, Tina and her adoptive father, Senator Teabolo Mass are in the office of Dr. Nolan Caspari, Head of the Lyceum Alpinum Zuoz. Also present are Wolfsburg Wolfe team captain Julian Brandis, his injured nose and ankle bandaged, and Julian's father, industrialist Nathan Brandis.
"This crazy bitch should be thrown out of your academy and into a prison cell or mental institution!" the elder Brandis demands, "She nearly killed my son out there!"
Tina is about to speak, but is silenced by Senator Mass's gentle hand on her shoulder, "Mr. Brandis, Tina did indeed go too far, and for that, I offer you my humblest apologies. Because Julian's injuries were indeed inflicted by Tina, I will cover the cost of his recovery. As far as her status at the Lyceum goes, that is a decision for Dr. Caspari. I assure you that Tina will receive counseling as needed to prevent further outbursts of such violent behavior, but you must do the same for Julian."
"What do you mean, Senator?!" Nathan Brandis demands, "My son is the victim here!"
"Your son is in this situation because he is arrogant," a softly spoken voice states from a nearby chair.
A man with auburn hair, wearing a fine suit and sunglasses, tapped his cane as he rises from his seat, "I don't mean to interject, but my observation is that he grossly underestimated his opponents and their resolve to obtain victory. Add in that I've heard how he has done his fair share of victimizing, then all that happened here was Karma finally rearing her ugly head. If Miss Tina is to face prosecution for her assault on Julian, then so must Julian face the consequences for his own."
Knowing of his son's long history of violent bullying, Brandis grumbles unintelligibly for a moment before turning to the man, "I suppose you have a point, Mr. Marr… your thoughts, Dr. Calpari?"
The grey-haired Head of the Lyceum Alpinum Zuoz clears his voice before responding, "Miss Mass...your conduct today demonstrated remarkably poor judgment, and has embarrassed our academy. In light of your past exemplary record as a scholar, and out of respect for your adoptive father, I will not expel you from the Lyceum. However, you are hereby suspended from all school activities for the next three days, and you are permanently dismissed from the Ibex soccer team. I will not tolerate another such outburst, is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," Tina says contritely.
"You may now apologize to Julian and Mr. Brandis," Dr. Calpari nods.
Tina does not, glaring at both Brandises and remaining tight-lipped.
"Tina, stop being stubborn," Senator Mass says with fatherly sternness, "You were in the wrong, and must apologize."
Tina says nothing, leaving Dr. Calpari's office.
"That…!" Nathan's face darkens.
"Nathan," Senator Mass interjects calmly, "I think it best that we leave it at that. Tina is stubborn; I know her temperament well. I will discuss this matter with her. Julian needs to rest and recover; I suggest you take him home."
Nathan Brandis's lips tighten, "You'll be hearing from us, Senator. Julian: Let's go home."
"Reminds me of Ryusuke whenever he would be in one of his moods," a tall, thin woman with long dark hair says with a chuckle, "He'd be all moody and murderous and would just isolate himself. You remember that, Jerid?"
"Oh I remember, Octavia," he tells her, "You were quite obsessed with him at the time."
Octavia grinned as she said, "Well a woman has needs, dear brother."
Jerid chuckles as he taps Octavia's hand, then he remarks, "Tina Mass...this girl burns with a...how should I put it...yes, a regal fire. She bears watching, Octavia."
Senator Mass finds Tina in the hangar back on the Mass estate, tinkering on Eddie, repairing some minor damage sustained during the excursion to the Matterhorn.
"Tina," Senator Mass calls to his youngest adopted child, "I need to speak with you."
Tina closes up a maintenance panel and dutifully approaches her adoptive father.
"That was very reckless and foolish behavior," the senator says to her gently, but firmly, "I am disappointed by your poor judgment."
"I know," Tina sighs, "I'm sorry, sir. I embarrassed you and Dr. Calpari, but...I don't regret doing it."
"Meaning?" Senator Mass probes, lighting his pipe.
"Julian was abusing my teammates," Tina answers, her eyes blazing, "and might have killed Jordan. I couldn't let that happen."
The senator nods, then answers, "You did much more than save Jordan from a beating. Don't you realize that you went too far, and came close to killing Julian Brandis?"
"Yes," Tina responds plainly, "I know that. I could not let him get away with hurting my teammates and friends."
The senator sighs, "The blood of your father, Dozle Zabi, simmers within you. He was a man devoted to those who served alongside him, and would have done no differently. You are truly your father's daughter, Mineva...for better or worse."
Seldom has Senator Mass addressed Tina by her true name, or alluded to her true parentage. That he does so now reflects the importance of his thoughts.
"You must learn to control the rage that burns inside you," the senator says, "I do not wish to see you go down the same path that Edward...that Casval did. You must pay a price for the mistake you made. This Hizack: you will have no further access to it until you prove to me that you have the self-control for such a responsibility."
"Yes, sir," Tina says respectfully, "I understand."
Inside the executive suite at the luxurious Kulm Hotel in St. Moritz, Nathan Brandis meets with three shadowy individuals notorious to the underworld and law enforcement alike. The two men and one woman whom Brandis summoned to the Kulm are infamous for their brutality.
Seated near the fireplace is the immaculately attired and groomed Simon Decatur, age 35, gentleman by reputation, assassin by trade, calmly, almost playfully twirls the wicked kris in his hands, a weapon he had acquired in Bangkok, Thailand when he was a youth of 14, by slowly carving apart the flesh of its previous owner in a dark alley.
Seated at the dining table eating grapes and an assortment of chocolate-covered nuts is Louis "Crusher" Jones, age 42. Born and raised in the Bronx borough of New York City, and late of the rough spaceport of San Pedro at L4. Towering at 200 centimeters and weighing 136 kg, Crusher is known for his appetites...for food, for blood, and for other carnal pleasures, and over the course of his life of mayhem and murder, seldom has Crusher been stopped from satisfying his appetites. Crusher's unsavory appetites got the better of him five months ago at the Industria Colony of Side 5, where an encounter with a young, dark-haired hellion who had much more fight in her than appearances suggested left Crusher with one eye. As he darkly swallows a grape, Crusher unconsciously rubs the eyepatch behind which was once his right eye.
Lounging on the sofa is a woman clad in a leather biker's outfit. Her hair dyed a bluish green, the woman coils a leather whip affixed with sharp "spikes" that are, in fact, sharpened bone and horn fragments from an unidentified animal. Ventura de Santa Maria, age 29 from Caribbean Dominica. Her victims, which have included people on five continents and several space colonies, met their end through asphyxiation and/or fractured necks, punctured and bleeding.
"Some might say it's overkill," Brandis addresses his menacing trio of guests, "but I hire only the best, and am perfectly willing to spend the money necessary. Here's your target."
Brandis shows each member of the trio a photo of Tina Mass taken earlier that afternoon.
"She's just a kid," Ventura says with some measure of disgust, "You're right. It's overkill, but if you're willing to pay, we'll get it done."
The corner of Decatur's lip rises slightly and his eyes narrow as he says to Crusher, "Seems to be your type, Jones. I understand you like 'em fresh and young. She can't be much more than 14 or 15, but I suggest you proceed with caution. We all saw very vividly what happened at Industria Colony."
Crusher glares at Decatur out of his remaining eye, but instead of responding to Decatur's remark, Crusher turns to Brandis and crackles his knuckles loudly, "Pound 'em high, then pound 'em low. Then crush the life out of 'em. Best way to do it. I'll even cut you a discount on this one, Mr. Brandis."
Brandis smiles, "No need, no need. The pleasure is mine. It is good that I was able to acquire the services of...professionals such as yourselves on such short notice."
It is the Saturday night following the soccer skirmish. Tina Mass dresses in her best, checks her makeup in the mirror, dons a pair of earrings - an heirloom from her mother, Lady Zenna Mia Zabi - and prepares to meet up with her erstwhile soccer team at the Cafe Hansselman for dinner and whatever might follow. Just because she's been booted off the team doesn't mean she's been booted from her friendships with her teammates. If anything, the incident with Julian Brandis has driven them closer, though the Ibex would need to win the remainder of the season's games without their former team captain.
Tina hops aboard her ten-speed bicycle and begins pedaling towards the town center, unaware of the Fiat that begins tailing her.
"That's her," Simon Decatur tells his two companions.
The Fiat moves slowly, inconspicuously, never losing sight of Tina, but not obviously following her either.
Tina's bicycle swoops gracefully into the town's central plaza. She disembarks on the run and sets the bike against the outer wall of the Cafe Hansselman. Locks and chains are unnecessary; people in St. Moritz don't need to steal.
Tina finds her entire soccer team and a few other friends waiting for her at a corner table.
Ginger Melvoin checks her watch, "This is a first. You're actually a full ninety seconds late, Captain."
"Sorry," is all Tina says, seeing no need to explain her slight tardiness as she takes a seat next to Jordan Vance, taking his hand into hers, her eyes and voice full of concern, "How are you feeling?"
Jordan, his head bandaged and one eye still purple and slightly swollen, answers glumly, "Still living…barely."
Tina gently touches his forehead, "And now?"
Jordan smiles, his grip on her hand becoming firmer, "Better than ten seconds ago."
"So, Captain," Ginger begins.
"Not 'Captain' anymore, Ginger," Tina interjects, "I'm off the team, permanently."
Though not an unexpected development, the team falls silent at the reality that their leader and best player will never play competitively alongside them again.
"This sucks!" Emilie Mesa complains, pounding a fist on the table, "I bet the Wolfe aren't expelling that sonofabitch Brandis from their team for almost killing Jordan! Why should Tina…?!"
"Drop it," Tina tells them, "I blew it and I'm off the team. That's the long and short of it."
"What are you going to do now, Tina?" asks Liz Moon, one of Tina's friends not on the soccer team.
"There's an open position for a string writer on the school paper," Tina answers.
"Journalism?" Wendy Tesch makes a face, "What a comedown! From winning trophies on the field, fans cheering, to sitting around in front of a computer all day!"
"There are bigger things to think about than chasing a ball around a field," Tina points out.
"Journalism is just as important as trophies and medals," Shirley comes by with a knowing smile at Tina, "They sway public opinion and alert the masses by storm. It's how we know what's going on not only on Earth, but in the colonies and space as well. Oh, yes, journalists play a critical role in the world just like any other. Like informing the town of your soccer match against the Wolfe."
"You sound like you've worked in the field," Tina answers, smiling, "Did you live another life before the Hansselman?"
"A lot of people had a life before the One Year War," Shirley answers with a sad smile, while noting the cleverness of the question, "I used to own a coffee shop back in the day. You tend to meet many people working in one and get some interesting gossip in the mix. Now, things are different: my shop is no more and my nieces…"
She trails off, remembering things she dares not say in front of these children. She nearly breaks the pen with her strong grip at the memory. No, she must never finish that sentence. She needs to remain calm and professional.
"Ah, my bad," she smiles again, "I got carried away. Does anyone know what they like to order?"
"You got anything that combines coffee with a milkshake?" Tina asks.
"Not on the menu," Shirley answers, "but I can invent one."
"Invent one, then," Tina tells her, "Make it a super-grande. Two straws. We're sharing," she finishes, looking at Jordan.
"Oh?" Shirley gives a knowing grin at the teen pair, "Well, now. It seems I have my work cut out for me after all! I do love a good challenge! One special coffee shake coming right up!"
The Zeon barista takes the rest of the group's orders before heading back to the coffee station to concoct such a request for the young, and in her mind, budding couple.
"You two officially an item now?" Wendy ventures.
Tina and Jordan exchange knowing glances and sly smiles, but they decline to answer.
"They're an item," Emilie teases, "Look at 'em blush!"
Tina glances at Jordan, noting that he has indeed turned a deep shade of red unrelated to the injuries he sustained or the fire heating the restaurant's interior space. Tina is also conscious that the temperature of the room has, in a moment, become uncomfortably warm.
As if to rescue them from or compound their embarrassment, Shirley reemerges with a tray of drinks, including a tall glass containing an attractively malted drink, two intertwined straws (one red, one green), two dove chocolate hearts, and a generous pile of whip cream.
"Fantastic," Tina enthuses, "What do you call it, Shirley?"
"Let's call it a 'Spring Fling,' OK?" Shirley answers slyly.
Tina and Jordan wish they could slide under the table, much to their friends' amusement.
Perhaps to avoid further embarrassment, Tina takes a tentative sip of Shirley's concoction and smiles, "It's great!"
Curious, Jordan takes a sip from his straw and concurs, "Yeah...I think you've got a winner here!"
The positive reaction from Tina and Jordan prompts the other teens to ask Shirley to duplicate the recipe.
Spring fling, Tina thinks to herself, exchanging a knowing glance with Jordan.
Several hours later, the teens file out of the Hansselman.
"Late night movie?" Ginger proposes.
"Not this week," Tina says, "Still have some studying to do."
"'Some studying to do,'" Ginger repeats with a sarcastic sigh, "as if you're the only one."
"I'll escort you home," Jordan offers, his hand on a handlebar of his bike, parked adjacent to Tina's.
"You don't mind?" Tina asks by way of reflexive manners.
"Not a bit," Jordan answers her, perhaps slightly too eagerly.
His reply draws the smiles and stares of the other teens.
"Don't get any strange ideas," Tina admonishes them as she straddles her own bicycle.
Three figures, crouching separately on nearby rooftops, watch the young couple go.
"We're gonna move against them?" Crusher Jones says quietly into his phone.
"No," Ventura answers, "Not yet. Not here. Somewhere less exposed, and where we're in a better position to slip away undetected."
"Jones is hungry," Decatur grumbles, "Like the hound he is."
"Hey," Jones protests.
"Less chatter," Ventura warns them, "Continue observing."
The weeks pass. Easter comes and goes. March melts into April as the Alpine foothills come alive with the aroma of leonpodia and glacier buttercups.
It is the first truly warm day of the spring, reaching a (for Switzerland) scorching 28 degrees celsius...warm enough for Tina to be clad in a white tank top and short black denim shorts shorter than any Jordan has ever seen her wear, causing him to struggle to avoid staring. The young man cannot focus on the curve graphs of his advanced calculus textbook as his attention is drawn to Tina's curves. Lying on her stomach, her bare feet dangling in the air, Tina is so absorbed in the passages of her political science textbook that she is oblivious to the stimulating effect she is having on her companion.
Tina leafs through Political History and Theory: A Guide From Yesterday For Tomorrow's World, while Niccolo Machiavelli's The Prince and Thomas Hobbes' The Leviathan await on a nearby bed of grass. Tina's eyes and mind drink in humanity's long search for better government - tribalism, feudalism, monarchism, republicanism, nationalism, socialism, communism, fascism, Zeonism...the more things stay the same, the more they stay the same.
Tina turns over to lie on her back, putting the open book across her face, "Ugh…"
"What's the matter?" asks Jordan, his heart pounding as he hopes Tina has not noticed him staring.
"People," Tina answers, taking the book off of her face and sitting up, "The more I read, the more I'm convinced that 99% of the people who ever lived were morons."
"Probably not far from the truth," Jordan answers, "Most people are pretty stupid."
Tina lifts the book and holds it towards Jordan, "Look at this! Hundreds of pages detailing thousands of years of experiences, and nobody seems to have learned anything!"
"What can you do about it?" Jordan wonders absently.
"So much more," Tina answers, crossing her legs and cradling the book in her arms thoughtfully.
"How's life as a string writer for the Weekly Bleat?" Jordan asks.
"Ugh," Tina repeats, "They put me on a lame ass lifestyle and human interests beat. I'm supposed to review the Cafe Hansselman and track this summer's youth fashions. It's the 0090s! That isn't a woman's job anymore!"
"You're the newest reporter on the staff," Jordan points out, "they're not going to have you cover international politics and other hard news right away."
"They could have at least started me off covering the soccer team," Tina counters, throwing the book across the grassy hill, where it lands amid a bed of flowers.
"Hey…" Jordan says soothingly, putting his hand on Tina's.
Tina draws her legs closer to her body and rests her chin upon her knees, blowing a forelock of her hair out of her eyes, saying "I overheard Mr. Teabolo talking with some Earth Federation Forces officials the other day. They're planning on a huge mop-up operation of the remaining ZTF."
"That's...good, isn't it?" Jordan remarks probingly.
"Waste of time, resources, and lives," Tina shakes her head, "They'd be better off repatriating the remaining ZTF to Side 3 and making it habitable again."
"You know, that's what my folks say too," Jordan adds, "the war has been going on longer than we've been alive, but like you were saying, nobody seems to be learning anything."
"I want it to end before we're old enough to be having kids of our own," Tina remarks, plucking absently at a purple wildflower.
Biting his lip nervously, his heart racing, Jordan plants a gentle kiss on the left cheek of the unsuspecting Tina. A soft, dry, quick peck...the kind that only an innocent, nervous schoolboy ever gives.
Tina's eyes widen in surprise, but she offers him a bashful smile and gently leans her head against his shoulder. Jordan's fingers find Tina's reddish blonde hair, stroking it softly as he holds her close in his arms, giving her a second, longer kiss on her forehead that causes her to blush slightly, but draws no complaint or resistance.
The two teenagers' tranquil reverie is abruptly shattered by a thunderous roar that echoes across the Alpine skies, shaking the windows of St. Moritz.
Both youths rise to their feet and crane their heads towards the sky.
"Up there!" Jordan points towards the heavens, "Looks like jet fighters!"
"No," Tina disagrees, her eyes better trained for discerning such things, "mobile suits...looks like Jegan types...on Base Jabbers!"
A delta formation of three, streaking high above them in the azure skies.
The teenagers watch from their hilltop vantage point as the Base Jabbers streak southwards, past the Alps, down the Italian peninsula, and towards the Mediterranean.
As the mobile suits disappear over the horizon, Tina gathers up her books and tablet into her backpack, slips her bare feet into a pair of sports shoes, and hops onto her bicycle, pulling up next to Jordan, who has just mounted his own bicycle and awaits her.
"Race you back into town," Jordan challenges her with a smile.
The two bicycles speed down the hill at breakneck speed, the two riders betting their skills and reflexes against the force of gravity.
Two hundred meters down the path, Tina's bicycle runs over a sharp rock that shreds its rear tire.
Tina's bicycle fishtails out of control...finally toppling over, sending Tina rolling onto the path.
Hearing the crash and fall, Jordan stops his own bicycle, and his eyes widen in alarm when he spots Tina sitting dazed on the ground, the rear tire of her bicycle twisted and limpid.
Dropping his own bicycle on the ground, Jordan runs back to her and kneels beside her, "Hey...are you all right?"
"Yeah," Tina answers, rubbing her reddish blonde hair, "Just hit a rock and took a tumble."
"You're bleeding!" Jordan says, indicating Tina's right elbow.
Tina examines the wound...a mild abrasion from which a small smear of blood is visible. Less conspicuous abrasions are also apparent on her knees.
"Shit," Tina remarks, making a sour face.
"You OK?" Jordan says, helping her up.
"Yeah, it's just a scratch," Tina says, "but my bike…"
Jordan nods, "Tire is totaled, and rim is busted."
"Going to need to go to the bike shop for a new tire," Tina says, "and back to my house for some tools."
"Sit on the back of my seat," Jordan offers, "I'll take you back into town. Race is called off due to wheel mishap."
Tina offers Jordan a smile, and then, seats herself behind him on his bicycle, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"Hang on," Jordan says, pushing off on the bike.
Tina leans her head gently on the small or Jordan's back as he pedals towards the town below. Her contented sigh leaves him with a heart-pounding thrill.
Ten minutes later, they are in the central town square of St. Moritz, near the Cafe Hansselman.
"You go to the shop and get that replacement tire," Tina says, disembarking from Jordan's bicycle and handing him some cash, "I'll head home and get that toolkit. I'll meet you back here in around thirty minutes."
"Gotcha," Jordan says, taking the cash from her and pedaling towards the bike shop a few blocks down.
Tina watches him go for a moment, then turns and heads up the familiar streets towards the Mass Estate compound. She ducks into an alley that provides a convenient shortcut, avoiding the busier streets, to the Mass Estate.
She spots a burly figure seated on the ground, a hulk of a man clad in a tatty Earth Federation Forces officers' jacket that dates to the One Year War era. Other than his size, the man is otherwise conspicuous for the eyepatch covering his right eye, likely a "souvenir" from that war.
Derelicts are few in St Moritz, but not entirely unknown. Even so, Tina knows she has never seen this particular man before.
The burly man looks up and grins a gap-toothed grin at her, extending a metal cup in front of him and supplicating in a Cockney English accent, "'Elp out an ole war veteran, eh, luv?"
Tina fishes out a few coins from the pockets of her shorts, more than a little uncomfortable with how the burly man seems to be leering at her bare legs, making her wish she were wearing long trousers.
Tina dashes down the alley as fast as those legs can carry her. The burly man rises, grinning at her departing girlish form and trailing her, his eyes focused on the girl's shapely derriere,and his imagination, on intentions too repugnant to describe.
Tina's phone beeps just as she enters the Mass Manor. Her heart jumps as her eyes note that it is an email from the Admissions Office of the University of Lyons in Lyons, France.
Tina rushes into her bedroom and closes the door to read the email in privacy.
Admissions Office, University of Lyons
11 April, UC 0094
Dear Miss Mass:
It is our pleasure to extend to you the opportunity to attend our university as a freshman undergraduate, double-majoring in Political Science and Military History, in the Fall Semester of UC 0094. Your record of academic, athletic, and personal accomplishment caught the attention of the Admissions Committee and Provost's Office, and we are offering you a full scholarship for your undergraduate studies and Admissions with High Honors.
We look forward to meeting you on our campus this summer and officially welcome you as a student in the fall.
Congratulations and welcome.
Felix Moliere
Provost, University of Lyons
Tina suppresses an urge to squeal in delight. Even in the privacy of her bedroom, with no eyes watching, a former grand duchess's sense of decorum remains sacrosanct.
She does forward the email to her foster parents. Within moments, Teabolo and Amelia send their congratulations and a promise to celebrate with her at dinner in a few hours.
As the reality of the admissions email strikes her, Tina looks around the bedroom she has occupied for the past five years…five generally tranquil, happy years.
She would soon be leaving it all behind, and though she has taken great joy in her life at St. Moritz, she cannot help feeling that circumstances were quickly drawing her away…not just to Lyons, but towards horizons yet unseen.
Two days later, after school, Tina, clad in her school uniform, sits at the Cafe Hansselman. She smiles pleasantly as Shirley approaches and takes a seat at the table.
"Thank you for taking time from your lunch hour for this interview, Shirley," Tina says, taking out her electronic tablet, "You don't mind if I record this, do you?"
"Not at all," Shirley returns the smile, "and it's my pleasure."
"Let's begin, so I don't take up too much of your time," Tina continues, "First, how did you come to work at the Hansselman?"
"I was looking for work," Shirley answers plainspokenly, "To be fairly honest, I'm trying to earn enough money to return to Zum City."
"How long have you been living on Earth," Tina continues, "and what brought you planetside in the first place?"
"How long indeed…" Shirley takes a moment to recall, "Truthfully, I had ended up enlisting as a way to make ends meet about halfway through the war. There were a fair number of small business owners who found themselves going out of business because their regulars were off fighting the war. It was the first time there had ever been a state of poverty in Zum City."
"Were you with the Zeon Air Kommand," Tina ventures, "or Zeon Terrestrial Forces?"
Shirley replies without hesitation, "My unit was a part of the terrestrial forces. However, I was terrible at piloting, so I was nothing more than your standard infantry."
"Next, I want to…" Tina pauses, a half-formed question about coffee recipes rapidly evaporating from her mind, "Have you heard that the Earth Federation Forces are in the planning stages of an offensive against ZTF?"
Shirley gives her a mild look of surprise, not expecting the question at all. In fact, it's completely off script from what she was supposed to be answering. It was half expected, however, as she gives the red-haired teen a sad smile.
"I've heard the rumors," the barista replied, solemnly, "It won't happen, though... it'd take nothing short of dropping a colony on at least five different locations to eliminate all the Zeon remnants on Earth."
"Do you keep up with the news from Side 3? Well, as much as the Federation authorities allow to slip through their own censorship, anyway," Tina presses, "Do you still have loved ones in Zum City that you keep in touch with?"
"I try to, more or less," Shirley admits, "Unfortunately, the Federation restricts a lot more than the general media. I have two nieces just a few years younger than you and I haven't been able to contact them or my sister for more than ten years now. So it certainly hasn't been easy, as you can guess."
Tina looks pained as she remarks softly, "I'm sorry."
An awkward silence ensues. Tina clears her throat and looks nervously at the screen of her data pad.
"It must be hard," Tina begins again, "living here among...the enemy."
"It can be," Shirley gives her a small, sad smile, "but I don't consider these people my enemy the way most Zeon soldiers do. I did what I did simply because there was nothing else to do. I left the minute I heard the war was over, and that was the end of it. Honestly? I just want to go home, see my girls, check up on the place that was once my shop, and try to rebuild what was lost. Is that too much to ask of the Federation? To send a girl back home?"
Tina, feeling a little choked up, says, "Thank you. I guess...we went kind of off-topic, but I appreciate your candid answers."
"Anytime. Though, I should apologize that you had to hear this old war horse ramble on it!" Shirley tells Tina with a hint of humor, "Would you like some coffee before you go, dear?"
"Yes, yes, thank you," Tina says, quickly composing herself, "Same one I had last time. My boyf...um, Jordan is coming soon."
Shirley gives a soft laugh as she gets up from her seat, "Coming right up, my dear."
Momentarily, Jordan Vance, clad in his characteristic letterman's jacket and jeans, whirls into the Cafe Hansselman, greeting Tina with a pat on the head.
"Got your interview?" Jordan asks, taking a seat next to her.
"Already typing it up," Tina tells him, allowing him to see.
Jordan reads for a moment, then remarks skeptically, "Doesn't seem to say much about coffee recipes."
"Not at all," Tina answers absently, her attention for the moment entirely absorbed by the article she's typing furiously into her data pad.
"I get the feeling you're going to have trouble getting that published in the Bleat," Jordan says frankly.
"We absolutely CANNOT go to print with this!" bellows Mr. Gregory Cullen, the faculty advisor and de facto editor-in-chief of the Zuoz Weekly Bleat student newspaper, "Did you NOT understand when I told you you were supposed to get an interview for a lifestyle and human interest article about a local eatery?! What IS this political nonsense, Mass?!"
"It's a better and more important article," Tina insists to the irate editor, "The students at the Lyceum deserve to be well-inform…"
"I don't want to HEAR it!" Cullen spits out, "This story is going to print over my dead body, do you understand?! I want you to delete this document from your device, NOW, Mass!"
Tina's eyes flash, "As journalists, we have a responsibil...!"
Cullen grabs Tina's data pad out of her hands and points towards the door, "OUT!"
"But…" Tina protests.
"I SAID 'OUT!'" Cullen roars.
Tina fixes Cullen in a hard stare, tight-lipped, then turns and storms out of the office.
Tina switches on her datapad and begins typing furiously. The words flow from deep within her through her fingers and onto the universal digital network.
July 4, CE 1776.
July 14, CE 1789.
November 9, CE 1989.
April 27, CE 1994.
April 7, UC 0058.
? ?, UC 0?
The dates are familiar to historians. They should be familiar to everyone. They are dates on which the world changed forever - because people were no longer willing to sublimate their dignity and autonomy under the yoke of their so-called "betters."
That last date is yet to be determined, but it approaches rapidly - inexorably.
Many of you who are reading this essay are citizens of the Earth Federation. Good. You're the ones who, more than anyone else, need to read it.
Those whose voices are silenced already know, so you should as well.
You go to your jobs every day - toil away for your pay. Then, at regular intervals, you are compelled to divest a part of your hard-earned wages over to the Earth Federation Government. It's to build and maintain infrastructure, the Federation government tells you. It's for your children's schools. It sustains the guardians who protect you from your enemies - the ones the Federation tells you loom high over your heads, ready to rain death upon you without provocation.
I'll be upfront: the Federation lies.
Your taxes are being used to fund atrocities the likes of which you would never tolerate if you were to witness them. I have.
I will not dispute that the Zabi Family unleashed catastrophe for the entire Earth Sphere, for those of the cosmos no less than for those of the Earth. I would be disingenuous if I were to write that I am not grateful that the Earth Federation put an end to that family's insatiable appetite for power.
I must also remind you, reader, that the sins of the Zabi Family are not those of the people of Munzo. They have been made scapegoats for crimes that aren't theirs, and it's being done on your dime.
Are you going to tolerate that?
The clock ticks.
?, UC 0?
From the Girl Up High (GUH)
Tina emphatically hits the "ENTER" key, and the article flows from the hard drive of her device onto universal social media.
"Tina," comes the gentle voice of Lady Amelia Mass, "it's dinner time. Please come down and join us."
"Yes, ma'am, right away," Tina answers, leaving her desk and heading downstairs.
Before Tina reaches the bottom step, her article has already received ten "Likes." By the time she returns from dinner thirty minutes later, that number will have ballooned to over four-hundred…
Even if I pile up several million "Likes," Tina sighs, it won't mean a thing if people don't act upon what they learn.
Tina is momentarily surprised when a comment suddenly appears underneath her initial post. She reads:
Right ON, GUH! Anybody who's paid any attention during the past five or ten or twenty years ought to know it: the Earth Federation gets more and more FASCIST every day! Even if Ghiren Zabi was a genocidal scum, anyone who takes a serious look back at history of how he and the other Zabis came to power is going to see that the Federation itself first planted that seed! Zeon colony drops? The Federation Forces just regret they didn't think of the idea first! Give me any atrocity committed by the Zeons, and I'll show you five more committed by the Federation! The word needs to get out!
MAFTY!
Tina blinks at the screen, thinking, Whoever this "Mafty" character is, he or she doesn't mince words.
A video call comes in for Tina. It's from Jordan.
"Hi, Tina," Jordan's image smiles back at her from the screen, "there's a movie screening on campus tonight...free for all students. A couple of the gang are going. Wanna come?"
"What are they showing?" Tina asks.
"Old animated movie from the late 20th Century," Jordan answers, "Anastasia. About the Russian grand duchess who disappeared after the revolution of 1917."
Tina sighs, "I think I'll pass. How about an early breakfast tomorrow at the Cafe? There's some stuff I want to discuss."
"Sure," Jordan answers, "but are you sure I can't change your mind about the movie?"
"Some other time," Tina says, "I'm...in the middle of something right now. I'll tell you more about it tomorrow at breakfast."
Tina turns off the phone and skips downstairs towards the dining room. She notices Lady Amelia, who hardly ever watches television, is mesmerized by the television news.
UCN reporter Ken Cheng narrates the scene of carnage from his vantage point aboard a helicopter,"We're flying over what was, until one week ago, the Ethiopian town of Agula. Surviving witnesses describe an attack by mobile suit units, though there is considerable lack of clarity about the affiliation of these mobile suits...whether they were Earth Federation, ZTF, or some other group. Thus far, authorities have identified 587 casualties, though that number is expected to climb. Emergency services…"
"Awful," Lady Amelia laments, "Those poor people never had a chance. Oh, Tina…"
"Ma'am," Tina answers with characteristic decorum.
"You don't need to see these horrors, Tina," Lady Amelia tells her gently, "Heartbreaking. Please tell Mr. Teabolo that dinner is waiting. He's in his study with a guest."
"Yes, ma'am," Tina says.
Tina steps towards Teabolo's study and is about to knock on the door, but decides instead to peek through the keyhole and listen in.
Mr. Teabolo's guest is an Earth Federation Forces officer, a woman in her late thirties, brown-haired and, like Tina herself, green-eyed. A serious-faced woman, befitting the grim tidings that she bears.
"The orders came down from General Blackhead," the officer informs Teabolo gravely, "Intel indicated a ZTF weapons convoy moving northward through Ethiopia from the Kenyan mines, towards the Red Sea for oceanic transport to other combat zones. According to the report, the convoy was to go through Agula, an Ethiopian community of approximately 5000. Due to intelligence lag or perhaps a leak in our information network, the convoy never approached Agula, going instead through Elidar, 627 kilometers to the southeast. The Jegan units hit a convoy of medical supply trucks carrying vital medicines and personnel from Agula to the rural areas farther west, thinking it was the weapons convoy they were targeting."
Mr. Teabolo sighs, closing his eyes as if in pain, and says, "Thank you for your candor, Captain. I want the Intelligence Corps to conduct a thorough investigation of what went wrong."
"Right away, Senator," Captain bows and heads towards the door, escorted by Teabolo.
Tina discreetly takes three steps back.
Teabolo opens the door, grinning at the sight of Tina, "Captain, this is my adopted daughter, Tina."
"Ma'am," Tina nods politely. The captain acknowledges her with a return nod and quick smile.
"I'll take my leave now, Senator," the officer says.
"Godspeed, Captain," Senator Mass replies.
"What was that about, sir?" Tina asks after the officer has driven away in her EFF jeep.
"EFF business," Teabolo replies, "Nothing you need to concern yourself with. It's time for our dinner, Tina."
"Yes, sir," Tina answers, feeling a much greater appetite for writing than for food.
A full two hours before the beginning of classes the following morning, Tina and Jordan, clad in their school uniforms, their book bags set on empty chairs, meet over breakfast croissants and coffee at the Cafe Hansselman.
"I don't know about this, Tina," Jordan says hesitantly, "We could get ourselves into a lot of trouble."
"'Trouble' will find us anyway if we don't do anything," Tina insists, "You've taken the same history and political science classes I have. We've seen this happen before."
"We're just students," Jordan replies pragmatically, "What difference are we gonna make?"
Tina grins, "It's always the students who start the revolutions."
One by one, the rest of Jordan's and Tina's friends - Ginger Melvoin, Wendy Tesch, Liz Moon, Madison Peres, Gregory Tozier, David Huber, Michael Briggs - half of them members of the soccer team, arrive at the Cafe Hansselman and order breakfast.
"Listen," Tina says, after all of them have gathered and settled in, "do you guys follow the news at all?"
The teenagers shrug, as teenagers often do when asked about current events.
"I know that Manchester defeated Liverpool last night," David offers unhelpfully.
Undeterred, Tina continues, "You guys have no idea that Earth Federation Forces mobile suits mistook a convoy of medical supply vehicles for a weapons convoy, and destroyed it and the town of Agula in Ethiopia?"
"Yeah, I heard something like that when my mom and dad were watching the news last night," Ginger answers irritably, "so what?"
"Nearly 600 people were killed," Tina tells her.
Ginger retorts, "That's sad, but what are we supposed to do about it?"
Tina's eyes flash, "I think it's time for us to get our heads out of our asses and get the word out to our peers."
Ginger throws her arms wide, "What's this 'us' business? We're a bunch of teenagers in Switzerland. We're all Earth Federation citizens...at least I know I am. It's not our business what the military does, and it's not like we're in any kind of position to do anything about it."
"Some of us are just a year or two away from being old enough to serve in the military," Tina points out, "Don't you think that…?"
"I think you've been overthinking things, Tina," Ginger finishes, "I was fine with you as captain of the soccer team, but now that you're not on the team anymore, I really don't have any interest in some crazy crusade. See you in history class."
With that, Ginger leaves the table, David and Michael leaving with her.
Tina's eyes dart among those who remain, "And the rest of you…?"
Gregory rubs his chin nervously, "I don't know...I don't see myself getting involved in shit like that."
Liz adds, "My mom and dad would probably kill me, but...I do know what you mean, Tina."
Tina turns towards Jordan, who smiles and says, "If you're in, I'm in...but just what are we IN for?"
Tina smiles, "As you pointed out, we're students. It's not like I'm asking you guys to board mobile suits and fight a war. Hopefully, we're all smarter than that! But if we want to grow up in a more peaceful world than our parents did, we're going to have to make our voices heard."
Liz and Jordan nod meaningfully. Two people. From tiny acorns...
That night, Tina composes her latest article for the Weekly Bleat.
Around a week ago, a friend and I were studying and enjoying a beautiful, warm spring day together on one of the nearby hilltops when we heard the roar of a sonic boom.
Overhead, we saw Earth Federation Forces mobile suits...three of them, Jegan-types, mounted on Base Jabber flight platforms. They passed over St. Moritz on a southeastern course.
Scarcely 48 hours later, the Ethiopian community of Agula was razed to the ground. According to the latest count, 587 civilians were killed, though that figure is expected to be higher. Countless others were gravely wounded, and many more are now homeless and jobless as a consequence.
A great leap in logic is not required to see what happened here.
An Earth Federation Forces officer herself affirmed the assault on Agula and the casualty figures to a senior Federation government official.
It has become abundantly clear that the Earth Federation Forces lack both compassion and competence, and innocent lives, indeed, entire communities of innocent lives, pay the price for their failures.
We who live on Earth are privileged, and our privileges blind us to the atrocities being committed in our names every day.
If the Earth Federation wishes to avoid yet another confrontation with a Zabi regime...or another Char Aznable, it would be wise to take stock of its actions.
Tell your families. Tell your friends. Ultimately, WE are the Earth Federation, and we are the only ones who can change it for the better.
The following morning, a full two hours before the beginning of classes, Tina personally runs the Weekly Bleat's printing press, printing more than enough copies for distribution to the entire Lyceum Alpinum Zuoz campus, both students and faculty alike. There are even enough copies to leave in public, at popular locales such as the Cafe Hansselman.
Later that morning, Zuoz journalism teacher and Weekly Bleat faculty editor Gregory Cullen looks at the latest issue of the school newspaper while drinking his morning espresso. The expensive coffee spills to the ground as Cullen sputters and turns livid with rage, crushing the paper in his hand.
"MASS!"
For the second time in as many weeks, Senator Teabolo Mass collects his adopted daughter Tina from the principal's office. Father and daughter are both quiet on their way home from the school.
When they reach the Mass Estate, Senator Teabolo finally says, calmly, "Tina, please join us in my office. We have much to discuss."
"Us?" Tina asks.
"Yes," Teabolo replies gravely, "the Earth Federation Forces officer you met the other day would like to have a few words with you."
"Yes, sir," Tina says dutifully, but with an edge of dissent in her tone.
The same serious-faced, brown-haired officer awaits them at the door to Teabolo's personal office.
"Senator, sir," the officer nods respectfully.
"My apologies for keeping you waiting," Teabolo tells the officer, "Please...my office."
The trio enters the office; the senator closes the door behind them, and takes a seat behind his desk.
"You may apologize to the captain, Tina," Teabolo says to his adopted daughter.
"Captain," Tina begins, "I'm sorry that I've implicated you."
The captain raises her right hand, bringing it HARD upon Tina's left cheek, glaring at the girl as she growls, "I had thought you smart enough not to discuss your father's business with others... Clearly I was wrong and will have to show discretion from now on. Senator, my apologies."
"The apologies are mine, Captain," the senator replies, "Tina will learn from this experience, I assure you."
"I will take my leave now with your permission, Senator," the captain bows respectfully.
"Dismissed, Captain, and thank you," the senator replies, escorting the officer to the door.
A minute later, again behind closed doors, the aged senator sighs deeply, "Tina, I am worried for you."
Tina, rubbing her still stinging left cheek, looks into the eyes of her adoptive father, so kind to her, "I'm sorry, sir."
Senator Teabolo folds his hands together, "You have great strength and determination, but Tina, you must learn the importance of discretion. Years ago, I already lost Edward...Casval. It worries me because I see in you the exact same qualities I saw in Casval all those many years ago. I am loath to see you walk down the same path that Casval did, Mineva. Artasia was Casval's sister, but you...you are so much Char's sister."
"If so, I'm proud," Tina answers, "but I won't implicate you or Lady Amelia, after all the kindness you two have shown me."
"The Federation does need its gadflies," Teabolo admits, "but you must learn how to be judicious, Tina, or you will create more problems than you solve."
Frustrated, by far from defeated, Tina returns to her bedroom and to her laptop computer...a privilege that fortunately, Teabolo has not taken away from her.
Tina types onto her blog.
Adults seem to believe that if you bury the truth long enough, deep enough, it stops being the truth. Fantasy is supposedly the realm of children, but no story about unicorns or fairy princesses could be half as implausible as the "truths" that adults cling to.
The Earth Federation continues to rot away, day after day, and yet its authorities insist on preserving the status quo as if it were some sacred fetish to be preserved at all costs.
I think the gravity of the situation, pardon the pun, has become too great for me. I must rise above this place that I detest to where I truly belong.
GUH
Tina's phone rings. It's Jordan.
"Are you all right?" Jordan asks as soon as Tina picks up the phone, "I heard you were sent to the chancellor's office again and then went home early."
"Yeah," Athena says wearily, "They had a problem with an article I wrote for today's copy of the Weekly Bleat.
"Yeah, I heard about some commotion over today's Bleat," Jordan answers, "and I kind of figured you had something to do with it."
"Listen," Tina says abruptly, "I...can't talk right now, but I do want to talk to you tomorrow. You want to come over in the afternoon? Maybe after school?"
"Sure," Jordan answers, disturbed by something in Tina's tone, "I'll come."
"See you, then," Tina answers, quickly hanging up before Jordan can say anything more.
A reply has emerged to Tina's post.
Don't let the gravity pull you down. You were meant to fly with angels. Come home to where you belong.
Mafty.
Mafty again, Tina muses, who could be this "Mafty?" Why do I feel a kinship with him, even though I don't know who he is?
At the Hostel St. Moritz, disparagingly and snidely referred to as the "Hostile Hostel" by locals, three decidedly non-locals gather in a private room for which they paid triple the usual nightly fee.
Simon Decatur sharpens a kris as he tells his companions, "After three weeks of observing the Mass girl, we've determined that while she generally stays in the Mass Manor, other than coming and going to the Lyceum Alpinum Zuoz between 06:30 and 16:30 each weekday, she often is out and about the town with her friends on Fridays and weekends, particularly in the evening hours. Surprisingly for someone of her status, her security detail is effectively nonexistent. Teabolo Mass gives her a pretty long leash."
"That's unusual, and unexpected," remarks Ventura de Santa Maria, cleaning the barrel of the Remington 700 they use as the last resort. She then grabs a box of .270 Winchester rounds and loads the four round magazine as she says, "Suspiciously easy in fact… makes me wonder if there isn't someone who knows how to keep their distance tasked with watching her."
"You two worry too much," Crusher Jones interjects, crumpling the aluminum beer can in his mighty hand, "So her folks are making it easy for us to score big on an easy job. No problem! I can live with that, especially when I bend this girl over and…"
In an almost blinding display of proficiency, Ventura loads the magazine and chambers a round before pointing the rifle at Jones' face.
"Finish that sentence," she tells the hulking man, who has suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of her gun, and not for the first time.
Simon puts a finger to his lips, "Some things are best left unsaid, Jones. Your appetites are your business, but Ventura and I are uninterested in hearing about them."
Ventura drops the mag and ejects the round, which is immediately reloaded before asking "This Friday evening then?"
"Or early Saturday morning, predawn," Decatur affirms as he resheathes his kris.
Suzanne Winters, chief of the domestic staff at Mass Manor, opens the door and greets Jordan Vance with a smile, "Master Vance. Young Missy is in the garden. She's expecting you, but...you'd better let me tell her first."
Jordan is about to ask "why," but is alarmed to hear multiple gunshots ringing out from the garden area.
"Missy is practicing shooting," Suzanne explains, "Wait here."
Five minutes later, Suzanne returns, telling Jordan, "Young Missy will see you now, Master Vance. She's aware you are coming, but still, use caution and stay on the walkways. Be careful to not stray into the grassy area until Young Missy sees you have arrived."
"Right, thanks," Jordan says, thinking, Tina...does skeet shooting? What else does she do that I don't know about?
Jordan finds Tina on the lawn of the Mass Family's copious, acres-large garden, aiming a small silver pistol at a series of clay pigeons being catapulted into the air by several mechanisms concealed at various points of the garden behind bush hedges.
Jordan watches, fascinated as Tina skeets target after target out of the sky with seemingly no effort. Though not a particular student of firearms or marksmanship himself, Jordan can tell that Tina didn't pick up this hobby just recently.
Having expended the load of her pistol, Tina removes her goggles and hearing-protection earmuffs. She hears Jordan applaud from the side.
"Bravo!" Jordan enthuses, "the new Annie Oakley has arrived!"
Tina smiles somewhat mirthlessly, setting her weapon aside on an awaiting tray and stepping over to Jordan.
"We need to talk," Tina says, her solemn tone unsettling Jordan.
"OK," the youth answers, taking a seat on one of the garden chairs, "What's up?"
Tina sits in another chair two meters away, to Jordan's disappointment as he had hoped she'd share the chair with him.
"Did you...read the article?" Tina asks.
"Yeah, I did," Jordan answers, "I heard you got into some trouble for it. Cullen made a big stink about it. You really need to watch it, Tina."
"I'm watching it, and I don't like what I see," Tina replies, "Jordan, tell me honestly: what do you think about all this? The way the Federation treats not only Spacenoids, but its own citizens on Earth."
"It's sad," Jordan answers, "but what can I do about it? My mom and dad are always warning me against getting involved with politics, and I think they're right. It's the kind of stuff that's really beyond me. I don't want to be the next President of the Earth Federation, or have your dad's job, or join the EFF. After I graduate, I'm going to college, probably not too far from home, and then join my dad's business afterwards. That's about as far ahead as I can think."
Tina turns away from him, looking up at the sky, "You're content to remain here and let things continue as they are. I...don't think my future is here, Jordan. I think that soon, very soon, I'm going to leave this place behind. I have other things to do, and they can't be done here. I'm graduating early; I got admitted to the University of Lyons next Fall."
Jordan looks hurt, swallowing before finally asking, "Does that mean...you'll be leaving St. Moritz after finishing school? You and I...are we…?"
Tina gives him a weak smile, "No matter what, we'll always be friends, Jordan. I think we should just leave it at that."
As friends, Tina and Jordan watch the sunset over the western Alps together.
The following afternoon, Tina is pedaling her bicycle through town on her way home from school when she sees a large crowd gathered in the central plaza. She had heard the commotion as she approached the plaza, before she spotted the crowd, and as she now draws close, she can visually and aurally discern the reason that the hundreds of people gathered at the plaza are so agitated.
"END FEDERATION MILITARIST RULE!" shouts one man, bearing a sign decorated with a red diagonal slash across the symbol of the Earth Federation Forces.
"EFF ARE MURDERERS!" a woman yells between cupped hands.
"OUR TAX DOLLARS ARE BETTER SPENT ELSEWHERE!" a third individual shouts.
Tina grabs the jacket sleeve of a woman nearby, "Ma'am, what's all this about?"
The woman responds, "You haven't heard? Check your phone. It's going viral."
Tina checks her phone. Presently trending is an essay that Tina instantly recognizes.
Oh my God, Tina thinks silently, this is MY article! The one that Cullen wouldn't let the Bleat print! It's gone VIRAL?!
And it's not just St. Moritz, or even Earth. Tina scrolls down and sees that similar protests are being held in communities as far flung as Brisbane and Shanghai, Von Braun City on the moon and Side 5.
Jordan sidles up to Tina on his bike and says, "Hey...I think you'd better head home. Things could get ugly on the streets soon."
The two teenagers pedal away from the crowd towards the Mass Estate up in the hills.
Confident that no ears can hear them, Jordan finally says, "Tina...that was YOUR article that…!"
"I know," Tina answers, "I didn't imagine it would blow up this big…"
"What are you going to do about it?" Jordan asks.
"I…" Tina begins, not knowing exactly how to answer.
"I've thought about it," Jordan says with a sheepish grin, "and I began feeling like a coward after we talked. You're right: there are lots of things wrong with how the Federation does things, and we shouldn't just stand by and let it happen. I'm gonna take a stand, just like you."
Tina offers Jordan a wan smile, then gazes down at the crowd gathered in the plaza, their angry voices audible even up here.
"This is only the beginning," she sighs.
It is past 1:00am local time, Saturday morning, in St. Moritz when Tina, Jordan, and a half dozen friends file out of the Cinema St. Moritz, having viewed the newest horror release, Pennywise, the latest remake of a film series about a gang of teenagers' struggle against a supernatural killer clown based on the works of the 20th Century novelist Stephen King...fairly insipid stuff.
"That was awful," Tina remarks after she and Jordan have separated from the rest of their friends and are heading to the alleyway where he had parked his bicycle.
"It did kind of suck," Jordan agrees, "Killer clown...as if!"
"Many things in reality are scarier than that," Tina adds with a smile, "but I felt you shaking in your seat, and you did spill popcorn on me twice."
"Sorry," Jordan blushes sheepishly, as they round the corner into the dark alley, startled to see an obese man standing there, offering them a grin.
Jordan steps protectively in front of Tina as the pair makes their way past the large man to the bicycle racks, avoiding eye contact with him.
"I think I should escort you home," Jordan offers, unchaining his bike.
"Thanks, but no need," Tina tells him, "It's late, and you'll waste another forty minutes at least if you go out to the estate with me. I'll be fine."
The two teenagers turn their heads. The obese man is gone.
"All right," Jordan exhales, planting a kiss on her cheek, "See you tomorrow."
Seconds later, Jordan pedals away towards his home, waving back at Tina. Tina waves back with a smile. As Jordan turns a corner, Tina begins the twenty-minute walk from the town center to the Mass Estate
The night is dark and moonless. A shame, because Tina not only finds the moonlit sky romantic, but the presence of Luna in the heavens reminds her of home...her true home at Munzo. Many a moonlit night, Tina has gazed at the luminescent sphere, imagining the spirits of her father Dozle and mother Zenna beaming down upon her.
And were those spirits and the moon's light beaming upon her tonight, they might uncover the predators that stalk her in the silent darkness.
Jones carefully trails his target, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. He does not need the moonlight to imagine his prey…the fiery red of her hair; the porcelain ivory of her skin; the delights promised by her youthful, athletic body.
For an assassin, a moment's distraction can be a mortal indulgence. Until now, it had not cost Crusher Jones.
Lost in his reverie, Jones is caught off guard when his bulk is suddenly and violently pulled behind a grove of small trees, where a sharp blade severs his vocal cords with surgical precision.
Crusher Jones grabs at his throat, hisses a remark never to be heard, and collapses to his knees.
Jones retains consciousness long enough to hear, "I must admit that I'm disappointed that I won't have the ability to spend as much time with you as I'd like," a woman whispers into his ear, "but I've places to be. Tata."
And with a swift motion, Jones's throat is cut open. As he drowns in his own blood, Crusher sees a middle-aged woman with greying blond hair turn and walk off into the night. The last thing he sees is the look of disgust in her eyes.
A few minutes later, Decatur sees their target walking by his location, feeling both irritated and disturbed.
Crusher has perverse appetites, but it's not like him to let his target slip through his fingers, he thinks to himself, I'll be sure to give him hell for it later.
Decatur begins following his target from a safe distance, only to have a man dressed in a black trench coat and wide brimmed fedora suddenly step in front of him, his hands behind his back.
"I'm afraid I can't let you harm the girl," the man tells him.
"You're an assassin too?" Decatur asks warily.
The black-clad man answers coldly, "Not your business."
Decatur smirks as he pulls out his dagger and says, "Friend...you're going to regret interfering."
Decatur hears the sinister grin in the man's voice as his hands come forward to show a sheathed Katana.
The man in black says in a tone of cold brimstone, "And you just brought a knife to a sword fight."
This guy is like me, in a way, but way, way more dangerous, Decatur thinks to himself, If I challenge him, I'm fucked. If I don't challenge him, I'm double fucked. Might as well...
"Omae wa mou shindeiru."
Decatur could barely get the syllable "wh...?" out before he finds the blade of the katana piercing through his chest.
With the second assassin dead, the man couldn't help but chuckle as he says to no one in particular, "I always wanted to use that phrase."
Having dirtied his blade on Decatur's account, he uses the slain assassin's jacket to wipe the blade clean.
Ahead on the road, Tina turns around, sensing a disturbance, but her eyes see nothing out of place, and her ears hear no sound that should not be there. The girl continues to close the distance to her foster parents' safe, warm home.
Ventura is set up in the leaning bell tower of St. Moritz. The fact that it leans means it is closed to public access, providing the perfect vantage point.
The assassin sits placidly, cigarette dangling between her luscious lips as she gazes through the scope towards the front gate of the Mass Estate.
As the best shot on the team, Ventura is posted as the crew's final redundancy to take this shot from half a mile away if necessary.
Not like it'll be necessary, she thinks to herself.
Then she sees their target enter her sights. Kid must be lucky to have made it past both Jones and Decatur, she notes to herself, Th' hell she got past both of them? In any case, that's the reason I'm here.
As she gets ready to take the shot, the front end of her scope explodes, and she immediately puts herself completely flush against the nearest pillar.
WHAT THE FUCK!? WHERE'D THAT COME FROM!?
She quickly surveys her surroundings and realizes it had come from the cathedral bell tower 130 meters from the leaning bell tower. "
Does this kid have a secret guardian angel or some shit? How can such an easy op go to complete shit like this?
Meanwhile, in the cathedral bell tower, Shirley sighs in frustration... she couldn't get a kill shot on the assassin, so she had to settle for destroying her scope.
"Bullocks," she breathes out.
"Your job was to insure the girls safety," her partner reminds her, "and you've done just that. Let this one go... she's already been spooked and will probably be making use of her team's exit strategy."
"Letting her live doesn't do my sense of professional pride any favors," Shirley grumbles.
"Believe me when I say you've already done far more than I expected of you," the man tells her, "Head back to our Forward Base; I'll be there with your reward soon enough."
"I still don't like leaving the job unfinished."
"The job is finished," he tells her, "now get back ASAP and pack your things... it's about time you started putting your life back together."
"From what I've gathered, you've been trying to do that yourself," Shirley points out as she makes her way into the building and begins disassembling her rifle and putting it into a duffel bag, "how's that been working out for you?"
"Mixed results if I'm being honest," he tells her, "but at least I'm trying."
Nathan Brandis enters his office that night after spending the better part of the evening trying to work out the details for the merger between Brandis Industries and Marr Enterprises...something that he's been working on for the past month.
If he were simply dealing with Jerid Marr, his sister Octavia, and his wife, this wouldn't have been so bad...but the man brought an unhinged killing machine with him.
How was he supposed to know that Ryusuke Kenta was a shareholder and major contributor to Marr's financial empire through manufacturing? His presence during negotiations is absolutely unnerving, and it's even worse when he isn't there...God knows what a man like Kenta could find if he were left to his own devices.
Then there's the fact that the secretary he'd fired about a year ago now works for said maniac by keeping track of what he manufactures, so he has to deal with her giving him a smug grin throughout every presentation, like she's untouchable...and what does Ryusuke Kenta manufacture? Handcrafted swords and firearms, and alcoholic beverages.
There's also his oldest son that started working as a jeweler after he left military service, whom Jerid also supplies with gemstones... he knows he can't shove them out immediately, but both are so small on the operation scale that he'd have no issue progressively nudging them out until he could acquire all of Jerid Marr's assets. Ten years from now, he'll be the owner of 25% of the Earth's natural resources.
"Took you long enough."
Brandis would have reached for the gun he keeps on his person if he hadn't heard the hammer cock of a handgun.
"Are you here to kill me?"
"No," Ryusuke replies as he steps into the light, "Just to make a point."
He then tosses a sack at Brandis, which lands near his feet as two severed heads roll out.
"Those are two of the three assassins you hired to kill a young girl," he tells the man, "the third one realized the job was fucked and has probably decided to make use of the emergency exit strategy... she'll be long gone by sunrise... and whatever dreams you had concerning Jerid's company are dead and gone... we don't work with people who would go so far as to hire mercenaries to kill a kid just because she gave your rotten brat a much-deserved ass kicking."
Brandis feels a dead cold shudder go down his spine as the man walks by him and says, "Have a good night, Mr. Brandis."
Half of the active members and former team captain Tina Mass of the Zuoz Ibex varsity soccer team are gathered at the home of current team captain Jordan Vance, working on the assembly of signage. The signage being assembled in the Vances' living room, garden, and garage, however, are not in the Ibex's traditional blue and white colors for celebrating or promoting the school's soccer team, but red on black for considerably weightier matters.
"END EARTHNOID OPPRESSION AT SIDE 3!"
"AUTONOMY FOR MUNZO!"
"FEDDIES GO HOME!"
"JUSTICE FOR SIDE 3!"
Jordan's mother, Mrs. Mia Vance, looks on worriedly as her son works alongside Tina in painting and assembling a sign that reads, "RESIST," but says nothing.
"We need more red paint," Tina points out, filling out the first "S" on the sketched "RESIST," designed to purposely look as if the letters are written in blood.
"I have a few more bottles in my room," Jordan tells her, standing up and loosening his school uniform's necktie, "Let me get 'em."
On his way to his room, Jordan is pulled aside by his mother, who looks at her son and says, "Jordan, I need to talk to you. I…I don't think you should be getting mixed up in this."
"Mom," Jordan protests, "It's going to be a peaceful rally for fair treatment of the Spacenoids at Side 3. You and Dad have always taught me it's important to help out when people are in trouble."
"That's right," Mrs. Vance answers, "and we also taught you to be judicious and not put yourself into situations that could endanger you."
"I don't get what you're so worried about," Jordan sighs, "We're not doing anything dangerous, illegal, or wrong."
"Your...friend, Tina," Mia says, "I don't trust her, Jordan. There's something about that girl I just don't like. I feel that she's going to ruin you, Son."
"Mom," Jordan answers wearily, "What's wrong with Tina? She's one of the best students at the Lyceum...won all kinds of awards for scholarship and athletics, and her dad is Senator Mass. She just got admitted to the University of Lyons and is graduating a year early."
"That makes it all the more strange," Mia continues, "The daughter of a respected Earth Federation senior senator...protesting against the Federation! Absurd! That girl is trouble, Jordan, and she's going to drag you into hers!"
Jordan laughs off his mother's concerns as he grabs the bottles of paint from under his bed, "C'mon, Mom. You make it sound like Tina is some kind of Zeon terrorist or something."
Seeing that her son will not be convinced, Mia turns to her household chores. Jordan returns to the living room, setting the two bottles of red paint on the coffee table.
"What were you and your mom talking about so intensely in the hallway?" Tina asks, opening one of the bottles of paint.
"About you," Jordan grins, "Mom thinks you're a Zeon terrorist or something."
Tina returns the grin, "That bad, huh?"
"I don't think she's gonna let me marry you," Jordan jokes.
"Premature concern," Tina answers, applying the red paint to the "I" in "RESIST" before adding, "What made you change your mind so quickly?"
"Change my mind about what?" Jordan asks.
"Just days ago, you told me that you had no interest in any causes...that such concerns were beyond you," Tina observes, "but now, you seem really ardent about it."
"Well," Jordan reflects, "It's because of you. You inspired me."
"Jordan," Tina says earnestly, "You should only do it if you really believe in it...not because you think it's what I want you to do."
"I do want it," Jordan reassures her, but not very convincingly.
The other members of the student protest group, clad like Tina and Jordan in their Lyceum Zuoz Alpinum school uniforms, enter the living room with their signs, comparing their handiwork.
"We're ready," Tina concludes, eyeing the signs.
Tina, Jordan, and their friends join a much larger group of protesters along the Via Serlas, one of the main thoroughfares in the busy central business and civic district of St. Moritz. By Tina's estimation, at least seven thousand people must be gathered, many of them bearing signs similar to the ones that she and her friends are carrying.
The protesters pass through the central plaza of the town, not far from the Cafe Hansselman. Perhaps uneasy about what might lie ahead, the business owners have closed their shops early for the day.
Thus far, however, the protesters are only vocal, eschewing violent actions.
"Not exactly torches and pitchforks," Jordan says into Tina's ear.
"Not yet, anyway," Tina answers, holding aloft her "RESIST" sign, "but keep your wits about you. These situations have a way of…"
Her words are arrested by the appearance of red and blue lights flashing in the distance as a line of squad vehicles from the Stadtpolizei St. Moritz arrives on the scene. The municipal kommissar, Friedrich Hirsch, exits the lead vehicle and approaches on foot. Behind him follow over two dozen of his deputy constables, equipped with standard patrol gear.
Kommissar Hirsch, who has led the Stadtpolizei St. Moritz for the past fifteen years, is well-known and generally well-liked in the St. Moritz community. The crowd of protesters applauses politely as the Kommissar approaches.
"Good afternoon," the Kommissar addresses the crowd courteously, "My friends, as your municipal Stadtpolizei kommissar, I would like to remind you to exercise your constitutional right to free speech in a peaceful, orderly, and lawful manner."
A girl, whom Tina, Jordan, and many of their classmates recognize as a sixth grader at the Lyceum, extends a plush toy in the shape of a space colony to the Kommissar. The Kommissar accepts the toy with a smile and a gentle pat on the child's head.
"Kommissar Hirsch," Tina says, "We're here because we want the Earth Federation Government to understand that we are concerned about its treatment of the people of Side 3."
The Kommissar nods, "I understand. I have family...a brother... at Side 3 myself. As long as it's done lawfully, protest is welcome."
The crowd applauds their local law enforcement leader. Some of the protesters who brought food and drink offer to share with the deputy constables, who politely decline.
The hours pass, and with each passing moment, the likelihood of the protest becoming violent appears to diminish. Indeed, the majority of the crowd now sits on the street. Some are chanting; others are singing...anthems of protest from centuries past: "We Shall Overcome," "Imagine," and "Shambala."
Tina, Jordan, and her friends have taken to sitting with Kommissar Hirsch. Tina draws her knees up to her chin, arms wrapped under her knees, hugging her legs close as she leans her head on Jordan's shoulder, listening intently as the Kommissar speaks about his brother at Side 3.
"My brother Konrad has been serving with the Federation Garrison at Munzo since it was established in UC 0089," the Kommissar tells the youths, "I haven't seen him since, and hardly hear from him. We were supposed to go fishing at Lake Saint Moritz when he was supposed to have a leave back in the summer of 0091, but that never happened. Things only got worse after the 5th Luna Incident back in 0093. From what little Konrad did tell me, it's hell up there, but it's been a few years since I've heard from him. Things are probably even worse now, if anything."
Tina momentarily lifts her head off of Jordan's shoulder as the sounds of the crowd singing becomes distinct in her ears. She hears the lyrics of the song they are singing distinctly, as do her companions, and even Kommissar Hirsch as they stop to listen:
Wash away my troubles
Wash away my pain
With the rain in Shambala
Wash away my sorrow
Wash away my shame
With the rain in Shambala
Ah ooh yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Ah ooh yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Everyone is helpful
Everyone is kind
On the road to Shambala
Everyone is lucky
Everyone is so kind
On the road to Shambala
Ah ooh yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Ah ooh yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
How does your light shine
In the halls of Shambala
How does your light shine
In the halls of Shambala
I can tell my sister by the flowers in her eyes
On the road to Shambala
I can tell my brother by the flowers in his eyes
On the road to Shambala
Ah ooh yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Ah ooh yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
How does your light shine
In the halls of Shambala
How does your light shine
In the halls of Shambala
Tell me how does your light shine
In the halls of Shambala
Tell me how does your light shine
In the halls of Shambala
Ah ooh yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Ah ooh yeah
On the road to Shambala
Ah ooh yeah
To Shambala
Ah ooh yeah
On the road to Shambala
Shambala, the word crosses Tina's mind, celestial paradise…
The Kommissar speaks through his handheld megaphone, "Ladies and gentlemen, you've made your thoughts and feelings known today and tonight. For the health and safety of your neighbors, however, I think we should all call it a day and head home for the night. You may return tomorrow if you like. For now, I ask you to please disperse to your homes."
Though there are a few murmurs among the crowd for a minute, they do momentarily begin dispersing peacefully.
Hirsch turns to Tina, Jordan, and their companions, "You kids need to get home too. None of you is old enough to be here unsupervised at this hour, and tomorrow is a school day."
Ventura has gone through a great deal of effort to make sure she can disappear whenever she needs to... from dyeing her hair to using a fake name such as "Ventura De Santa Maria," complete with a fake background to serve the identity.
The assassin looks down at her shuttle ticket, reading the name... a name she's not used in years: "Olivia Cardinal." She has dyed her hair back to its natural black for the time being...in time it would be all natural, but for now, black hair dye would do.
Sighing deeply, she looked up at the ceiling and mumbles, "I knew we should have told Brandis to fuck off... hell, or at the very least I should have."
The truth is that Olivia is very much a professional assassin. She got started at age 14 in her hometown in Nicaragua, and even a one world government hasn't prevented places like that from being an impoverished hellhole, but she clearly built up a reputation in those first three years when a couple of spooks in black uniforms had offered her 20 million up front to assassinate AEUG founder and leader Blex Forer back in 0087.
Back then, she called herself "Vanessa Menendez." From then on, she found herself being hired out pretty often by government spooks after that to quietly eliminate certain individuals... until they decided to turn on her and put her on the stupid bounty board in 0092 for doing that one job for the Titans... the same dirty politicians who used her to gain their positions of power had turned on her because she was a loose end. It was how she had met her two cohorts... that pervert Crusher was wanted for a series of murder-rapes, and Simon, who at least took the job seriously, though he was hardly a professional in terms of actual skill. She had to save his skin too many times for her liking.
After school the next day, Tina and Jordan are again at the Cafe Hansselman. Tina furiously types up a report on her datapad detailing the events of the previous day's rally for the Weekly Bleat.
"Read it," Tina hands the pad over to Jordan.
Jordan scans the document, nodding with approval, "At least this writeup won't likely trigger a riot."
"I'm a responsible journalist," Tina says with a grin, taking back the datapad.
Jordan nearly chokes on his coffee as he replies wryly, "And I'm an Olympic gold medalist."
"Hey, you two," Shirley smiles as she refills their cups, "Saw you guys at the rally yesterday."
"Were you there too?" asks Tina, not remembering seeing her.
"Watched from a window here at the shop," Shirley tells them, "Boss doesn't want us getting mixed up in that, and we had to mind the store, in any case."
"This is a good start," Tina muses, "We haven't seen activism like this on Earth since before the old Zeon Republic first declared its independence."
"Well, we all know how that went," Shirley observes acidly, "Could be the precursor to big, big problems. You need to be careful to not play with fire, Tina."
"Sometimes, a fire is exactly what's needed," Tina persists.
"Only if you can control it," Shirley amends, "and that's the tricky part, isn't it? Anyway, you have any last orders for me? And I do mean last because today's my final day at the Hansselman."
"Final day?" Tina asks, "Did you get a better offer?"
"In a manner of speaking," Shirley says enigmatically, "but not here in St. Moritz."
She casts her eyes briefly skyward. Tina catches the meaning of the gesture; Jordan does not.
"We're going to miss you, Shirley," Jordan says sincerely.
"Going to miss you kids too," Shirley says, "Try to stay out of trouble, OK?"
The teens step out of the Cafe Hansselman, on their way home.
"We need to plan the next rally," Tina tells Jordan.
"Next rally?" Jordan raises an eyebrow, "Haven't we already done our part?"
His answer stops her in her tracks, "'Done our part?' Jordan, we just started with one small rally. It's a drop, and we need an ocean."
"C'mon, Tina," Jordan protests, "We're just high school students. There's only so much we can do about Side 3's problems, and I think we've already done as much as we can. My mom told me the other day when I went to get the paint for the signs that I should stay out of trouble. You heard Shirley say it too back at the coffee shop a few minutes ago. What do you expect?"
"I expect you to stand with me and stand up for what's right," Tina answers, an unfamiliar edge in her voice, "I thought we already had this discussion and came to an understanding. Or are you trying to tell me that you care only about yourself, Jordan?"
The question cuts Jordan to the core, and the youth's lips become a thin line as he reddens and retorts, "Excuse me, 'Princess!' I didn't know I'm supposed to blindly do whatever you tell me! Will you get real?! Doing this stuff is dangerous...not something to play around with!"
Jordan's remarks bring a furious response from Tina, who narrows her eyes at him and then hurls her books to her feet.
As Jordan stoops to pick up her books, Tina pushes him away, "Stop! I don't need you to pick that up for me! I can do that myself! I don't need someone without a backbone in my life!"
Tina turns away and heads to the Mass Estate, while Jordan stomps off towards his home in the opposite direction.
Tina arrives home twenty minutes later. Quickly sliding into her bedroom, she glances at her phone, which started ringing nonstop when she was still five minutes away from the estate.
Tina checks the number. It's Jordan.
She hurls the phone angrily across the room, and then clears off her desk with a wild sweep of her arm that knocks all the items on the desk to the ground.
Tina turns on her laptop and posts to her blog.
"Life is not a game, and favors the strong," she types furiously, "the weak will find themselves brushed aside or worse, crushed underfoot. Do you choose to be strong?"
Scarcely a minute later, a reply comes, "Agreed...choose to be strong. MAFTY."
Aerospace UNA Flight 409 from Zurich to Zum City has completed boarding and is scheduled to depart Flughafen Zurich at 08:00 local time.
She is brought out of her reverie by the sound of an older blond sitting down next to her with a relieved sigh.
"Finally headed home," the blond says, "after sixteen years of being stuck on Terra Firma."
Olivia feels a bit weirded out, but decides to just go along with it, "Congratulations, I guess."
"Headed to Side 3 as well," the woman notes, "That's actually kinda funny...I almost didn't recognize you."
Olivia flinches in disbelief. It seems impossible, but...could this old woman be the one who almost took her head off in St. Moritz the other night?
As if hearing her thoughts, the blond woman says lightly, "Yes, it was me... don't worry, the job is already done."
She flashes her Side 3 passport, "It's why I have this."
"And what is it you want?" the assassin demands nervously.
"I've got a proposition for you," the aged blond tells her, "One that will grant you a measure of protection... but where are my manners?"
The blond extends her hand and says with a winning smile, "I'm Shirley Nacre, and you are?"
"Olivia Cardinal," she replies, "and no offense, but I'm not shaking your hand."
"None taken."
"You said you can offer me a measure of protection?"
"Well, there are no guarantees, but having something is better than nothing," Shirley tells her.
"I'm not really in a position to turn anything down," Olivia answers, "What's the job?"
"I'm working with a group who is trying to restore Side 3's independence from the Earth Federation, and having someone who knows how to handle herself is always nice. You'll be paid a decent wage, and have the benefit of whatever protection we can offer... but there's no need to decide now. You can decide after meeting my old CO."
"Fair enough," Olivia surmises, "I'll meet your CO and decide from there."
Two-thirty in the morning. Jordan calls Tina for the umpteenth time. Again, no answer. Same story all night.
Once again, Jordan leaves Tina a voicemail, this time saying,"Hey...there's going to be another rally later this month. I...I want to help you to plan and organize it. I'll tell you more about it at school tomorrow."
Jordan ends the call. On the other end, Tina, who has not listened to any of his messages, is busily typing away on her blog.
Zeon Zum Deikun and his son, Casval Rem Deikun, were visionaries. They saw how the Earth's gravity had corrupted the human soul, made it diffident and sluggish. One look no further than the Earth Federation for evidence. The solutions will not be found within the Earth's gravity well. To effect real change, we must turn our minds...and our hearts...skyward.
Tina turns off her laptop to stare out the window at the moon, immense as it begins its descent below the Alpine horizon.