Icarus's Vanguard

by Eyefantasy

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

5. Chapter 5

AN: I am so sorry for the late, late chapter. No action until next chapter when we head to space!

---

Orga and Mika made their way into the base, each step purposeful and intimidating. To Orga, each step felt like a quiet, final moment of truth where everything – absolutely everything – lied on her upcoming decision. All was quiet as they walked through the corridors. The shadows now watched their approach, undulating and moving against frozen, yellow, night lights. They matched each step quietly, smooth and in-lock.

Fervent whispers echoed off the walls, but at her and Mika's approach, they evaporated into silence. Four shadows moved against the cool walls, shifting and twisting, outlined in a halo of yellow light. The shadows morphed into bodies of her teenaged crew. Orga regarded them – Biscuit, Shino, and Eugene – quietly. They all were dead serious as she was, features earnest, frowns pronounced with grim determination, and fire and steel in their eyes. It was good. It set good precedent for the things to come, for things to bloom.

There would be no remorse, no retreat, and no return from tonight's dark deeds. Tonight, vengeance would come in long-awaited blood, and they would dye their hands crimson in revolt and freedom, to break their slavish chains of servitude. Tonight, bullets would sing and perforate.

"Are they all tied up?" Orga asked the group, her tone clipped and cold.

Biscuit nodded gravely. Orga eyed the closed door of the First Corps barracks, feeling the pounding of her heart, the impending and momentous decision at the brink of explosion. There was no going back from this. She steeled her already iron heart and barricaded it with righteousness that destiny would bestow an ounce of grace to their resolve. If not, a helping bullet would have been nice, too.

"Then it's time we liberate ourselves."

Orga grabbed the handle of the door, fingers enclosing on its edge and slammed the door back into its slot. The noise pierced the silence of the sleeping First Corps members as they jolted awake, closed eyes jumping alive in shocked white. They rose at the sound, jerked into fretful alertness, and tried to move, only finding their hands manacled, their bodies lethargic and heavy. Protests began and then whispers rose to alarm, and a helpless panic began to stir and take shape.

"Hey! Brats, what's going on?" yelled Gunnel, looking up from the ground.

To Orga he looked pathetic, like a grotesque slug she wanted to squash. She peered down at him, smiling. There was a strange, euphoric feeling coursing through her veins now as Orga surveyed her captive audience.

"Good morning. Did everyone enjoy the stew laced with sedatives in it?"

"Sedatives," squealed Sasai from the floor. He was curled like a snail. He wiggled helplessly but abandoned the motion when he found no solution in his dire need for freedom.

"Get us out of these now, space rats!" Gunnel commanded in an attempt at being bold, at having a centimeter of courage.

He looked weak under Orga's gaze. Insignificant. A stray thought wondered how such a pathetic man became a leader, commanded hundreds to battle and to their deaths. Gunnel was neither charismatic, intelligent, nor apt for his position. He was an animal of instinct and cruelty. A man filled and brimming with hostility that it needed to be destroyed for the safety of others.

"Space rats?" Orga drawled, an overconfident smirk growing on her features.

"I don't think you understand your position here. I'm going to put you on notice on who's in command. Who is in command? Me or you?" Orga said while walking toward Gunnel, stopping a foot from his head.

"Bitch, you are lucky I did – ouch!"

Gunnel cried out in pain as Orga's swift kick struck his chin. "Huh? It seems like you didn't get the memo. I asked you who is in charge. Me or you?"

"Okay! Okay! I'll forgive you if you release me," demanded Gunnel.

Orga's jaw twitched in anger. The man still did not get it. She kicked him again. His head swung back like a tetherball, and his body rolled over. Blood dripped from his head, and Gunnel eyed her boot fearfully.

"You still don't understand. But don't worry – you don't need to anymore. For all the lives that were lost so needlessly due to your incompetence, only this will absolve your crimes. Your incompetence cost us so many comrades, friends – and it was all because of your failed strategies."

Orga took a step backward and Mika filled her place, his large hands cocking her gun back. There was a finality in the sound of the slide moving and shifting, a sound of terror for those on the receiving end. The click echoed in the room and wide white eyes and bodies waited in anticipation, eyes following the barrel of its intended target. Mika hovered over Gunnel, emotionless. His blue eyes were cruel, haunting, dark oceans. Gunnel looked on in sheer terror – which entranced every prisoner in the room.

Their leader was in the hands of a space rat looking for blood.

"Wait – wait! Now Orga – I –!" Bang! Bang! Thunder pierced the room twice, flashing with twin lightning!

Gunnel's head fell to the floor lifelessly, blood flowing from the wounds and creeping inside the grout of the floor from the two holes in his head. Shrieks of terror cried out and bodies fled backwards to the wall. Orga looked down at Gunnel's lifeless body. She felt nothing.

She had thought she would feel something. Some form of intense loathing or spite, perhaps contempt or glee would awaken in her heart, but as she stared at him, no emotion stirred. Just emptiness whispered to her, and then she realized quite humorlessly that was all he was to her now – nothing. He was just a steppingstone for her to cross.

"CGS belongs to us," Orga declared, gazing at her scared and captive audience. "You can either work for us space rats or get the hell out of here. It's your choice."

"Work for you space rats? You're nothing but refuse! Garbage! If it wasn't for us, you'd be rotting away on this planet," Sasai yelled, and he sprung at her, heaving his body to his legs and edged forward.

Two more shots whizzed into Sasai, freezing him in midair, before falling and hitting the floor, silenced permanently. Blood pooled around his chest and bloomed outward. He was another body in Orga's warpath. Her yellow eyes lingered on the adults, heavy and remorseless.

"If you don't want to end up like him, make your choice," Orga said with finality.

"Um. I-I want to leave," said a jittering voice from the corner.

Orga turned her eyes onto him. The man had large, round glasses and short brown hair. Disgust and terror shone on his frightened face as his lips trembled. He seemed to shrink into the corner as his eyes found hers.

"You're Mr. Dexter Culastor, in charge of accounting, right? We're going to have you stay a bit," Biscuit said, fidgeting with his hat. The man looked as if he would faint at that moment. Voices rose once more, frantic and cowardly. There was a chorus of pleading of leaving, and Orga clicked her tongue.

"Shino, Eugene – untie them. When you're untied, those that want to leave get your bags and meet me in my office. Eugene and Shino will be watching you. I wouldn't try anything if I were you," warned Orga.

The remaining First Corps stood up and turned their backs. "Come on, Biscuit," Orga ordered as she turned to the door, "let's go. Dexter, you're coming with us."

Dexter released a low whine, but Orga ignored it. The man's mind was a wealth of knowledge and financial information and to let him leave would be a mistake. Orga headed towards the open door when she suddenly stopped. There were two silhouettes leaning against the wall. Two blue eyes, one electric blue and open and the other glacier and dark, zeroed in on her; Heero Yuy and Quatre regarded her coolly. Orga noted in Heero's right hand was a gun pointed downward, a finger hovering listlessly over the trigger.

Heero, Orga cursed inwardly. This was not how she wanted to present herself to them, but she would be damned to say if she wasn't going to show any weakness. She wouldn't lose face here, not after the coup she led. She would not stand for it.

"I did what was necessary," Orga started, walking towards them.

Heero looked at her, and then he put his gun inside his holster. "Understood," he merely said, and left into the base.

Quatre watched Heero leave for a moment and then his gaze found Orga's, solemnity shining his eyes. "It's not like I don't condone what you did. A more peaceful approach could have happened. Was there no other way?" Quatre asked softly, a pleading underlining his tone.

Orga glared at him. How dare he? "Their incompetence left no other way," she said coldly, brushing passed him.

"I see." Quatre hung his head heavily but seemed to understand. "If that's the case, do you need any help? Not with the violence but other things around the base."

Orga stopped for a second and Biscuit hovered next to her. They looked at each other. "How much do you know of accounting and finance?" Biscuit asked curiously.

That seemed to brighten the teen up. Quatre chuckled lowly and said, "If you're asking if I'm adept in finances, then, yes, I am."

Orga smirked, cocking her head to the side. "This could work to our favor."

---

Gaelio floated to McGillis, touching down gently behind his chair. The air surrounding them was tense, full of anticipation. The tense situation was punctuated by the sounds of battle rolling off the computer monitors, volume filled with violence of weapons. The sounds were stark, brutal, terrifying, and alarming, and they coalesced into feelings of deep concern for the oldest child of the Baudin family.

Gaelio placed himself at McGillis's side of his seat as his arm found rest on McGillis's seat back. His friend wore a deep and ponderous frown, and his fingers were in a twiddling fury with his lone strand of hair. Gaelio was afraid that if McGillis's twiddling did not stop, the friction between his fingers would ignite his hair ablaze.

There was a deep concern, deeper than Gaelio had ever seen on his face as he stared at the screen. Major Coral had given them abundant information on something devastating in his report. Coral had revealed a failed operation to put down a minor terroristic rebellion. Of course, McGillis and Gaelio were skeptical of Major Coral's claim until they saw the evidence, and the evidence presented was loud and clear.

Six mobile suits had decimated over three platoons of Gjallarhorn Graze frontline mobile suit troops. There was no denying the power those six suits had, how swiftly they overwhelmed, exploited, and devoured the Grazes in their onslaught. Gaelio had seen many battles in his days as a pilot – even he had fought against great numbers – but this was nothing less than a slaughter. It was an appalling defeat unbefitting of Gjallarhorn's mobile suit corps.

Certainly, a stain on our honor and record.

Gjallarhorn demanded the best from their troops. Their training was superior, their feats legend, and they stood on a stage decorated in the corpses of the defeated, aglow in triumphant reverence of their exploits, second to no one. Not even this damn, meager militia. However, Gaelio was aware Gjallarhorn's sinful nature. A curse that had afflicted even the noblest and qualified of men.

Gaelio knew of their arrogance (he was rightfully arrogant himself as a descendant of a Seven Star's family) and how rife it was. The soldiers wore their pride like it was an invincible sword and shield – and they seemed to die on it as well, impaled by their blind arrogance. Although arrogance grew out of the cracks of complacency in this age of peace, a dismal performance as this was outrageous. To be decimated by upstarts was a stain on Gjallarhorn's dignity as protectors of the Earth's Sphere and its colonial assets.

As the images continued to play on the monitors, Gaelio edged closer, the foul taste of disgust on his tongue. "We were defeated so soundly, McGillis. This is an embarrassment. Where was the strategy? The teamwork? They went for glory, and they got it in the jaws of their opponents' victory."

Gaelio straightened, crossing his arms, and giving the footage reel a glare. "What have the Martian frontline troops been doing? Taking a nap? Has fame taken hostage of reason and rationality in the face of the unknown? This performance, or lack of one, really displays the complacent skills of our armed forces."

McGillis was silent. He did not take his eyes off the screen. He did not move or seemed to breathe. Suddenly, breath flushed from his nose, and he leaned back in his chair, glancing at Gaelio briefly, then back to the screen.

His green eyes held a ravenous gleam. It was the same gleam that reminded Gaelio when McGillis, as a child, was reading his favorite books on Agnika Kairu. Desire burned in them. Or could it be thrill that coursed through his veins? McGillis was often known as a man of focus, ambition, and challenge.

McGillis started slowly, emphatically, "Gundams. Those machines are Gundams, Gaelio."

He stopped twiddling with his strand, clasped his fingers and brought them to his lap. "They are Gjallarhorn's ancient and heroic legacy, machines said to rival the powers of the legendary Agnika Kairu, the founder of Gjallarhorn. Gundams have not been seen, in action, in over three hundred years since the end of the Calamity War.

"Fortune is smiling on us, Gaelio," McGillis continued. "She is whispering gifts of change. Can you not hear her?"

McGillis then cupped his ear and smiled at Gaelio. His smile lessened but did not disappear when he returned his attention to the monitors. "Gundams have appeared once again, on this barren planet of aged-old conquest and wars, raised from their buried prisons, to instigate war."

Penetrating green eyes met Gaelio's blue. McGillis's eyes were luminous like a child given a gift. It was euphoria that made them glow. McGillis smiled easily and closed his eyes. "This complicates our problem."

Gaelio raised an eyebrow. He was not too terribly impressed. They still had numbers on them. "How so? We can create a strategy to outmaneuver them unless you found something that would hamper our efforts?"

McGillis still had his eyes closed, but his smile turned downward. "Gundams are not normal mobile suits. We should not treat them as such. To do so would be our downfall. Gundams are far more than they appear – the pinnacle of savageness and destruction. They are power incarnate manifested in the forms of great mechanical beasts.

"There is a reason why they run on two Ahab reactors compared to Gjallarhorn's mass-produced suits. They possess an excessive amount of power. In the right hands, they are almost undefeatable."

Gaelio chuckled at McGillis's statement. Undefeatable? McGillis had to be exaggerating. "Don't be so dramatic, McGillis. Machines are machines. They can be broken down and dismantled like any other things. With the right mind and talent, nothing is unbeatable.

"However," – and Gaelio leaned to get a closer look on these so-called Gundams – "they kind of remind me of the mobile suit stored in the Baudin treasury."

"Dramatic? Maybe I am," McGillis spoke, finally opening his eyes, "but we should never underestimate a force like them. Speaking of Gundams, you're talking about ASW-G-66 Gundam Kimaris, locked in your family's treasury vault."

Gaelio stared incredulously at the man and then rolled his eyes. Of course, McGillis would know the most about the history of Gundams. Gaelio only told him once about the Gundam stored in his family's treasury vault, and lo and behold, McGillis knew exactly which one. He was a historical nerd that enjoyed gallivanting in libraries filled with stale paper and documents of old ages and worn tomes. Books and knowledge were his closest friends… besides him of course.

Gaelio did wonder if those books left a far deeper impression on his psyche than McGillis led on when he was a child. Some of those books were peculiar. The only thing to be found in those old records are dreams and fantasies, a realm of childhood imagination. Gaelio then snorted. They were pretty boring stuff.

"I swear McGillis, you know too much." Gaelio shook his head. He wondered how the man knew about the specific name of his family's Gundam. He then scoffed at the thought. It was McGillis. He had his ways.

Looking at the footage, he decided to test his friend's knowledge. "So, what do we know about the Gundams? Do we have a database on them?"

McGillis nodded, and he used his finger to freeze the footage on one of the four monitors. Frozen was a Gundam with a large black mace and a bedazzling crown-like V-fin. It looked ancient, certainly a monstrosity from the Calamity Wars. Those back then knew no bounds on technology or its calamitous limits.

"Gjallarhorn, in order to wage war against the mobile armors, created 72 Gundams because of how dangerous and expensive it was to use two Ahab reactors within one suit," answered McGillis. "That excess of power was used to destroy mobile armors, along with the banned Alaya-Vijanna system. I can confirm that 22 Gundam Frames are officially known. Until today.

"This Gundam," he pointed to as the database gathered matching information, "is the ASW-G-08 Gundam Barbatos, the eighth creation of its siblings. Its Ahab recognition matches those in our databanks, thanks to the only surviving Graze saving the Ahab wave in its database. Pilots: unknown. History: unknown. It was last seen on Mars during the Calamity Wars before its disappearance."

"And the other five?" Gaelio pointed out.

McGillis tried matching the five to the database. Both men became confused when there was no matching record found. He tried again and received the same fruitless results.

"What does that mean? Gjallarhorn has one of the largest databases on mobile suits in the galaxy. There shouldn't be anything it could not find," Gaelio asked, scratching his head.

McGillis's frown became prominent, and he twisted his dangling strand. "It could only mean one of three options. One: These are fake Gundams."

Gaelio raised his brow. "Fake Gundams?"

McGillis nodded. "Yes. They are plated as Gundams as inspiration, but their frames are not Gundam Frames of the 72. Perhaps, a company seeking to make a name for themselves sought inspiration from the 72.

"The second option is these are Gundams but were created by someone other than Gjallarhorn."

Gaelio hummed in puzzlement. "If that's the case, McGillis, what organization or company has the resources to create not just one but five? You said it yourself how dangerous the process of combining two Ahab reactors is."

"Correct," McGillis agreed. He looked up to the ceiling, seeing something beyond the white surface. "Not many would have those resources, and to keep them hidden from Gjallarhorn without us noticing is a remarkable feat. To go so long under our noses is a grave oversight, in my opinion, as we control the space lanes."

Gaelio narrowed his eyes. "Do you think it's the rebellious Martians or those from the colonies?"

"You mean those with power?" McGillis asked. "Perhaps. It could be the elites or organizations from Mars, Venus, Jupiter, or the Earth's Sphere colonies as suspects. We cannot rule out Earth as well. It's needs to be investigated if that's the case."

"Now, what's the last option?"

McGillis gave a smirk but said nothing for a moment. His silence seemed to imply something grave.

"The third option is a possibility, but it's not unheard of." He again began to twiddle his strand. "Since we are receiving no information about these Gundams, this is only a speculation, but they could be created before the Calamity Wars."

Gaelio gaped at the man. He placed his hands on his hips. "You are not serious?"

Seeing McGillis's serious expression, Gaelio closed his mouth. "Gaelio, look at this image."

McGillis went to another monitor that showed a menacing Gundam with large white binders, painted in red, white, blue, and gold. It had a strange green orb in the middle of its chest. He played the footage; the frozen Gundam came to life. The Gundam brought its rifle on a charging Graze and a burst of yellow light came from the rifle and pushed the Graze back.

McGillis paused the clip. "This rifle is a beam weapon. I am sure you realize the implications of using this weapon."

Gaelio rose a perfect eyebrow up. He perfectly understood the logic… and it seemed the pilot only came to that realization later in battle. How foolish could these people be, using beam weaponry on Nanolaminated armor? History had shown since the Calamity Wars beam weaponry was useless these last centuries. There was a reason why beam weapons were made obsolete.

"Yeah. I got it. Beam weapons are not effective against Nanolaminated armor. The Nanolaminated paint diffuses and deflects beam particles," recalled Gaelio.

McGillis smiled at his answer. "Yes. We also must remember that most people don't know this fact. They only know the bare minimum of Nanolaminate's impact tolerance. They were foolish to use it on a Graze. And yet it did not matter in the end. We lost."

McGillis then separated all six Gundams into six separate windows on his main monitor. "All six of them have what are frontline troops are lacking, experience. They have it in spades. It's a frightening development."

"Really?"

McGillis nodded once more and stayed silent, eyes transfixed on the mobile suits. There seemed to be something glinting behind his green eyes, something dark, as McGillis's lips deepened into another thoughtful frown. Gaelio wondered what was lurking behind those eyes and in the man's head. What gears and mechanisms were turning to show such dark expression.

"What are you going to do?" Gaelio asked after a moment of silence.

McGillis continued to stare at the screens and when he answered it was curt. "Nothing."

Gaelio blinked, feeling his mouth drop. Was McGillis serious about this? This seemed, now, more important than the investigation. The thought of leaving these terrorists running around unchecked did not sit well with him.

"Really?" Gaelio asked incredulously. "That's not like you."

McGillis's smirk after his comment irritated Gaelio. There was something to that knowing and omnificent smirk that made Gaelio want to throw a snide comment. It was borderline condescension. McGillis was lucky; Gaelio held his tongue.

"You misunderstand me, Gaelio. We're still going to continue our investigations. I set up a meeting with Second Lieutenant Ein Dolton, the only surviving mobile suit pilot, and other surviving troops from the battle.

"There will be no further battles to escalate this conflict. The situation is unstable, and I rather not provoke conflict until this investigation reaches satisfactory results. There are too many unknown pieces here. A battle with them now without a plan of action would only lead to heavy casualties and copious paperwork, and a long review to the serpent on the moon.

"We will map out a battle plan after we complete the investigation – but time isn't on our side as this Kudelia Aina Bernstein gears up for space travel. I need to get in touch with my sources. They'll provide a more accurate countdown on her departure."

Gaelio sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, "Then we better hurry McGillis because I hear Major Coral knocking."

And it wasn't a minute or so that Coral came bounding to them, his expression eager on his long face, like a cat leaping on a fleeing mouse. It was unsettling and unprofessional. He seemed to carry an air of arrogance and impatience, wearing a large and obsequious smile that looked rather self-indulgent. The way the man moved his large self, Gaelio couldn't help but compare him to a baboon looking for a meal.

"McGillis, Gaelio – my comrades. Have you reviewed my data on this terroristic threat? Are we going to take the fight to those dissidents on Mars?" Coral asked eagerly, stopping a few paces from McGillis's desk.

Gaeleo smiled but said nothing. It was not his place. McGillis leaned forward, his face tight. "No, we are not."

Coral blinked and his brow twitched. Huh? Do I sense some insubordination, Coral? Gaelio thought quizzically, his eyes carefully studying the larger man.

"What? I mean, why not Major McGillis? I gave you the information, we should conduct ourselves for battle against this growing menace. Gjallarhorn's reputation depends on answering and silencing this threat."

"We will, Major Coral, all in good time," McGillis placated. "But our first duty is toward the investigation."

There was an uneasy look on Major Coral's face. "McGillis, please, there is no time for investigation. Who knows what these…?"

McGillis raised his gloved hand up, silencing Coral. Gaelio sensed a growing wariness and annoyance from his comrade as McGillis glared at Major Coral. "Please, Major Coral, do not interfere any further. If you do, I'm afraid the punishment might be too grave for you to bear."

A flash of anger appeared on Coral's face. "Is that a threat, McGillis," Coral grounded out.

Gaelio hummed at Coral's impudence. The man did not know his place. In fact, he looked as if he could go above it. The man possessed such unrefined arrogance, Gaelio wondered how far this man would go to get his way. What would he do to satiate his appetite for fame and glory?

"I do not make threats, Major Coral," McGillis stated promptly. "I make promises. Now, Gaelio and I will be going to Mars to look at this threat and for the investigation. I suggest, in the meantime, you guide your troops on the proper protocol in case Bernstein's cohorts depart for space. We cannot be caught off-guard."

"Right away, Major McGillis." Coral begrudgingly saluted and then fled the room, his body tense, and his pace quick.

Gaelio peered down at McGillis, smirking. "You nearly made him wet his pants. How uncouth of him to suggest what we should do. The lack of decorum is outstanding for a Mars Branch Chief. I was beginning to he'd be plotting insubordination, or, if matters grew worse, mutiny."

McGillis merely smiled. "He wears his arrogance proudly, insulting and staining Gjallarhorn's honor. He is a terrified man filled with many unpleasant secrets that manifest the deeper the trouble he's in. Men who hold facades of decency, certainly, have secrets unbecoming of their stature. Their true nature that lurks when no-one is present will always be revealed: our true nature cannot be concealed forever, only hidden temporarily."

McGillis looked down to his communications panel and pressed the button.

"Lieutenant Henderson," McGillis said.

"Sir?" rang Henderson's voice.

"I need a comprehensive report on Kudelia Aina Bernstein and the Martian independence movements. You have a limited timetable before I go to Mars. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

---

Dawn light spilled between closed blinds in the shape of rectangular bars stretching across Haba's storefront desk. A bar of light caught Trowa in the face, and he ducked underneath it, taking a step forward as he and Duo quietly folded their blankets. Trowa was used to sleeping on hard and uncomfortable surfaces and places, but it did not mean his muscles enjoyed the experience. The hard floor was an unforgiving surface.

The way his muscles clung together aggravated him. His back felt tight like tangled knots. Slowly, Trowa eased those knots, rolling his shoulder blades and squeezing his back muscles while placing his blanket on the desk. Much better he thought, as the kinks relaxed and flattened into a more manageable level.

It should not have surprised Trowa as he realized he had grown spoiled. Sleeping in a soft bed for nearly a year had changed how he had slept. At first, it was uncomfortable, the soft bed a counter to hard surfaces. His muscles revolted at the soft feeling, and he found himself sleeping on the floor. Then, he had finally acclimated to beds, his muscles relaxing and adjusting against the smooth mattresses and soft pillows.

Duo yawned loudly, trying to cover his mouth with his hand to muffle his voice, but the hand could not cover all his mouth as it stretched like a blackhole. His yawn was deep and long and lazy. He then scratched his ass. He looked down, collected his blanket and their pillows, and piled them on the storefront desk. Duo then found a seat behind the counter and plopped down, still yawning and rubbing his eyes.

Trowa remained standing. His legs were feeling a bit tight, but it was not something that hindered him. He could loosen them up by moving. Duo looked at him sleepily, his eyes barely open.

"Hey Trowa, shouldn't they be up by now?" Duo asked groggily. He again yawned, but this time loudly without any manners.

Trowa did not answer him as he did not know the answer. How was he supposed to know their sleeping and work schedule? Mrs. Haba did not inform him before they slept. Because of their occupation, he assumed they were early risers, as produce, without refrigeration, wilted without prolonged care.

Trowa moved his eyes to the stairwell then back on Duo. He shrugged. They would wake when their customers are in need. Looking out the windows in the dawn hour, he knew Haba and Atra should have been up by now. Yet all he heard were the echoes of soft snoring filling the storefront.

Duo scoffed and put his head in his hands. "I guess I'll catch a few more minutes of shuteye."

"You do that, and we'll miss our scheduled shipment," rang Haba's voice from up the stairway.

Duo perked up and turned his head to the stairway. Trowa turned an eye on the stairway as well. The steady creaks of feet landing on wood signaled the woman's arrival. Dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt that was rolled up at the sleeves and an apron that had Haba's Store on the front, Haba gave them a warm smile. Her hair was wrapped neatly in a white headscarf.

"Good morning, Haba!" Duo grinned eagerly, his eyes bright and alive.

Energy came to him, it seemed, from the arrival of beautiful women. Trowa would have chuckled inwardly, but he was still suspicious of the woman before him. The thought of the woman's past actions from last night did not lesson his wariness over her or the innocence she portrayed now. He would watch for any out of place words and situations. While in her presence, he did not trust her. It could all be a façade, best to be on guard.

Haba smiled in return. "Are you boys ready for an early morning workout?"

"It's not like we have a choice here," Duo smirked at Haba. "We gave ya our word."

"So, where's Atra?" Duo asked while Trowa glanced behind Haba. Looking at the stairs, there was no sign of the ash-haired girl. Just Haba and her strange peculiarity, wearing a small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"I gave her some more time to sleep," Haba answered, looking up the stairs briefly. "Don't worry about her."

Receiving two nods, she smiled. "Now, follow me."

She led them through the opening on the right into a dark, narrow hallway. There was a door at the end, on the left. She opened the door to a storage room filled with containers and metal boxes. She then pulled a hanging chord. The screeching of metal sounded in the room as the garage door moved up.

Light pooled from outside into the storage room and then inundated the room. Trowa looked on in fascination at the multi-colored buildings congregated together as if to steal any space available. The dirty yellow streetlights from yesterday made the buildings menacing at night. In the day, alight in dawn, the eclectic greens, reds, yellows, browns, oranges, visibly worn, cracked and dilapidated painted buildings had a colorful character and vibrancy.

"It certainly makes a statement," Trowa whispered, as if the buildings shouted to the people above, as he lifted his eyes on the other portion of the city, the part where, obviously, the wealth pooled at; where greater buildings stood proud, tall, and even smug above the lower portion of the city, stretching in the distance atop a grand, mountainous hill.

"You see those containers on the right?" Haba signaled, pointing. Trowa followed her finger to a red taped area where containers and crates were stacked together. They looked fairly new and pristine, glinting grey like clouds in the morning light.

"Those are today's shipments to our customers," she continued. "They're metal cooling boxes that refrigerate perishable items. There's about a little less than twenty of them since the protests going on this week, but it's enough to get by. Most of our stuff is refrigerated and located within the downtown industrial sector."

"Protests?" Trowa asked curiously. He wasn't aware of, or had seen, any evidence of these protests yet.

Haba smiled, though, it looked strained. "Yeah. There's been an increase for Mars independence lately. The Martian people want Mars for themselves, so they say. It's been a real pain in the ass for business though."

"Can't blame them," Duo said, sitting down on a crate. Haba gave him a disapproving stare and he reluctantly stood up again, looking slightly sheepish and apologetic. "Who wants to be ruled by a foreign power?"

A thought came to Trowa. "What do you think of it?" he directed toward Haba.

Haba gave him a strange look but then shrugged it off and said, "It doesn't really matter to me much. "

As if having a second thought, her head tilted downward, and her eyes rested on a crate by Duo. Pain filled her eyes, a pain that dwelled in sadness. "Or maybe it does. There's a lot of things that are wrong here, things that we're lacking, that haven't really improved since I was a girl. Orphans are still as common as the need for them – prostitution, war, labor, stuff like that.

"The rich gobble the poor and we're left with scraps that amount to nothing. It's the Arbrau government and the four economic blocs, in the hands of Gjallarhorn, who are in charge. We're just the peasants living in their trash. You don't live long here without street smarts and knowing how to handle yourself. Knowing how to hand yourself well," she added the last with emphasis, patting her ass.

Understanding, Trowa nodded. Haba then smirked. "People also need a helping hand from time to time too. Sometimes a little kindness and a kick in the ass is all that is needed.

"And as long as I'm still in business and can provide for my family, I'm alright. Even with my good for nothin' husband," she chuckled merrily. She authoritatively put her hands on her hips and loomed down at them. "Now, boys, hurry it up. We got to get moving."

Rolling up his sleeves, Trowa carried his share of crates and boxes into the truck's refrigerated trailer. The crates were heavy, and Trowa, under the oversight of Haba and her watchful gaze, took particular care in carrying and positioning them in the trailer. He could say that he was grateful as there were dollies available by the door into the house that he and Duo used.

"Remember to look at the labels and move them to the correct spot inside the truck," informed Haba. "We don't want a disorganized mess. It'll take too much time to organize them back."

The pair finished in twenty minutes. Trowa leaned against the truck, feeling a light sweat roll down his back. This was a nice workout, he thought sardonically. His exercise routines from the circus were far more strenuous. This in comparison felt tedious like a chore Arthur would give because he lacked the setup crew. Catherine would have scowled at such a low-level workout.

The thought of Catherine gave him pause. He shook his head as if to physically get her out of his mind. This was not the right time to be thinking of her. He looked around, only to find Duo looking at him curiously. He gave him a curt nod, which Duo approved as he threw Trowa a smirk.

Haba had disappeared into the building while they were moving the crates and boxes. She soon came out with some bottles of water and sandwiches. "Thanks for the help."

Haba tossed them the water bottles. Trowa caught one with one hand. "Atra and I usually do it by ourselves, so it's always nice to have another helping hand. Are you sure I can't convince you to stay?"

Duo barked a laughed. He then took a swig from his water bottle. "Naw, I think we're good." There was a finality to his tone that Trowa was sure Haba had noticed if not how her eyes had narrowed playfully at them.

Haba gave a sultry smile and that mischievous glint that Trowa felt wary of returned. It was the sign of trouble brewing. "Are you sure?"

Duo laughed again and rolled his eyes. "Only if you sweeten the deal."

"What do you have in mind?" asked Haba, her voice lower, deeper, and far more sensual than Trowa would like. It was too playful and flirtatious. To Duo, it seemed the guy was just as ready for the performative courtship as any hot-blooded teen and responded similarly in return.

"A great many things," Duo answered boldly, much to Haba's playful delight.

There was a sharp gasp behind them. The three turned their heads to see a surprised Atra, looking in astonishment between Duo and Haba, her face as red as a red balloon, and her hands covering her mouth in shock. Haba laughed lightly at Atra's face. Haba's sultriness soon melted into a warm and soft expression.

"Come along Atra, it's time to get to work."

Atra nodded shyly and headed in the truck.

"Well, we'll see ya later, Haba. Take care!" Duo waved and Trowa nodded his thanks as they followed Atra.

"Let's head into the city!" Duo shouted enthusiastically, energetically pumping an arm up.

Trowa went in on the passenger side after Duo climbed over the seat to the back. Duo plopped himself down and spread his arms across the back headrests, cradling the back with his hands. Trowa closed the door and nodded to Atra. She smiled while starting the truck and they took the streets of Mars.

They drove around downtown, stopping at Haba's warehouse in Chryse's downtown industrial district to load more refrigerated processed meats and produce. Following that, they wove their way around the city, making stops to unload at various apartments, housing, and restaurants to Haba's customers.

They soon found their way into Chryse's uptown. There was a large hill that divided the city into two distinct halves of wealth. The hill into the pristine city was lined with a wall of green, healthy trees, a large difference from the lack of them in downtown Chryse. The buildings in comparison to downtown Chryse were far grander and modernized, tall and striking, as if they could touch the sky. The buildings were still colorful, retaining that same distinct character of the Martian downtown but carried a sense grandiosity and arrogance, for they stood and loomed in condescension over the rest of the city.

From his window, Trowa looked on. The clean streets almost seemed desolate like a town before a large-scale battle. Before battles, people scattered out of their homes to the far edges of towns or huddled inside their houses, praying, in some vain attempt to an ignorant god, they would find safety in its arms. In the city, few people and automobiles dotted the streets and sidewalks, respectively, moving at a sedate pace like something was on their minds.

In the distance, there was a strange noise muffled by his closed window. It was unintelligible. The way the noise rattled the window, he could guess it was a distance away, but they were close enough to feel its vibrations. The closer they moved to the noise, the louder it became.

"Do you hear that," Duo said, echoing his thoughts aloud.

"Yeah," said Trowa, slowly rolling his window down. He watched a few people ahead of them run down the street and make a right at an intersection.

"It's the protestors," Atra commented.

The noise became more distinct – indecipherable chants thrummed in the air, loud wails and cries thundered and roared. There seemed to be a chorus of pounding feet and blaring drums mixed in the chaotic cacophony. As Atra turned the corner, the teens were greeted by a cordoned street filled with boisterous and innumerable protestors, amassed in color and sound and stunningly defiant.

Atra let out a squeak at the size of the crowd as they filled the streets and sidewalks in volume, a mass of bodies undulating in motion. "This is amazing! I've never seen so many people here."

What caught Trowa by surprised was not just the swell of the crowd, but how they looked to be in synchronicity with their objective. One person would shout into the crowd and then they would all would follow, bellowing loudly like thunder in a cave. They chanted as one booming voice slogans and phrases like "Freedom for Mars," Martian Autonomy," "Bernstein for Equality and Freedom," and "Release our bondage from Earth's shackles!"

Arms and hands, fists and fingers of protestors plunged powerfully into the sky, signaling anger and pride for their heritage. Some women and men's bodies were painted with pro-Martian patriotism that glorified independence. Slogans like "Free Mars," "Independence for Chryse," "Mars for the Martians," "Resist Colonial Rule," and "Protect Martians" seemed popular.

Others had defiant signs promoting Martian rule and decrying Arbrau's control. The signs rebelliously attacked the colonial power, demanding to be seen and heard as they waved back and forth. All these bodies moved with the sound and anger of independence and impudence, surrounding a crimson, cannon-less, Gjallarhorn, mobile worker. Trowa could see at least two mobile workers in the middle of the street, separated by defiant and resisting bodies that flowed around it like languid streams passing by stationary rocks.

Gjallarhorn soldiers stood seriously at the cordoned areas in their plain blue and white uniforms. Their visored, silver helmets obscured everything but their perpetual and disciplined wall of frowns. Standing resolute, they guarded the protestors like guards to a cell. Protestors jeered at them, called them crass and derogatory names, but the Gjallarhorn soldiers appeared rigid and determined in their responsibility, letting their words tumble off them like dust.

The protests reminded Trowa of days gone by, where the Alliance ruled with an iron hand. These crowds looked tamed – and they probably were as of this moment – compared to the stark contrast of his era, where Tragos and Leos, armed to incinerate them, patrolled streets, and fortified corners. Fear was a heavy thing back then, and to attempt to protest meant, especially in a crowd, being scapegoated as an armed insurrection. They were put down quite ferociously and efficiently. Or most of them simply, when gathered, disappeared.

Noting their truck, a Gjallarhorn soldier, tore from his formation with his comrades, and strode to Atra's window. Loud, mechanical pounds from his large fist threatened to crack the windows as it beat into it. Atra blinked fast and nervously rolled down her window.

"Is th-there something wrong, Mr. Soldier?" stuttered Atra.

The soldier eyed her carefully and then Trowa, then jumped to Duo. His eyes lingered on them far longer than Atra as if he smelled the scent of trouble. There was a distant coldness in his eyes as he slightly narrowed them. He brought his impassive gaze back to Atra.

"This is an off-limit zone," he spoke, his voice frank and mechanical. "Passing is strictly prohibited. Any indication of interference will result in your arrest. I suggest you move, Martian scum."

Trowa saw Atra's shoulders tense. When she spoke, her voice came out as a stutter. "Th-thanks for the warnin –"

"Move," warned the soldier, his hand hovering over his holster.

At the man's raised voice, Trowa noted the swift turning of Gjallarhorn heads. He felt danger in the air as they lingered here. They needed to escape before trouble found them. Looking at the guards closely, their eager posture of anticipation betrayed by their blank expressions, Trowa knew danger bore ever closer. Trowa touched Atra's shoulder gently. She jumped at his touch.

"We will be going," said Trowa calmly, staring at the soldier.

Atra then nodded, slowly reversed the truck, and headed back on the street. Trowa took his hand off her shoulder. Atra gave him a grateful smile which he returned with a nod. She whispered a quiet thanks.

"What jackasses!" Duo threw out. Trowa looked back and saw Duo scowling at the window. Then he smiled at Trowa. "Guess even with all this change, arrogant guys like that don't change. He should probably buy a personality – all of them. It wouldn't be that bad to smile on this nice day."

"That's the point of military discipline," Trowa stated. Duo should know that. Duo rolled his eyes.

"I know," chuckled Duo. "Too bad I'm really bad at it. I'll do the missions, but I'll never act like a robot. You couldn't pay me money to act like a brick wall. That's Heero's job."

Duo's comment earned a chuckle from Atra and a small smile from Trowa. "So, where's this library, Atra?" asked Duo.

"It shouldn't be too far. With all the roadblocks, I'll have to take some other routes," responded Atra.

The drive to the library was without too much hassle. Again, they passed by guarded roadblocks and had to detour until they finally arrived. Atra stopped at the curb of the Chryse Public Library. The library was a three story, off-white building that was surprisingly commonplace. One could have drove right past it if the words were not emblazoned in the front in black letters.

Trowa opened the door and left the vehicle. Duo followed behind, meeting him at the library's stoop.

"Thanks for the ride, Atra! We'll see you in the evening," Duo called to her, giving her a farewell wave.

"Okay. I'll be there. The protests should have died by then. Good luck on your search!" Atra waved at them before taking off in the distance.

"On to our next task, buddy!" Duo exclaimed, heading up the stairs. Trowa watched Duo stretch his arms. "I've been so tight since this morning. Feels like all my muscles are all tied up in one large knot."

Duo paused at the stairs. Trowa met him and reached for the door handle. Grabbing the handle, he pulled open the door, revealing a warm, brightly lit room.

"Now this is the future," Duo whispered, wide-eyed as he glanced around the room. Trowa agreed with his comment as he perused the library floor.

Shelved not in books or journals – or any physical articles for that matter – were rows of white tables that stretched across the room, lined with computer surfaces. The library bore a spacious if not empty appearance. There were three people in the room: two sitting on cushions with tablets in their hands and one behind the librarian's desk.

The pair moved to a surface. "Let's see what's this world is about," declared Duo, a bit giddy as he threw a smirk at Trowa.

Trowa nodded, and their reconnaissance began swiftly. Trowa just hoped whatever they find, it could provide meaning to the desolation in his heart.

---

Morning came and went in a flurry. Orga dutifully peered through another document on the files of two boys in front of her. She had been thankful for Quatre and Dexter's help in the financial arena that she could now focus on confirming or resigning her employees. Those two were in discussion over the remaining assets of their spoils from the battle.

She could not make out what they were saying as their tones were hushed. She could tell the discussion had taken a serious route when Dexter would repeatedly touch the hinge of his glasses, and his expression would close. They looked to be in conspiracy by how tight they huddled in the corner.

Quatre would nod along to Dexter, adding a point here or there whilst checking records. He seemed to be making a point about something according to his repetitious hand gestures. There were a few times Dexter would shake his head, his face grimmer as he pointed at his tablet, the sides of his mouth pulling tight like a strain. He would then grimace and glue his eyes to the tablet.

Orga looked up from the files to the two boys, Maxy and Sudan, who were exchanging relieved if not wary looks. The word had spread that CGS now belonged to the Third Group, and there was a mass exodus of the First Corps members, and, following their lead, were members of the Junior Group, those younger than the age of thirteen, such as the two in front of her. The two boys had found Orga, wanting to know if they could also leave.

She could not blame them. The First Corps were blundering idiots that abused the older teens just as much as the younger kids. Sasai's vengeful anger had more than once broken bones and teeth of the younger ones, giving them the first taste of military life. Living the military life, which gave housing and enough money to homeless children, did not necessitate an easy life. Life was hard, unbearably so.

Orga placed their files on the desk and wrote the severance checks. She knew Sudan had family in the south side of Chyrse, in the slums; had an older brother who worked in the local mines for pay that barely kept food on the table. The money would be enough to survive for a while, though, it would be hard to find the next job for boys their age.

Chryse was flourishing with mineral mines that powered Gjallarhorn mobile suits and ships. They and the Arbrau Union, with other industry tycoons and corporate sponsors, held a monopoly over Chryse and the Arbrau Mars region's mines, nearly draining all resources on the planet. Mining was only lucrative for a Martian if they owned the mines unless, by greed, they attach themselves to Earthling-related corporations that would siphon as much as they could.

Maxy usually stuck to Sudan, but he was going to look for work elsewhere. Elsewhere was rare and seldomly gave the opportunity unless one's family was well off or had social clout. The poverty threshold had been high since forever, and it was not going to go down anytime soon.

"Sudan, Maxy – here." Orga handed the checks to two boys.

The boys graciously took the severance checks, a small smile breaking on their faces but that was soon broken by Eugene's thunderous shout. He stomped inside, a scowl etched on his face, and his blond hair wild with anger. A familiar tantrum spelt disaster coming from him, but Orga had been expecting this. Not all of her comrades would receive the news from some of the Third and Junior Groups' resignations well.

"You gave the First Corps severance checks? How could you do that!" Eugene exclaimed heatedly. "After all the shit we've been through because of them, this is ridiculous!"

He scanned the room, finding the Sudan and Maxy, and his eyes seemed to come to a heavy realization of what they were holding in their hands as they jumped in outrage. "You're leaving too?"

"That's enough, Eugene. Leave them be," Orga said calmly, noticing how the two boys recoiled back in guilt and fear.

Eugene looked taken aback. "Leave them be? They're leaving!"

"Because I gave them that choice." Orga tipped her head to the two boys and then the door.

Understanding, they scurried out of the door.

Orga turned fully to a confused yet outraged Eugene. "I know it's difficult now for you to accept this. Even for me, after all the shit we've been through from them I still have hard feelings. But" – and Orga put more emphasis on the word, seeing Eugene lean closer – "since we are in charge, we need a good reputation.

"If we don't have reputation, then this whole ordeal was a fruitless endeavor. If they leave, with severance checks, somewhat happy, CGS's popularity won't diminish."

Eugene glared. "Huh? You sure about that? We did kill Sasai and Gunnel, not to mention in front of them. I don't doubt they would leave with ill feelings to us."

"Probably so – however, I'm counting on their silence about that."

Eugene blinked, his focus not on her. Then, "Wait!" he shouted. "You didn't, did you?"

Eugene grinned deviously at Orga, and Orga met his grin with an equally wicked one. "Yes. It was in the severance checks."

"You either had a non-disclosure agreement, or you put it in the contract that they could not say anything negatively about CGS, didn't you?" voiced Quatre, his gaze switching between data tablets over Dexter's shoulder and Orga. There was a knowing and appreciative smirk on his lips. Orga nodded her head, confirming.

As if she would let them go out of the base and tell the world of their necessary but dastardly deeds. No, she needed silence and compliance. Greed ruled adults. Like dogs when treated by their owners for their tricks, humans behaved in the same way, and when treated to an appropriate treat, begging and prostrated, they could be trained and manipulated.

They needed a simple reminder of who was in charge, who was their alpha.

"The adults just needed a little incentive," she said, though, she frowned looking at Dexter.

Dexter shook his head. Dexter had been kept away from the kids for most of his time at CGS. He mostly stayed in his office, and when he saw the Third Group, he nervously fled from them. He seemed to keep his distance from everyone except the adults and his office.

Throwing his head back, Shino laughed loudly.

"So," Orga turned her attention back on Eugene as she spoke, "have you talked with Akihiro? Do you think he and the other boys are leaving?"

"They won't leave!" Shino declared, sitting up. "We've been through too much for them to leave. We're friends and friends don't leave each other like this."

Orga leaned back in her seat. She wondered the same. She was confident Akihiro and the other former human debris would stay with them. They were comrades, plain and simple. Yet, she gave them the choice to leave. It was, ultimately, their decision. If they did leave, the manpower, not to mention the talent, would be a huge gap to fill.

Talent like that – necessary talent and instincts – are hard to come by, and even more expensive to hire. The cost to hire talented individuals like Akihiro will deplete are savings. It would be difficult to manage and take on missions.

A sigh escaped Orga's lips. She tapped her finger a few times on the desk and said, "It's not your choice to make, Shino. We'll see by 18:00. Akihiro and the boys – Dante, Chad, and the others – will be at the entrance. They'll make it known by then.

"Now then, was that the only thing you needed?" Orga asked, looking expectantly at Eugene. She had work to finish and anymore interruptions, whether needed or not, were a distraction.

"Of course, it's not!" declared a voice from behind the door. Todo barged through the door wearing an easy smile on his face. He lumbered over to Eugene and slung an arm around his shoulders, his large teeth showing while he chortled, reminding Orga of a squirrel. He seemed to be in good spirits considering his coworkers' resignations.

"Hey!" Eugene tried to disentangle himself from Todo, but the man's long and hairy arms kept him close.

Shino stood up, giving Todo a curious and confused look. "Weren't you supposed to leave too with the other adults?"

Todo's grin enlarged. He straightened – Eugene struggled – and his belly flopped like a wave. "Well about that… it seems I've changed my mind. Leaving you brats all alone, without the proper guidance, I would be remiss in this opportunity to not share my knowledge and experience."

"Is that so," Eugene muttered suspiciously, glaring at Todo.

"Brat, that is so. Come on, after all we've been through together? My experience and knowledge are second to none, and if I may say" – Todo's eyes flashed and he gave a half bow, forcing Eugene's upper body to dip with him to Orga – "the Young Miss, now needs an experienced gentleman in her crew of youngsters."

Orga grimaced at the gesture and name. Being called Young Miss had always been grating for her. The title had been used by some of the senior officers and adults derogatorily because of her connection with Maruba. The called her the princess of CGS. They would mock her when they followed orders they disliked, or when she asserted herself in tactical discussions, the words escaping their lips in girlish, petulant mocking. They chose it very wisely and used it when she was not in accompany of Maruba.

"What makes you think, Todo, that we need your help," Orga said carefully.

Todo held out two fingers. "Two words. Connections and experience. You may have seniority here, but I've made some connections on Mars most Martians would dream of. They come in help sometimes," he chuckled. "When you live long enough like me, you gotta network."

"Then why are you still here?" Eugene asked gruffly. "Can't your 'connections,' I don't know, help you out somewhere far from here?"

Todo pulled Eugene closer, and he groaned in dismay from the handling. "Like I said brat, 'You youngsters will get over your head without me around,'" Todo claimed assuredly. "You need advisors who know the world. Interplanetary travel does not come without a price but having me on board can help pay for the ticket.

"Anyways, I didn't just come here just to say this. I wanted to know our financial situation," Todo said, taking his arm off Eugene and leaned against the couch. "What's our next move?"

Orga shifted her gaze to Quatre and Dexter and motioned them with her head over. The two got up and Dexter sat on the nearest couch to Shino; Quatre leaned against the couch's arm, blue eyes placid. Quatre lightly nudged Dexter, and in response, he twisted his lips and furrowed his brow. Dexter then readied himself with a long sigh.

Typing on the tablet, Dexter began, "With what we picked up from the battlefield – the remaining eight mobile suits and weapons, the scavenged mobile workers, our remaining budget and assets left from Maruba – this is what we calculated."

Dexter passed Orga the tablet, and her eyes ran down the numbers, feeling a slow excitement blossom in her stomach. She managed to hold it down; she could not get too excited yet. As her eyes trailed downward, a spark of hope lit inside her despite the grim surroundings that encircled it. Eugene, Biscuit, and Shino gathered behind her, forming a small crowd. The budget looked on the surface full.

They could remain in business with this much leftover. The numbers looked good, yet this did not fill her with ease. She reflected on the serious whispers between Dexter and Quatre earlier, waiting for it all to crash down. She had noted Dexter's long sigh and waited for him to explain.

"Are you serious? I've never seen so many zeroes in my life!" Shino exclaimed excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"This is usual for companies," Eugene corrected, lazily raking a hand through his blond locks. His eyes had widened and lingered on the amount far longer than Shino's.

"I hate to break your excitement," Quatre called to them. Orga lifted her eyes onto his face. His expression on his soft face looked serious. Here it was, the nail in our ceremonial, happy coffin.

"This is without calculating the recent expenditures and the operating expenses, mobile worker repairs, maintenance cost, the cost between whole mobile suits and the parts, the severance payments. You are close to the red, my friends."

Dexter nodded his head gravely, his eyes flickering to Eugene and Shino, whose faces had taken on stricken expressions that reminded Orga of the adult members gambling away their paychecks. It was complete disbelief.

"This isn't something to celebrate. Mr. Winner's assessment is correct and quite dire for CGS," Dexter lectured.

Dexter took the tablet from Orga's hands, typed again, and gave it back. "If we deducted all these expenditures, this is what we have left."

Orga felt her stomach clench. CGS's situation was a lot worse than she expected. The scum Maruba took away most of their money, and the costs would drain their remaining revenue to barely anything. Indignation bellowed in her heart. She clenched her jaw and narrowed her eyes.

She could not even feed her staff with this much! They might even be owing money if business deals were made unwisely or were successful. Orga sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, the only thing she could do instead of balling them in rage and throwing her pens across the room in a childlike tantrum.

"I cannot believe this! We can't go on with this budget!" Eugene voiced irritatingly. "After all of this… and we'll soon be broke! We'll have nothing!"

Biscuit sighed and looked at Dexter and Quatre. "Judging by your calculations, we only have at least four and a half months before all our assets are drained. Maybe less. This is terrible."

"This is why it's so important to find work immediately. We need money fast to hold ourselves over," Orga said, watching Biscuit. "The price of failing is too high."

Biscuit sighed again. "True, Orga, but this leaves us in a bind to be taken advantage of."

An uncomfortable silence came but was broken, quite emphatically, mockingly, by Todo's chortle. He had picked up his nail filer from his pocket and started filing his nails casually, as if the situation were the least of their worries. He flicked his eyes to them briefly, chortling away. Orga shifted her gaze on him, narrowing at the slight.

"Bad situation, isn't? But you're missing one important matter to this?" asked Todo, still staring at his nails.

"Like what?" Eugene asked skeptically.

Quatre's head turned swiftly to Todo, his mouth a thin line. By how his turquoise eyes hardened, Quatre had immediately connected the dots. "Seriously? You are not planning to do that? That's monstrous!"

Todo's grin was quite vicious. He put away his nail filer and fully faced the group. "Right in one. But here me out before you shout me down. Including the lack of money, we're also facing military threat from Gjallarhorn. I doubt they have forgiven the beat down you gave them."

Eugene nodded agreeingly. "Right. Right! We sure gave them a good thrashing."

"Exactly," said Todo. "This puts us in a predicament. They'll come back again, with more force. Believe that. Gjallarhorn won't take this loss lying down. You insulted their pride, and their pride demands retribution. However, there is a compromise to our money problems."

Following Todo's train of thought, Orga knew where he was going with this. "You don't mean?"

Todo held out a finger, nodding in confirmation, his face positively gleeful. "Yes, boss, you know what I mean. You all do. Kudelia Aina Bernstein. Giving the Young Miss to Gjallarhorn will solve our money problems, no doubt about that. Wipe it away completely."

Something shined in Eugene's eyes. Orga recognized the look, and she withheld her grimace as Eugene spoke. "Orga, why haven't we thought of this? If we do this, CGS won't go under."

"But will it?" Shino asked, glancing around the room.

Todo smiled easily as if to allay any worry. Indeed, it looked too easy to Orga, too apparent. "Of course, it would. We can convince Gjallarhorn that we were only following orders from Maruba, right? Blame Maruba for this fiasco. There's no need to antagonize Gjallarhorn any more than we already have, right? Set our price, let our side convince their representatives, and its smooth sailing."

"If this is the only way, Orga, don't hesitate. Our problems will be solved if we do this," Eugene implored, slamming his hands on her desk.

A frown settled on Orga's lips. They pursed in thought. True, what Todo said was right. Giving Kudelia back to Gjallarhorn would alleviate their money woes and provide them long-term sustainment. The price on Ms. Bernstein's head was nothing to laugh at, considering how much force Gjallarhorn assaulted them with.

Would this sacrifice, this scared, sheltered, noble-bred girl, be worth the price?

Orga was not afraid of making hard decisions; leadership came with the territory. She had made a momentous one in the dawn hours today. Their lives and livelihoods were at stake and one wrong move could prove disastrous. The life of an orphan was relatively short, and the price of living again on the cold, hard Martian streets made her blood freeze.

There were monsters that wore human skin that prowled at night and in the shadows, kidnapping children for their nightmarish consumption. Every nightmare one could think of it happened on those merciless streets, devoid of innocence and warmth and painted in blood and tears. Pure survival. Intense struggle intertwined with violence and ambition – to live another day – made life barely bearable on those nightmarish streets.

Her comrades' fates could not be betrayed by her failure to act.

But it seemed too easy, as if all could be attained by this simple decision. Could she blind her eyes willingly and look the other way? Could she forgive Gjallarhorn for taking the lives of her comrades? And would Gjallarhorn honor their agreement?

Gjallarhorn was not known to be fair, and justice was often blind on Mars. Their authority and the rule of law, which they proclaimed to support, always came at a price, and often on the heads of the Martians. The law was their shield and if they decided to betray them, who was going to stop them?

She gave a quick glance at Todo, watching the eagerness in his beady eyes and his persuasive grin appealing her to his side. Logically, he had some good points, but her intuition remained suspicious. She did not trust Todo. He may have had the experience and connections, but he was still untrustworthy in her eyes.

There was something slippery about a man who can easily change allegiances at the sign of danger, who seemed to care more for his own safety than others.

"I have to disagree."

Orga's thoughts were broken by the soft voice of Quatre. All eyes landed on him. He was standing now, his eyes flashing in disapproval in Todo's direction.

"I know this is not my place but hear me out," Quatre said.

His turquoise eyes pleaded with Orga and Orga gave her permission with a nod. Quatre nodded in response. "Gjallarhorn is your enemy, correct?"

Seeing their approving nods, Quatre went on. "With the amount of force in their incursion on CGS, I doubt once they get Kudelia they'll leave you peacefully."

"You also contributed to this mess," Eugene blasted angrily. "And you're a separate force than us."

"Do you think that will convince them leave you to your own devices, Eugene," Quatre refuted. "That they'll simply let you be through a simple trade? They'll demand more."

"B-but…" Eugene fumbled and stopped, folding his arms in anger, glaring at the Gundam pilot. Orga knew Quatre had gotten under his skin, especially with his quick temper.

Quatre continued after waiting a moment, watching Eugene stew in silence, and then returning his gaze towards her. "From how I see this, Gjallarhorn has targeted you people. You may give Kudelia up for leverage, but that might not be enough. I don't know much about this Gjallarhorn, but from dealing with military organizations like these, nothing slides by them. The more destruction you cause, the greater the intrigue and danger from the opposition. You got their undivided attention after our showing.

"Just think about this: In the world's eyes, we're children. They attacked knowing – though I don't know the extent – that there were children employed here. They were ruthless. What makes you so sure that we can trust such a group?"

Silence met Quatre, attentive and uncomfortable, it hung in the air. Quatre strolled on. "The girl, Kudelia Aina Bernstein, what makes you think you can trade her freedom for money. Did you even give her a choice in the matter?"

"Wait! Wait just a minute!" interjected Todo, looking worried. He kept fiddling with hem of his black tank top, and his eyes were gravitating between Orga and Quatre, worry and obstinance shining in them.

"Kudelia, the Young Miss, is just cargo, a bargaining piece," Todo argued, missing the flash of anger in Orga's eyes.

"We're in dire need of money, right? Some sacrifices must be met for the greater good. She has the sweet scent that attracts the bloody beasts of Gjallarhorn. Instead of protecting her – we can't really protect her with how much we have right now – give her to Gjallarhorn. Like I said before – I have connections that will guarantee us money and freedom from harassment. Trust me on this! Our safety is first and foremost above the plight of this little girl."

Todo then looked at Orga. He put his hand on his heart and looked imploringly at her. "Believe me boss, it's our only chance of escaping this situation. No more of our comrades will have to die. Take my offer."

"Don't hesitate, Orga. You know the right choice," Eugene added swiftly. "I cannot believe I'm saying this, but Todo is right. This for the future of our comrades. We can't end it like this without meeting our financial needs. Make the right choice."

"This doesn't feel right," Biscuit said, looking at his hands. His expression was one of conflict. He looked as if he wanted to say more but held it in and scrunched his brow in thought.

"What are we going to do, Orga?" Shino said unsurely.

Her comrades waited for her decision, silent, anticipatory, and tense. She closed her eyes and exhaled her tension. Her body relaxed. Time stopped and her thoughts moved, seeking her answer.

Finding it, she opened her yellow eyes. She stood suddenly, throwing everyone in the room off-guard.

"Orga?" Biscuit questioned, concern flowing in his voice.

Orga grinned at him as she made her way around the desk. "You're right. I do know my decision. I'm going to go confirm it."

She walked out the door, her feet guiding her to her destination.

---

Kudelia found herself fascinated and yet helpless by the diligent and busy atmosphere greeting her. She stood in front of the depots, her violet eyes tracking the CGS kids bustling in activity, their bodies green blurs and tuffs of unruly hair. Their boots clicked along the dirty and greasy concrete. The noise was a disharmonious cacophony of clinking and rumbles that rang in the air from construction. The noise was harsh to her ears.

She had hoped to be of some kind of assistance, to do something that would take her mind off her father. She could not bear another moment by herself, alone in her room, with her father's betrayal troubling her thoughts and gripping her heart. Every thought of him burned her, twisting her in agony and pulling at her heartstrings. Thinking of him made her feel dejected and pitiful like a child feeling at a loss and crying in frustration at her helplessness.

Last night had truly been the worst. The truth of her father's villainy broke her to pieces. In shambles, she had broken down and held the only thing that made sense, the only thing that was real and certain, the only thing that was true family; her Fumitan.

Through the night Fumitan had consoled her. Neither a word of comfort nor love escaped her lips, just a gentle caress told Kudelia everything she needed, and she embraced it wholly. She had sobbed into Fumitan's bustle for what seemed like hours and fell into a restless sleep, filled with disjointed dreams of her father and mother abandoning her and Fumitan's sad expression.

Kudelia had awoken to the patient eyes of Fumitan. She was sitting by her head, eyes on the wall. She looked to be lost in thought. Kudelia had called her name, and the two engaged in ritual formalities of morning conversation – her fumbling, depressed, and grateful, and Fumitan, ever-patient, expectant, and concise.

Fumitan had offered her breakfast, but Kudelia refused. Her appetite had been lost, and to eat something, she felt, would only turn her stomach. Silence had come, but it was short-lived. It was interrupted by Fumitan.

"Young Miss," she had said, "there is something you need to know," giving Kudelia a contemplative look that told her nothing.

While she had slept, Fumitan had gone to Gunnel to confirm their situation and learn if anything had changed about her escort. Fumitan had then proceeded to inform her about the Third Group's successful coup d'état. Gunnel was dead and Maruba long gone. It was a terrible situation.

The orphans had wrestled control of the company from the adults. To say she was shocked was an understatement. She did not believe they could be violent to their comrades. From what she had seen, especially the battlefield yesterday, their life was harsh, brutal, and frightening – the destructive sounds of shelling and battle still scared her, made her heart nearly burst from her chest – but for them to result in a bloody upheaval against their superiors was terrifying.

Her father's thoughts had flashed in her mind: When they want power, they'll betray their own. She immediately squashed it.

Her father was wrong. He had to be. She would not think less of them. She could not. They saved her. But the reality of her thoughts only revealed her confusion: How much did she know of these children?

Fumitan had watched her struggle with her thoughts quietly. She had then asked something Kudelia dreaded:

"What will you do, Young Miss?"

Kudelia honestly did not know how to answer the question, as distressed as she was. Two days had gone in a whirlwind of chaos, death, and betrayal that felt like a lifetime. So much had happened she was left on a raft in sea of upheaval. What was she to do?

She could not go back to her father; her father would cavalierly sell her to Gjallarhorn. There was no doubt in her mind her father would do this. Norman may have been a depraved and deceitful person, but he was intelligent enough not to disregard Gjallarhorn's intent on her body. Self-preservation combined with preserving wealth and status revealed a moral bankruptcy in his character. She would be foolish to seek his help without her own subterfuge.

Should she continue with her mission to Mars, how would she pay for the job? Her father would surely cutoff her funding if he had not already. She did not know what Orga would do, whether she would accept being her escort or not. And Fumitan? Would Fumitan abandon her now that she was probably disowned? If Fumitan left her too, she would…

She had told Fumitan that she needed more time to think. She needed air, and so she found herself in the depots hoping to get lost in the flurry of the day. It would shield her, for a time, from a quick, decisive decision and its repercussions.

Her gaze fell on the Barbatos. She wondered what Mikazuki would do in her situation. Did he ever feel lost and uncertain? She shook her head sadly, snorting at herself for that question. Mikazuki would probably be more self-assured than her, moving forward at all costs. He had people to protect, an organization to preserve.

The mobile suit was connected to long multicolored wires that ran into the depot, housing the other Grazes and mobile suits. It was so packed she wondered how they could fit so much in there, let alone move. Her gaze fell back on the Barbatos and she noticed two familiar kids atop the open cockpit, perched like bird on a branch.

If she remembered correctly, they were Yamagi and Takkaki. Below them, leaning against a crate, was Mr. Yukinojo, checking the maintenance through a tablet with one hand and holding a smoldering cigarette in the other. There was a comfortable smile on his lips as his focused dark eyes moved from left to right.

"Hey, old man," called Takkaki from above, leaning over the controls to look at Mr. Yukinojo. Mr. Yukinojo looked up.

"What is it?" Mr. Yukinojo asked, his voice deep and raspy.

"You're still here? I thought you would pack up with the other adults."

Mr. Yukinojo chuckled. "Is that so? I'm too old to be a having career change now. And I've grown accustomed to you brats and this place. I figure you brats need someone look after you. Who better than me?

"Plus," he added, still smirking, "you still have a lot to learn about mechanics and maintenance. Beginners are terrible during combat."

Takaki smiled and shared a grin with Yamagi, elbowing him in the ribs. He said, "Are you sure? I think you don't have too many friends and you're too old, too. Old people are not known for their speed."

Mr. Yukinojo took another drag and then sat on a crate. He glanced at the mobile suits in the depots and then back on the two kids. "You know me well. Besides, this place is about to get interesting. No need to miss out on all the fun."

"Fun?" the two boys chorused. They gave each other quizzical looks and then laughed.

Kudelia looked around her and then to the ground. Littered around her were bullet casings and random nuts and bolts. She kneeled to the ground and picked up a lone nut, holding it between her fingers delicately. Nuts were used to fasten bolts, to connect two separate pieces and hold it together.

This nut was alone, separate from its brethren bolts and screws. A machine-less piece left to its own devices – to collect dust, a useless piece.

It was how she felt. Disconnected. Isolated. Lost. She wanted to feel whole, but every time she tried to find a semblance of peace, her mind would take her to its darkest depths, and she would remember the pain of innocents dying, because of her decision.

Kudelia's finger circled the surface, feeling its smooth texture and the cool steel beneath her fingertips. The motion was relaxing, so relaxing that she did not notice a figure over her, its shadow blanketing the sunlight on her skin. Blinking, she looked up into the deepest Prussian blue eyes she had ever seen. The eyes were cool and placed on the face of a young man with handsome yet stern features, offset by his wild brown hair that fell in his face.

A loose green tank top draped over his muscular form and was tucked inside blue jeans. Scuffed combat boots completed his outfit. A holster with a gun sheathed inside sat on his waist. Kudelia noticed he was holding some sort of gadget in one hand and a tablet in another.

Kudelia eyes then widened in realization. How could she have forgot? He was that boy in that strange flying mobile suit. She had seen him with Wufei yesterday!

"Um… I," Kudelia fumbled.

"Are you using that?" his voice was deep, almost monotone. His expression was blank, but his eyes held a careful and intelligent gaze. It reminded her of Fumitan.

"Using?" Kudelia asked, confused.

The boy stared and pointed at the nut. "O—Oh, this?" Kudelia held it up. "No – no I'm not."

The boy stretched out his hand to her, waiting. She noticed how calloused his hand was compared to hers. It looked rough and there were some light scars etched in his skin like stripes. Kudelia tentatively dropped the nut in his hand. The boy nodded at her and went to Mr. Yukinojo.

"Mr. Yukinojo," the teen said, standing a foot from him.

Mr. Yukinojo turned his head and took a long drag. He smiled at the boy. "Ah. Heero. What do you need?"

Heero presented Mr. Yukinojo with the tablet. The bigger man placed his tablet on the crate and took the one in Heero's.

"All the information is inputted and downloaded from what I've taken stock," Heero said while Mr. Yukinojo used his finger to peruse the information.

His eyebrows shot up his long forehead. Whether this was by surprise from what he was reading or Heero's statement, Kudelia did not know. She was sure the relieved look that came to Mr. Yukinojo's face afterwards, that pulled his lips into that easy smile, was of delight.

"I separated the mobile suits from what we can salvage and what we can't," Heero continued. "Approximately, we can salvage 3-4 mobile suits and we can reuse the parts from the other unsalvageable machines. Judging by their frames, the parts are interchangeable?"

Mr. Yukinojo nodded. "That should be right. Gjallarhorn uses the same frames, so we can customize them to suit our necessities. Orga will probably want to sell most of them. Can you salvage what you can?"

"No problem, but it's going to take some time," Heero said, looking into the depot.

Mr. Yukinojo nodded. "I'll send Yagami and Takaki, once their done, to help you out. They're young, but they're capable, so whatever you need from them, they can do."

"Understood." Heero turned to leave.

"Wait! Heero!" Mr. Yukinojo called out.

Heero stopped and looked behind him. "Heero, when you activate the Grazes, it's Ahab reactor will turn on. Put the reactor on standby or turn it off. Do not turn it on, otherwise, the Ahab waves will interfere with the electronics here, and it's going to take hours to get everything back online again."

"If we're attacked when that happens, I shudder at what could happen."

Heero nodded and began walking into the depot. Kudelia, seeing a moment, ran in front of him. "Excuse me! I-I – do you need help? I heard Mr. Yukinojo ask and I…" her voice stopped, her nerves getting to her. She had a feeling he was going to reject her offer.

"Do what you want. I don't own this place."

Heero then walked past her. Hope fluttered in her chest. She trailed after him, almost skipping. All the energy that had been raging inside reenergized her. She felt thrill sing through her.

Heero went to the side of a crate, picked something out, and threw it at her. Defensively, her hands flew to her face, and she closed her eyes. Feeling something soft hit her forearms and fall, she opened her eyes slowly and found Heero's odd gaze on her. He shook his head and went to the first Graze on his left.

Embarrassed, she looked to the ground. "Oh!" she uttered. There on the ground was a pair of dirtied gloves. She hurriedly put them on, finding them to be a fit and took after Heero.

"Excuse me, Mr. Heero. What can I do?" Kudelia asked, feeling a bit ashamed, a bit hopeful.

Heero assessed her with a glance, as if evaluating her capabilities. He then jumped on the mobile suit's leg and sat down, facing her. His expression revealed nothing. "What are you able to do?"

"Anything. I'll move stuff for you or… I really don't know. I just… I know I cannot use power tools, and I'm probably taking up your time with you hearing me babble about myself. I just don't want to feel helpless," Kudelia confessed, wringing her hands, and looking down.

"I saw you yesterday come from that strange, aerial mobile suit. You must be amazing, to pilot such an awesome machine. It must have taken you hours to perfect, just like Mikazuki in his mobile worker."

"The pilot of Gundam Barbatos?" Heero's voice echoed back to her.

"Yes," she called, raising her voice a little. "You both are very capable. Incredibly brave. I-I feel powerless just watching."

Kudelia was met with an uncomfortable silence. She started to turn away when she heard Heero's voice. It was distinct and clear, "You would only slow me down."

"I see," nodding, her eyes still on the dirty floor. She frowned and sighed, "I'm sorry for disturbing your work. I'll go."

"If you're here to help," Heero's voice rang out in the depot, "then meet me in the cockpit. Bring the red toolkit by the ladder."

She turned around to find him standing and heading toward the Graze's cockpit. Feeling renewed a smile spread across her face. She eagerly approached the red rectangular toolkit and grabbed the handle with one hand. She could not lift it.

It was heavy, heavy like a half-filled suitcase. Her arm strained to lift it off the ground. She managed two inches off the ground before dropping it on the floor. The contents jingled and rattled inside when it fell to the floor.

She pouted, thinking how Heero wanted her to bring this all the way when it weighed a ton. Kudelia could barely lift it off the ground than take it up a ladder. Pushing her doubts to the background, she refocused. Heero needed it; he needed her, and she would do her best with the task.

She grabbed the handle with two hands and heaved it up. She stumbled, rocking sideways with the weight but made her way to the first step. She let out a deep breath and graced the first step. A few more steps were when sweat dampened her armpits, lined her arms, and rolled down her brow.

Everything went well until her fifth step. As she stepped, Kudelia fell backward.

Desperate for balance, she grabbed the left side of the ladder. Her remaining hand, gripping the toolkit, strained her arm. The weight felt like an anchor as it pulled her to the ground. It was too much.

The toolkit slipped from her hand and crashed into the floor with a loud clang. Various tools, nuts, and bolts spilled from the container. Her hands ached and throbbed, flushing a deep red. She dashed to floor.

"How could I be so foolish?" she said frantically.

She collected the spilled tools, but she had no idea where they belonged in the toolkit. She anxiously looked at what was in her hand, the ones on the ground, and the placements for the tools, trying to find a match. Her mind hastily looked for a solution that she did not hear Heero come down.

She jumped at his presence, a quick apology already at her tongue. "I'm sorry, Mr. Heero," she said in a rush. "It was too heavy and I…"

"Meet me in the cockpit," Heero said simply, not looking at her as he dropped to the floor and collected the tools.

She gave a tentative nod and crawled up the ladder. She took one look at Heero as he assiduously managed the tools and waited at the edge of the cockpit, at the open hatch. Gazing into the cockpit, she realized how small it looked, confined and angular like a small metal box. Two, small, square monitors flanked the uncomfortable-looking seat, and a third, longer monitor, half retracted in the chest, was at the front.

A tablet lay on the chair of the seat. The machine's controls were on the side and a small computer interface was in the middle. Underneath the computer interface was an open cover, its top lay next to the opening. The sound of rattling metal caught her attention.

Heero arrived, the red toolkit held loosely in his hand. He made it look easy as he walked to her like the toolkit was an appendage of his hand. He set the toolkit on the arm of the seat, opened it, and rummaged the box. He pulled out a pair of pliers, a wrench, and grabbed the tablet.

He went to the computer interface and turned it on. The monitors flashed on, revealing the ceiling. Heero's eyes moved with the screen and then he typed something on the tablet. Nodding, he looked at Kudelia and handed her the tablet.

"This tablet is now on the network with this Graze. It'll show its diagnostics and framework, including the problem areas. I'm going to see if the CPU is functioning correctly. I want you to watch any strange occurrences and notifications."

Heero dove underneath the metal. Kudelia could only see half his body. They worked quietly, Kudelia telling Heero the detached connections from the legs to the right arm and Heero grunting at her comments. This went on for thirty minutes when Heero rose from under the compartment. He resealed the metal cover and grabbed the toolkit.

There was a question at Kudelia's lips as Heero turned to face her. The question had been at the forefront of her mind since she spoke to Wufei and saw his friends at dinner last night. It was something Takkaki had brought up and she wondered who exactly these boys were. They were the same age as the older Tekkadan boys and her and clearly combat-driven individuals.

"What is it?" Heero asked.

A blush dusted her cheeks. She must have looked obvious. "Mr. Heero," Kudelia said. "Are you and your friends affiliated with CGS? I heard you participated in the battle against Gjallarhorn."

Heero, whose piercing stare started to unnerve Kudelia, said, "No."

Kudelia blinked, confused. "Then why help them out? I…I don't mean any disrespect or demean by what you did, just…Why throw yourself into a battle that could have ended your lives?"

Heero shrugged his shoulders and exited the cockpit. He stood in front of her and said, "It's not like Gjallarhorn gave us a choice."

He gave her a look. "I guess that's one for one. Let me ask you: Are you the reason for Gjallarhorn's incursion?"

Kudelia grimaced and nodded her head. "Yes. Gjallarhorn is trying to prevent me from leaving Mars."

She explained her role in the Martian independence movement in fighting for their rights, Martian children and their exploitation, and the growing antagonisms from Earth's elite, Gjallarhorn and the Arbrau government's Martian representatives. She said she needed an escort to the Earth and chose CGS, though, she was sure sadness tinged her voice. Heero appeared to listen closely, his face and eyes betraying nothing. When she finished, she looked for his response.

Heero had crossed his arms. He said nothing as he stared her. When he spoke, his voice sounded distant. "You remind me of another young woman. She was just as resolute in her ideals of creating a better world. She made difficult choices that threatened the dissolution of her country, saving her people from war, and remaining adamant to her dreams of total pacifism."

Kudelia's brow jumped. This sparked Kudelia's interest. He knew of another pacifist that shared her ideals. "Who was she?"

A ghost of a smile appeared on Heero's face. She thought he looked gentle compared to the cool veneer that she was greeted with. "It really doesn't matter now."

His expression returned to a neutral. He turned and took three steps and stopped. "A man once told me, that the only way to live a good life is to act on your emotions. Outside the battlefield, one should live by their truth."

Kudelia cocked her head to side. "I should live by my emotions?"

"You looked indecisive about your goal. Do what your heart and mind tell you too and make an informed decision," Heero said, looking to the side and narrowing his eyes slightly.

"What if my heart and mind are in the wrong? That I – that I," Kudelia couldn't speak. So overcome with emotion it was like her heart leaped into her throat and blocked her voice. She felt tears roll down, wetting her cheeks.

"Do you believe it was your fault for the deaths of these child soldiers?"

Kudelia looked down; she could not meet her eyes. How did he know what she was thinking? She was afraid he would see her guilt mirrored in his eyes, the blood on her hands. "I'm just angry at myself for how powerless I am. I selfishly want to continue my mission to Mars with CGS but how many innocent lives will die – because of me – on my trip to Earth. I did not realize the gravity of the consequences before me or the risks to their wellbeing. I was naïve."

"So, you blame yourself then for Gjallarhorn's aggressive posture," stated Heero.

Kudelia looked up and found the determined face of Heero. "Then accept it. Accept the path that you walk."

Kudelia gasped at the comment. It was a punch to her stomach. But Heero was not done, and his voice became hard like steel.

"You are a target," he went on. "Whatever you do Gjallarhorn will bare its fangs at you.

"As I see it, you have three options. You can offer yourself willingly to the beast and save these soldiers from bloodshed. In the end, whatever you wanted to accomplish will surcease. There is no guarantee that Gjallarhorn will abide by their word."

Heero raised his second finger in the air. "The second option is to do nothing. Return home, forget all about this. Forget all about these child soldiers. Live your life in anonymity and ignorance. You'll be spared this painful ordeal, but your regret will haunt you."

Heero brought a third finger up. "The last option is riskier. It calls for you to take responsibility for your actions."

"Take responsibility? What do you mean?" Kudelia asked.

Heero's gaze remained on her, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. He did not seem to be a teenager anymore. He looked far older. Kudelia absently wondered what kept him from breaking, the adhesive that held together.

"Why did you contact CGS? What is your purpose here?"

Kudelia sighed, feeling worn and determined. "I want to improve the conditions for Mars! For everyone! Especially children. These children have gone through the worst, experienced awful trauma that no one should have. I thought by befriending them I could gain their trust and offer my support. Be an advocate."

Kudelia laughed humorlessly. "I was naïve. I was naïve to think that I knew of their hurt, that I could bear their pain. I was naïve and foolish. I still could not see them until what happened yesterday. But now, seeing this, I want to do all I can for them, but I…"

"You don't want them to get killed," Heero finished softly.

Kudelia nodded her head slowly.

Heero stared at her for a moment, silent like a statue. "It looks like you've already made your choice."

He turned to leave. "Just remember – by accepting this option, more people will die. Can you justify that their deaths will not be in vain? If you walk this path, can your idealism help them? If so, act on your emotions and take responsibility for your actions. You are not so powerless if you still have the choice of a future. Believe in the world you are fighting for, even at cost of yours and others' lives."

Heero strode down the knee joint, leaving Kudelia to her roaming thoughts. Heero blamed her and wanted her to take responsibility for their deaths. He said it so easily, but the magnitude of such a decision was not lost on her. To make such a decision would ensure more deaths of these innocent children.

However, Kudelia felt anger take her, tightening her muscles, raging in her soul – could she really leave them? If she did not take the step, could she ever look these children in their eyes again? Could she risk all that was gained in the independence movement and to throw it away in less than a day? Was she really that spineless, a recreant? The thought did not sit well for her.

Kudelia sighed and sat down, but a sudden movement nearly caused her to lose her balance on the mobile suit. In front of her, or more below her, stood Orga, her yellow eyes resting on Heero.

Orga then turned her attention on her, a smile on her face. "He sure has a way with words. Very surprising. However, I do disagree. You're not to blame."

Kudelia made to speak, but Orga cut her off. "No. You're not. We knew this would happen. You're a very important person, Miss Bernstein.

"For you to make this move, we knew Gjallarhorn would throw their weight into this fight. If they do so again, we will crush them. Any threat will be destroyed. We know the consequences. But what I came to know is, have you reconsidered our company's escort?"

Kudelia glanced down from Orga's intense yellow eyes. What they did to the adults did bother her. She was not a fool to believe that the adults were innocent, either. She knew full well of their treatment of the child soldiers.

Did she still have reservations? Yes, but, in the end, Kudelia realized there was no escape from violence. To these children, their survival was the only thing that mattered, and with Maruba gone, it became us versus them, with the children claiming the top spot. Violence was the only means of survival and her way to Earth. But was that world she wanted to inhabit?

"Believe in the world you are fighting for," she whispered, echoing Heero's last words. He said those words with such strength, such certainty and confidence that she felt it seize her spirit. She whispered his words again, reaffirming them in her mind.

Still looking down, Kudelia said resignedly, "No. I have not changed my mind. I chose this path; I will have to bear the weight of it and its responsibility."

Orga smirked and her hands rested on her hips. "Good. Then, we move forward."

---

Duo scowled, bringing his palm to rest under his chin while his other hand drummed a mindless rhythm on the table. It was an irritable habit he developed when life thought it funny to insert misery into his world. His eyes, tired from scouring the countless archives on the history of Mars, fell on Trowa, whose expression looked deeply troubled. He had mirrored Trowa's expression an hour ago but came to a foregone conclusion that nothing would change about their circumstances.

They were in some deep trouble – the trouble that turned one's world upside down and then laughed at the chaos it wrought. Life had never been easy for Duo – matter of fact, nothing had been easy in his young life. However, there was always the truth that life could get better. That people could change and realize their mistakes and resist their darker urges. It was the final lesson Father Maxwell had taught him before the Alliance blew him and the Sister Maxwell away.

Duo had thought of the concept often, believing in the father's words. It was why he was forever the optimist during adversity. He tried to focus on the good with an upbeat attitude on the future and the next mission. Dwelling on the terrible and the despair, that could drown a strong man into submission, had never been an immediate nor long-term option. To Duo, it meant relinquishing his hold on life, on living.

Yet, learning about the history of Mars and the Earth had made him want to despair. What he had learned in the last hours had almost broken him, just like last night. He had been at a lost. Somehow, he kept his spirits about when they should have, reasonably, dimmed, falling into the void of despair and hopelessness. The information overload was enough to leave him crazy, but he had retained his wits, though dark thoughts gathered at the edge of his sanity.

He brought his eyes on the bane, the sharp dagger that had stabbed him in the heart. The words were a wall of text. He understood it well. Reluctantly, he had to face the music because life would never stop if he tried avoiding the problem. The last time he did… he shivered at that thought and returned his thoughts to the task at hand.

Gathering more information on the histories of Mars and the Earth through the library archives provided the brutal context of his and fellows situation. They were far from home, farther than most could dream, and the farthest than Dorothy could ever click her boots. They had landed, through the fault of happenstance, in the future, in the time called Post Disaster. A future that was centuries ahead of their own.

"Can you believe this shit? I certainly can't and I've seen everything," Duo muttered to Trowa, whose glazed eyes, focused on the table, stirred, a certain emotion building, and then rested on Duo's.

Trowa did not say anything for a moment. His troubled expression turned thoughtful. Duo betted a thousand thoughts were warring in his head, battling for supremacy over which useful thought he would say aloud. When he spoke, his tone was careful and solemn.

"We have no choice but to believe. The facts do not lie; they just lay bare the situation before us. To belie facts would ignore the astounding reality around us and quite frankly we cannot. We are only afforded the truth: We are the only ones left."

Duo opened his lips to say something, a refutation bubbling from within, but it never came. Just the cold acknowledgement and uncomfortable silence of the truth: they were the only ones left. The last remaining people of After Colony. A couple of lonely souls stranded in a world that did not belong to them.

"It's just… it's… preposterous! A little girl, Mariemaia, Dekim's granddaughter took over the Earth and triggered a world war! And not just that – she dropped a colony onto the Earth! A freakin' colony!"

"Operation Meteor," Trowa said grievously.

Apparently, Mariemaia and Dekim orchestrated a successful rebellion while they were away fighting mechanical ghosts and abandoned facilities. The Earth had fallen easily and Colony X-18999 provided the perfect cataclysmic catalyst to seize global power. The colony had fallen on Sydney, Australia, killing billions in the aftermath. The ESUN leader, Milliardo Peacecraft – Zechs Merquise – had died in a final uprising against Mariemaia's autocracy.

"Dekim's patient power grab succeeded," Duo followed, his frown growing deeper. "We lost."

Tyranny had fallen across space and consumed the Earth.

Mariamaia consolidated power and liquidated all against her rule following Dekim's grandfatherly manipulation. It would not be until a century later in After Colony 300 where uprisings against her descendants' dominion had spiraled into a full-fledged war lasting another two centuries until it sparked an event called the Calamity War, where humanity battled against the monstrous mechanizations of Artificial Intelligence from the rebel's side.

The war changed the perception of the world and in its destructiveness. Gjallarhorn was born through the fires and aftermath of war and with its creation came stability and all the innocuous words that foreshadowed colonialization and imperialism. Conveniently – which meant on purpose – there were numerous omissions and some convoluted explanations that clashed with each other from various sources, Duo noted curiously, of Gjallarhorn's birth, but one thing was true: Gjallarhorn came out of the Calamity War.

"What are we to do?" Trowa asked softly, crossing his arms.

A hint of vulnerability tremored in his voice, something that Duo noticed right away. Trowa revealed his feelings to a select few, especially when worried colored his tone. Duo could remember Trowa's voice in Siberia, how his pain and sadness and desperation echoed to the Gundam pilots after Heero's unsuccessful suicide. Their world had fallen that day.

Duo shook the thoughts from his head. That particular memory still haunted him. He had tried imitating Heero not too long after in space but was fortuitously unsuccessful. The gods of death had a strange sense of humor.

"Move forward. What else can we do? Sit and wait for something unbelievable to happen? A chance in a lifetime this would happen. Damn," Duo hissed the last word.

"No one but us can take control of our own future. I'd rather ride destiny than be the horse that saddles it, ya know," Duo continued.

A thought struck and he shivered, recalling what he had found from the online texts. He gave Trowa a look, slightly tentative, slightly sad, and said, "Trowa, who's gonna tell Heero about Relena?"

Trowa's green eyes widened at the question, and his lips stretched into a long frown. He was silent for a moment and Duo could not blame him. Neither of them wanted to be in a position of what they were about to do to a fellow comrade. Duo knew the information would hurt Heero the most.

As Trowa opened his mouth to speak, Duo interjected, a frown on his lips and his cobalt blue eyes uncharacteristically serious. "I'll do it."

Duo sighed tiredly. "I don't wanna, but I'll do it. Heero's the type to take bad news, well, badly. I'm concerned of what he'll do to himself than what he does to someone or something."

Duo buried his face into his hands and said, "Heero's not the most talkative person; I doubt he would talk about how he feels. It's not his style."

"True. His actions and emotions guide his cool disposition. I am very familiar with it. Although," – and Duo peaked an eye through his hands at Trowa – "Heero's full of surprises. It would not be fair to prejudge or underestimate him."

Duo snorted, bringing his hands on the table, a smirk adorning his face. "No need to tell me about that."

Silence came. It was not uncomfortable or awkward for the duo. It just lingered like a small breeze. Duo again broke it, eyes fixating on Trowa.

"How are you taking all this?" he asked out of the blue. "I can't imagine this not hurting for ya."

Trowa gave a noncommittal shrug, but his words betrayed his body. "I am angry. Cathy and everyone we know are gone. It is like falling from the sky and finding there is no bottom, as if there ever was one. Fumbling, helpless, and uncertain. Arms and hands and feet trying to make sense of nothing but air and emptiness."

Trowa stared out the window for a beat, and then his arms relaxed to his sides and a small smile graced his face. It looked bitter, but there was warmth. "Thinking needlessly on our past loved ones is not going to make them comeback, is it? No matter how much we wish it into existence or think this world a dream."

Trowa gave Duo a slight nod. "It is as you say. We must move forward. Cathy would not allow me to wallow in my own self-pity. She'd be the first to slap some sense in me and tell me to hold my head up and protect those that I care about."

Duo looked at Trowa sideways. This was new. Duo always knew; he had a strong feeling that Trowa cared about them, though it was never said aloud. To hear Trowa say this put Duo in a better mood. "You care about us, buddy? Wow, I didn't know we mean that much to you."

Trowa smirked. "You should know better, Duo. You're… you're my first real friends I've had."

Duo blinked and then smiled bashfully. "Good to know. What time is it? I need a stretch."

Trowa rolled up his sleeve and checked his watch. "It's nearly twelve. You want to scout the protests?"

Duo stood and took his flash drive from the tablet. He placed it inside his pants pocket. "I'm down," he said, and the two headed out into the city.

---

Orga strode across the depots to the physical training area, silently observing the work of her crew. Their busyness was amplified by how important their job had now become, how the change of control and power had shifted to the Third Group. They could not lose time with an awaiting enemy that was licking their wounds and planning their destruction, surely calling for reinforcements to hinder their escape. She was certain Gjallarhorn would attack with retribution: Gjallarhorn was not known for their peaceful negotiations: if subterfuge was not an option, then they openly flirted with overt militaristic operations in the name of law and order.

Maintaining battle readiness was steeped in her training, and she would not relent to any member slacking, dulling their combat effectiveness to complacency. Their lives and the lives of their comrades and futures were at stake. If Gunnel and Sasai had done one thing right, it was the instillation of discipline in their training. Orga guessed the beatings were good for something.

In between her walk, she noticed the signs of deference from her crew. They would call her boss with a respect she had rarely seen given to the First Corps. There was pride in their eyes and worn as a symbolic badge to the Third Group teens, excitement in their talk, and expedience in their work. It was a work ethic that would have made Maruba grin and brag if it could only bring more revenue to his coffer. The mood had shifted from overbearing when the First Corps were in charge to determination and resilience.

Orga took it all in stride. Their fates were in her hands. A brighter future was on the horizon, and it would start today. As she crossed into the training area, she had found the person she was looking for.

Doing sit-ups, Ride curled his stomach, counting each rising and falling motion mechanically, unaware of her presence. Sweat beat against his forehead and drenched his bangs. Orga called his name. Instantly, the boy stood up and saluted, heaving a bit as his chest labored with his breaths.

A smile worked its way on Orga's lip; it was a fond smile, the kind she used sparingly. Ride was one of her favorite subordinates. He was reckless and headstrong, but he made up for it with his intelligence and creativity, a creativity she sought for a special project.

"Ride, at ease," she ordered, and Ride brought his hands behind his back. "I have an important task for you. All duties are rescinded for this task. Listen closely. Only you are capable of this."

Excitement brimmed in Ride's eyes and Orga went for the kill that would take him over the moon. "I have been thinking of changing our name since the… change in leadership. We were known as CGS. Chryse Guard Security. This was the old guard's name before we took power. The name still irritates me.

"We are leaving this behind, throwing it to dust of the past. No longer will we live in the First Group and Maruba's shadow. We can only forge ahead. Our destination is forward and beyond."

Orga paused, letting Ride process what she said. Ride nodded accordingly but stayed silent. Orga continued, "Today, we will be known as Tekkadan, the Iron Flower Brigade. I want you to design our new logo. This logo will be our badge."

Ride could not hold in his excitement and shouted in merriment. Orga smiled down at her comrade, seeing the joy in his face. "Is this for real, Ms. Orga? Are you sure?"

Orga ruffled his orange hair. Ride blushed, looking away from Orga's fond gaze. "This is a job for Ride Mass. We all know how artistic you are. I want your design by the next hour. Afterwards, you'll start your project on the main facility. Dismissed."

Ride saluted and ran to the dormitories. Orga watched him, imagining a new destiny ahead. She tore her gaze away to watch the deep blue sky. It wouldn't be long now. They were almost there, past the deep blue, into midnight of outer space.

---

The cusp of evening rolled in when Atra's truck made its way down the street. Leaning out the window, she gave a friendly wave with an open-mouthed smile on her face. Standing up from the sidewalk's ledge in front of the library, Trowa had spotted it first heading down the road. Duo followed, dusting his bottom, and waving to Atra.

"She's right on time," said Duo.

Trowa nodded and watched the girl pull into the side of the sidewalk.

"Nice to see ya, girlie," Duo said, leaning against her door, his forearms resting on her open windowsill, his head resting on his forearm, and a smile gracing his lips. "Can you help two rogues out with some traveling? We gotta distance to go."

Brushing a lock of hair from her face and slightly blushing, Atra nodded. "I sure can."

"Sweet!" Duo quickly distanced himself from the driver's seat and made his way around front of the truck while saying in midstride, "I call shotgun."

Duo gave Trowa an apologetic look. A small smile pulling at his lips, Trowa knew Duo did not mean it as he walked behind him. He wanted a turn to sit in the front and if Duo wanted something, nothing would stand in his way to attain it. Not even death stood a chance, and it had multiple opportunities.

"Not a problem, Duo," Trowa said, pulling into the truck and sitting in the backseat.

Duo pulled up the passenger seat and tugged his seatbelt on. "Ready," Duo confirmed, turning his head to Atra.

"Right," Atra pulled away from the ledge and they drove into city back to downtown Chryse. The trio made relatively small talk, with Duo holding most of the conversation, Atra adding to the fire of Duo's stories, and Trowa quietly listening and smiling from time to time. Most of his attention laid outside to the diminishing protests and Gjallarhorn taking more authoritative action on the street – clearing streets and arresting obstinate protestors. The distant sounds of flash grenades crackled and popped with the wail and screams of the protesters.

They made it to Haba's as dusk breached the sky, flowing with oranges and yellows that seemed more muted. Filing into the establishment after Atra, the sound of running footsteps caught Trowa's attention. Sprinting down the stairs was a tuff of black hair and energy, barreling into Atra's small form. Atra released a soft grunt from the collision as she held the brown-skinned, black-haired boy. He looked at her with large eyes and a dazzling smile.

"Lolo," Atra said softly. "Not so hard."

"Atra! You're home!" Lolo's squeaky voice exclaimed, hugging Atra tightly, ignoring her scolding. "Momma made dinner and daddy's here, too! We're having yams, cabbage, and chicken. Hurry up and come –"

Lolo's voice stopped abruptly, finding the boys behind her. He gripped Atra's jacket and hid behind it, using one eye to keep an eye on them. Trowa said nothing; he was never good with kids. He was never around them, most of his time spent piloting and fixing mobile suits for a mercenary detachment that adopted him. There was one girl from his past, Middie Une, who was older than the child before him.

Trowa curled his hands and then released them. He exhaled softly and moved his gaze on Duo. He had not thought about Middie since the end of the war. Although, her invisible presence had been an unsubtle reminder of his lifetime goal. He wondered idly what happened to her. Did she, in the end, live in peace with her family?

Duo walked closer to the child – the child warily watched him, a tremble apparent – and stopped a breadth away. Soft footsteps descended from the top of the stairs and stopped at their foot. Haba, wearing a white apron, looked on in fascination. She only smiled warmly as the scene played out.

Duo got down on one knee, eye level with the child and smiled. "Now, what's your name lil buddy?"

"Lolo," responded the boy quietly, still hugging Atra.

"Well, Lolo," said Duo, "it's nice to meet cha," moving his fist to the boy and leaving it a half-inch away.

The boy, curious at the move, eased his grip from Atra, and moved his fist to meet Duo's, bumping it. Duo opened his hand and wiggled his fingers, shouting, "Explosion!"

Lolo giggled and mimicked Duo. "Explosion! Explosion!" he echoed loudly, wiggling both hands.

"Everyone, it's time for dinner," Haba said. "Make sure you wash your hands."

Lolo, in childish exuberance, pulled Atra by the hand and dragged her up the stairs. "Not so fast, Lolo!"

Haba tilted her head up the stairs to the two boys. "I know you two must be hungry as well. Come on, I made enough for everyone. It's not every day we have guests for dinner."

She moved up the stairs and the two followed. The aroma of food washed over Trowa's senses. The smell of seasoned chicken and yams filled his nostrils. Duo spoke his thoughts out loud, "This smell wonderful. I'm starving."

Haba turned into an open door on the left. Trowa and Duo were greeted to a kitchen with a small circular dinner table. In their seats were Atra, Lolo, and man presumed to be Haba's husband. The husband had bronze skin and burly arms covered in a forest of black hair. The man was unshaven; speckles of hair filling his face, and he wore red bandanna and black tank top.

His blue eyes were zeroed on his food. He shoveled heaps of meat and vegetables into his ravenous mouth. Trowa thought he was in battle with his dinner as he downed one bite after another. Duo and his captive audience, besides Lolo, looked on in disgust.

Haba shook her head as she whirled back into the kitchen, saying, "Darling, try not to eat so fast. It's not going anywhere."

The man grunted his response and Haba, uttered an exasperated sigh, "We have guests, dear. Please don't be a pig in front of them. Boys, this is my beloved, Harvey. He's a good man, most of the time when his manners are present."

The man blinked, his mouth full, and looked up to them. He blinked again; confusion written on his features. He swallowed his fill in one large gulp. His eyes widened when he started to choke on his food. He beat his chest repeatedly, and Atra dove for a glass of water and handed it to him.

Grabbing the glass, he greedily drank it as fast as he could and sighed loudly. "I almost died! Thanks for the save, Atra, I thought I was a goner."

A similar look appeared on Atra's face, the look of a mother scolding her child, and admonished him: "What are you thinking? You know how to eat properly. It's rude and gross to eat like that, especially in front of guests."

The man put his hands out in front of him. "Okay, okay, Atra. I get it. I really do. Sorry, bad habits. It's just the food is so delicious! Ya know how good Haba's cooking is!"

Haba smiled as Atra shook her head. "You're gonna make Lolo copy you. Stop it."

"Right, right, I'll eat slower. I promise," however, in his statement, he gave Lolo an ostentatious wink. Atra shook her head again and sat down, digging into her food, her eyes vacillating from her food to Harvey as if she couldn't decide what mattered more – good manners or filling her appetite.

Looking at his guests, the man smiled and invited them to the table. Trowa sat to the left of the man while Duo took his right, next to Lolo. "So, who might you two be? CGS? Friends of Atra?"

"We're –" Duo responded but was cut by Haba.

"They're Atra's boyfriends, Trowa and Duo," Haba said as she came out the kitchen, two plates balanced in one hand and one in the other. She gave a plate to Trowa and Duo and sat down with hers by her husband.

She gave them a sultry grin. "They're pretty cute, aren't they dear? But not as cute as you."

"Not bad, Atra, not bad," the man responded, nodding in approval amid Atra's red face. "Two in a bag. Well done! Some people aren't that lucky, ya know. I always thought that Mikazuki boy was your type, but I guess you have options now.

"Treat her right, ya two and if you hurt her, I'll…" a fist meeting an opened hand was Harvey implied threat.

Trowa's face remained blank compared to Duo's nonplussed expression. Overhanging threats like violence never had their intended effect on Trowa. He could handle himself well in a fight and usually, his opponents were the ones asking for mercy. He did however understand Harvey's fatherly protectiveness of his daughter, not that that worried him in the slightest.

Haba smiled at him even as she rolled her eyes. Atra sat lower in her seat, wishing she could become invisible. Unfortunately for her, her new tomato complexion made it impossible.

"Good grief, woman. We're really not her boyfriends," Duo managed, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

"Huh," was the Harvey's confused reply turning to his wife and Atra. Atra readily agreed with him and Haba reluctantly told him Atra was only had eyes for one person, causing her to blush.

"Then there's no harm," Harvey said smiling.

After a moment of small talk, Duo asked Harvey what job he did. "I work in the mines. Mars is filled with them. The use of half-metals is a big industry here. I used to… uh…" – his voice transformed into a conspiratorial whisper – "be a smuggler. I'd smuggle weapons, drugs, half-metal, people escaping human debris and bondage to the Outer Sphere colonies.

"I settled down later, when I met this Olympus Mons here," he talked normally, swinging an arm around Haba. Haba leaned into him. "We had our first kid five years ago, Lolo, and then adopted Atra, and I've been working in the mines ever since.

"I still say I should go back to smuggling," Harvey said, grumbling. "Working in the mines is shit pay for how many hours they overwork us there. Here, I thought mining was safer than smuggling."

Haba merely smiled, untangling herself and collecting the empty dishes. Atra went to help but Haba refused, dismissing her with a shake of her hand. "Atra, you're off tomorrow, right? What are your plans?" Harvey asked.

Atra nodded her head and clasped her fingers together. "I'll be taking them back to CGS after helping Mrs. Pretzel with the farming. We'll be harvesting corn. She says there's a lot this season."

"Yeah," responded Duo, "we volunteered to help."

"Good, good. She needs all the help she can get with that large farm. Ah, that tough, old bat, tell her I send my thanks," Harvey said. He got up. "It was nice meeting you boys, don't be shy around my house when you're here."

He picked up Lolo from his seat and slung him over his shoulder. "It's story time for you and then its" – he gave a lascivious wink to Haba while she was doing the dishes. Haba returned it in full force, licking her lips – "extracurricular hours for me."

"I'm going to make you earn that A," Haba said.

Trowa felt his cheeks heat up and Duo's jaw dropped. "They're pretty loud when they're together," Atra whispered, an embarrass blush on her cheeks.

Trowa did not respond. He did not know how to respond or have the right answer, so he stuck to silence. Sometimes, silence was safe. Duo barked out a laugh.

"Damn," Duo said, "there goes my sleep."

---

At the touch of dusk, Orga, Mikazuki, Biscuit, Shino, and Eugene headed down the slopes of CGS. The sun traveled with them as it lowered, a ball of yellowish orange that seemed to make the Martian soil glow red. Orga snorted at the company name. It would be gone by the end of the day. Starting today, CGS was no more.

It would be buried with the past.

Their destination, amid the sloping hills of desiccated red, was a narrowed canyon sixteen hundred meters out. Akihiro and the rest of the human debris would be awaiting their arrival at the opening. Orga felt confident with every step she took, every imprint she left in the Martian soil. The coming night could not diminish the anticipation growing in her heart.

"D-do you think they'll accept?" Shino said, slightly stuttering. Worry colored his voice, a hesitant look on his features that told Orga how unsettled he was.

Orga knew of his worry. She had it too, though she chose to push it down. Losing friends was always a terrible thing, especially when bonded through bloodshed.

"They'll have to accept," Eugene stated confidently. "We're comrades; they have nowhere else to go!"

As they walked their way to the mouth of the canyon, twelve older teens in their Third Group, human debris uniform, stood stock-still in the shadow of canyon walls. They shifted their attention when they saw Orga with her entourage but did not move or salute. Except for their recognized leader, who swaggered forward, dark eyes and a stoic frown pointed at Orga.

Akihiro stopped in front of Orga as she moved her hand into her pocket. Feeling the cold piece of plastic, she pulled it out and held it out for him. Akihiro's eyes went wide on the object, too shock to move, his lips briefly trembling before they became still. He gave Orga a hard look, his dark eyes mirroring obsidian.

"You know what this is, right?" asked Akihiro. "Where did you find this?"

Orga nodded her head slowly. "It's the data drive of your data and your contract with CGS."

Orga tilted her head in Biscuit's direction, who held himself with great determination and solemnity. "I had Biscuit dig it up."

"Do you know what this means if you give this to me? To all of us here?" asked Akihiro, dumbfounded and uncertain, a sort of skepticism mixed with his unusual frankness.

Orga closed her eyes. "Human debris. Proof you are all properties of Maruba. If that's gone, you'll become free, right?"

"Do you know what this means?" Akihiro said purposefully, carefully, his dark eyes wary, holding Orga's own.

"It's means you're all free. You can go anywhere. Do anything you want. I'm not holding it all against you. But if you're staying, I'll protect you. I'll do all that I can," she said seriously, staring into Akihiro's and her comrades' faces – all of them – to ensure the truthfulness in her words.

"Protect? Protect us who are basically trash? The lowest of the low. The pieces of shit who could never amount to anything? You want to protect us?" he said. He sounded outraged, scared, and hopeful.

"You're not trash to me. None of us, your comrades, think that you are. You and everyone else were always more than that. We fought together, ate together, slept together, gotten pushed down together, and rose back up together. We're linked Akihiro through pain and sadness. We share a fate.

"But we can rise together and set off a giant firework for the world to see. We are here, and we're not going anywhere. This I promise you."

Orga stuck out her hand. The sunset was upon them, the yellowish orange had faded into golden yellow that washed over the barren and rugged red landscape. Akihiro paused for a moment in surprise. He studied her eyes and seemed to be looking for something in her soul, weighing his decision. When the sunlight danced over his features, a smile curled at the edge of his mouth.

"A firework, eh? I would love to see that." He grabbed Orga's hand firmly and squeezed. Orga welcomed a rush of elation after the handshake. Her pack were staying together. There were hoots and yells that echoed in the canyon, an unrestrained cheer that could not be contained for themselves. Everyone had to hear and bask in it.

"Wonderful," she said, releasing his hand. "Let's head back to the base. I have surprise for all of you."

"A surprise?" Akihiro asked.

"Really Orga?" said a dark-skinned teen named Chad Chadan as he saddled next to Akihiro.

"Is it girls?" Shino asked excitedly. "I hope its girls!"

Orga chuckled. "No, Shino. It's even better."

She led her team back to the compound, Shino's chatter about nothing and everything building her good mood. Instead of going to the office, she led them to the administration portion of the facility. Orga checked her watch. "It's time."

A long cloth hung over the roof. Ride sat atop it, his hands behind his head, looking at the clouds. Below him, all CGS members had gathered around, waiting for her. She looked upon the faces of her team: Mr. Yukinojo, Yamagi, and Takaki Uno in their own area. Chad and Dante were by each other, arms slung over each other, laughing. Hirumi, Trow, and Embi, the younger kids, stood with each other.

The G-Team stood by themselves away from the group. Heero, Quatre, and Wufei watched quietly outside their circle. She would need to talk with them soon. Kudelia and her personal maid Fumitan stood by Biscuit and Eugene. Dexter looked slightly unsure whether he should be there, and Todo had an irritated look on his face.

"Everyone," she called. "I have got some news for you. Today is the day we break free of our chains. CGS held us in bondage our whole lives. Under them we were treated worse than livestock. They tormented us and pushed us to the edge. We lost many fellow comrades. Just thinking about Maruba and those guys makes me sick.

"But did we quit? Did we relent? No! We stood fast. We gave everything we got for us and for our comrades. We struggled. We won. Today, for those of us that have stayed to work here, we thrust forward. We go farther than the stars. We'll cut through the darkness so that we become meteors in bloom.

"Our resolve is made of iron. Through countless battles and pain, we remained iron in the face of adversity. We were seeds of iron and we grew through this" – she picked up a grain of red soil and held it for her captive audience – "Martian desert strong, hardened, and beautiful. Today, we bloom. I declare we are CGS no longer. We are Tekkadan, the Iron Flower Brigade that never wilts. We begin our new age with an escort mission.

"Ride, get ready," Orga called. "On my command, pull it off."

Orga raised her open hand to the air, and then, swiftly, she cut the air as it fell. The boy sat up and nodded eagerly, leaning and gripping the cloth. Ride pulled off the cloth, revealing their new symbol, a stylized red flower.

"What is that? Is that a fish?" Shino stated loudly.

"Can't you see it's a flower? Check your eyes, Shino!" Ride argued.

They went back and forth as the crowd applauded. There was a storm of cheer that was shouted into the Martian desert, rattling the planet, and eliciting a wide smile from Orga. She saw arms pumping in the air and a various shout rising and falling in enthusiasm, trying to shake the heavens. To her, it felt right.

Amid their cheering, Orga spotted Kudelia. She was looking at the boys with an uncertain look as she clapped politely. That expression wouldn't do, Orga thought to herself. She elbowed Biscuit in the shoulder and nodded towards Kudelia. Basking in the good cheer, she beelined for Kudelia and Fumitan.

Making eye contact, Kudelia gave a smile.

"Ms. Bernstein," Orga began. "I'll ask again. Can we count on you for this mission?"

Kudelia nodded her head, but her smile fell from her lips. "To help your financial situation, I'll talk with my sponsor Nobliss Gordon tomorrow morning. He should cover the expenses."

"Nobliss Gordon? Are you serious?" Biscuit proclaimed, giving Kudelia an excited look.

"You know him, Biscuit?" Orga asked.

"He's a big deal. I heard he's very rich," Biscuit replied. "If it's him, we'll make it through."

Orga patted his shoulder. She then looked over her shoulder. The G-Team was quietly talking to each other. Heero caught sight of her stare. With his attention on her, she moved towards them. Their talking ceased at her arrival.

"Congratulations, Ms. Orga," Quatre said with a polite head bow. "The name is very fitting."

Orga nodded her gratitude. "But that is not the reason you're over here, to make small talk," Wufei said, dark eyes narrowing to slits.

"Yeah." She exhaled slowly and said, "I came to offer you a proposition."