The War on Gundam

by Eyefantasy

New dangers lurk when our After Colony heroes are mysteriously transported to Anno Domini. A new war will be waged, and it's up to Heero and friends and their new Gundams to protect this new world from falling into catastrophe. Battle lines will be drawn and crossed as military and political leaders plot revolution. As the world changes, the war on Gundam has just begun.

4. Chapter 4: Descending Storm

AN: Sorry for the delay, but work comes first. Anywho, here's next chapter. I hope everyone is doing well.

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Quatre laid his head against his seat's backrest and turned to watch the airplane descend outside his window. The mighty and ancient city of Tabriz opened in a sloping valley, oppressed and guarded by two dormant volcanic mountains, the Eynali and Sahand, and was met by the shimmering Lake Urmia. Quatre thought it a beautiful city, populated by resilient people and their limitless potential to build cities that rivaled the height of the mountains. As eyes wandered the cityscape, his eyes found a shining beacon of gold. In the center, glowing with surrounding green trees and a golden dome, stretching and magnificent, was the Azadistan palace.

"An incredibly beautiful city. There has always been such magic found on the Earth compared to the colonies," Quatre uttered quietly, his voice thick in awe, to one of his oldest friends, Rashid Kurama.

Rashid was a large man of Moroccan-Arab descent, who towered over Quatre, even while sitting on the plane. His robust beard covered his chin and ended at the neck of his beige robe. He bent slightly, looking out the window as well, a deep frown on his face.

"Master Quatre, while I do agree, don't be fooled by the surface's superficiality," Rashid whispered. "Deep-rooted socio-and-economic ills along with religious and ethnic tension is rising in the city. The beauty is a façade. Underneath is its ugly and divisive power structure, and it is not just here but throughout the kingdom. Its imperialist and expansionist policies have not made it any friends within the last years."

"The reformers and the conservatives? Yes, I know. Tensions between those groups will continue to mount despite our solar power projects. It's a shame Princess Marina Ismail could not fully unite the country."

"Which is why you need to be cautious, Master Quatre. Many conservatives detest us, no matter how great the economy has improved. Donations from us have made little headway in dispersing or supplanting suspicion," said Rashid quietly. "It's made them wary."

"Of course," Quatre nodded, eyes still on the gleaming city below, aglow in early morning light. "I know my place here."

"Glad to hear," Abdul said, sitting on Rashid's right, dark sunglasses glinting, a smirk on his face, "Saud, nephew of Rashid."

Quatre had undertaken being Rashid's assistant and his nephew. It fit the narrative for their new lives in Anno Domini. His name, although insignificant in this time, still had value to Dekim and the ESUE. It would be sharks sniffing blood if they caught wind of their game. Rashid and the Maganac Corps were an unknown factor only to the Arab nations back home – and they detested OZ and the Alliance with a fury. But their names would not cause a visible stir that could lead to assassination.

"Attention passengers, we will be landing in five minutes in the capital, Tabriz. Please fasten your seatbelts and put away your trays. Thank you for flying Azadistan Air. We hope to see you again," came the overly polite tone of the flight attendant on the intercom.

The plane soon landed with a soft thud as it touched down on the runway. It steadily moved to the gangway and nestled against the opening. In a chorus of clicks around the plane, people quickly moved into the aisle to open the suitcase cabins and retrieve their belongings. As space cleared, Quatre and his group moved to retrieve theirs and left down the flight deck to disembark, taking the stairs to the runway.

As people filed into the airport along the red barrier and up the winding ramps into the facility, Quatre noticed a black car parked parallel to the barrier. Two men dressed in black suits and sunglasses waited by it, heads turned to the aircraft and debarking passengers. One had his arms crossed while the other held out a sign with Rashid's name on it.

Quatre silently met Rashid's brown eyes briefly before landing on the darkly clad men. They met the two men by their car, who introduced themselves as Azadistan's Royal Secret Service.

"Are you Rashid Kurama, the CEO of the Royal Yasmin?" the man with crossed arms asked.

Rashid said he was. The man then asked for his personal identification and Rashid gave it to him. The glasses man looked down for a moment and then handed him back his card. He then gave Quatre and Abdul a look and said, "I presume these are your guests?"

Rashid nodded. "Yes, my nephew and assistant Saud and my vice president Abdul Abbas."

The man stuck out his hand. Knowing what this meant, Quatre reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He was lucky he had forged a whole new identity. He along with Abdul gave it to the man, who, mechanically (his face never showed any emotion), gazed at their pictures and then handed it to them.

"Her Majesty is eagerly awaiting your arrival," he said. He took a step back and opened the passenger side door and ushered them into the vehicle. Without any hassle, they took off into the city.

The ride to the palace seemed like hours to Quatre, but it was minutes. Time crawled as Quatre took in the vast swell of people and sites moving amid the background of skyscrapers, the innumerable yellow taxis expelling impatient honks at sidewalks; fashionable veiled, unveiled, and hijabed women and girls gathered in twos and threes and more, laughing, gesticulating, and taking pictures with their cellphones. Heavy vests and long-sleeved shirts dressed boys and men as they gathered in conversation or treaded up and down to Allah knows where.

There was an air of western modernity integrated with Tabriz's ancient past that surrounded the city in its mountain ranges. Skyscrapers, hotels, city and industrial centers, this was all a collective, from its cleaned and newly paved roads to its glittering buildings, of its past conquests. And those conquests as Quatre saw, were rearing its head up in armed security forces dotting intersections and corners, eyes scouring for any malicious or odd behavior.

Even from his window, Quatre could feel in his bones a certain intensity hovering in the air as if a bomb was ticking off and everyone could see it but chose to ignore it. It would be a shame for this community to fall to the fires of war, Quatre thought. His view was then obscured by green as rows of trees past by them. Between the trees he caught a glimpse of white and gold, and when the car turned left into a checkpoint did his eyes widen.

The palace was by far more beautiful than in the sky. Ahead of them to the grand white palace was the Royal Square and then white walls and columns framed the exterior of the Azadistan palace. A golden dome stood out from gleaming red roofs of the surrounding buildings.

They rolled up to the porte-cochere, stopped, and were escorted by an armed guard escort along red bricks that painted their path. Though their stern appearances displayed their training - an impassive wall of discipline - there was a certain wariness as they looked around, eyes tight, muscles tense, as if they were expecting an unexpected attack. They were hurried down a long corridor where mosaic tiles shined in beige, blue, and gold and set aside to a closed white wooden-framed door. As Quatre and his group waited, Quatre heard muted voices outside the door.

Judging by their clarity, they were close to the door as a firm female voice spoke, "Rassa, are you sure this is a good idea? Who knows what they may be planning?"

"Shirin, I do this for our country," the man named Rassa answered, his voice thick in emotion.

"Rassa…? Must be Rassa Massoud Rachmadi, the leader of the conservative party, the Hizb Laleh Qarmaz," Quatre murmured to himself as he listened to the conversation.

From what Quatre knew of Rassa, he was a man of restraint and control, a conservative steward of the patriarchal traditions of Azadistan and of the country's self-reliance from foreigners and their influences. Quatre knew the Royal Yasmin was a hot topic among those of the conservative party, and Rassa was one to raise it with iron in his voice when it came about in parliament. Many looked at Rassa with respect, although, within Azadistan's growing discontented populace, there were others, along the Hizb Laley Qarmaz, who sought more extreme measures than Rassa's moderate and conservative policies.

Allying with the ESUE was one of those extreme measures.

Rassa continued, his voice edging urgency, "The ESUE diplomats will be willing to meet with me. We have to stop them from interfering in our country's affairs. The conservatives are growing more extreme and their trust with the ESUE is tightening to a point where I cannot fully control. If this continues, I dare say, Princess Marina, a civil war will be at our doorstep and the ESUE will claim this country as it falls apart."

"Surely we can bring them here for dialogue. The conservatives and the ESUE diplomats," a softer voice, seemingly weak in despair, said. "This country cannot become two. It just cannot, not after years of hardship and war."

"And I will make sure that it does not!" Rassa spoke firmly. "I will go and see what deals we of the Hizb Laleh Qarmaz can make with the ESUE diplomats. Allah is with me. I feel His presence and it only strengthens my resolve. We have to stop this before the conservatives or reformists escalate tension that would lead us down into ruin. The echoes of the past are at our doorsteps. Let's not open the door to the chaos it would bring."

"Rassa," whispered Princess Marina, a desperate pleading tremoring in her voice.

"Believe in me. Believe in this country. Do not let your resolve falter. If you do, this country will fall into chaos and despair. Good day, Royal Princess Marina Ismail."

Soft but swift footsteps came, the doorknob turned with a sharp click, and the door flew open. An older man in his fifties glided out of the room, his face set firmly in determination. He offhandedly caught their gaze and slowed, his eyes narrowing on the three foreigners. He held their gaze for a solid beat. He gave a curt nod and his blue robes billowed in his departure down the hall, soft steps fading with the wind from opened windows.

Their armed escorts held open the door and the trio walked inside. An open curtained bay window overlooking the palace, welcomed the visitors. Five chairs trimmed in gold and dyed in crimson were seated at a beautiful, rectangular table with floral inlay decorations, gleaming in bronze and gold. Two women were seated behind the table.

"Honored guests, I present to you Princess Royal Marina Ismail and her royal advisor Shirin Bakhtiar," the escort introduced solemnly with a slight bow and a wave of his arm.

Standing up and smoothing her purple dress with her light blue sleeved hands, was the crown princess herself. Her beauty in photos did no justice. Long, voluptuous, and shining black hair cascaded down her back. She had a kind face with warm and deep pools of blue eyes on her light brown skin. She had a long nose that fit her face and full lips that were curled into a warm smile. Quatre was caught off-guard by her beauty and the warmness that emanated from her and yet, there, he sensed a hint of sadness that lurked behind her warm eyes.

In contrast, the woman next to her, her royal advisor, Shirin Bakhtiar, seemed colder and calculative. Her face did not betray any emotion, but her piercing, grey eyes behind her circular spectacles revealed a cool intelligence. She wore a simple turquoise dress and had short, curly, brown hair. Her lips were in a line.

His attention once more turned to the princess when she spoke, her words melodious and musical on her tongue, "As-salamu alaykum."

Marina grabbed Rashid's hand and graciously shook it and then glided her way to Quatre, blue eyes lit with warmth, long purple dress flowing, and raised an opened hand in greeting. Meeting her hands, Quatre found they were soft and long, showing of a person who never hardened their hands through physical labor despite the strength in her fingers. The grip of her fingers reminded Quatre of something familiar that he could not place.

The dearth between them as individuals was enormous even if they were both pacifists. He a working pacifist, and she an idealistic pacifist.

"Wa-Alaikum-Salaam," they returned courteously and took their seats at the table.

"It's a pleasure meeting you once again, Mr. Kurama. I hope the trip from space was suitable under these terrible conditions," said Marina, a warm smile still brightening her face.

The princess's eyes glided to her advisor and signaled in her direction. "This is my advisor and political coordinator Shirin Bakhtiar," Marina presented. The brown-haired woman nodded curtly after being acknowledged.

Rashid nodded, sat straighter, and replied good-naturedly, "The trip was quite nice, Princess Marina. A lovely trip indeed for me and my subordinates. I love the Earth greatly and its beauty, up close, does my heart good. There's nothing like this in the colonies, and if there was, it would be inorganic. My nephew, Saud," – he nodded to Quatre – "loves it here as well. It's been a while since he came back."

Marina smiled, and her eyes gazed into Quatre's. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Saud. Your uncle has told me a little about you. He says you've been here before, yes?"

Quatre smiled at Rashid before returning his attention to the princess. "My uncle's too kind. I'm Saud Raberba, my uncle's assistant, and though I have been here, I've been around the world. The first time I came to the Earth was when I was fifteen. I spent the whole year galivanting the world – from Russia to the Kingdom of Suille, to Europe, Africa, and the Americas.

"The people up in space, those who have never seen the Earth before, do not know how ineffably beautiful the Earth is. From space, there is a beauty to this planet that can only be seen with the eyes and heard with the ears. Yet, it is also a fragile beauty. What humans have caused to it over the generations has been a terrible disservice."

Marina gave Quatre a look so warm and understanding he almost looked away. He could see how her supporters idealized her. One look from her made a person feel like they were valued and treasured, like they were the only ones there. Not many possessed such a kind disposition, to reach into the hearts of others and kindle warmth and ease.

Marina nodded her head understandingly and said passionately, "Mr. Raberba, yes, the Earth is just as you described. I've only been to space a few times, but just looking at it, we can really value its beauty – the swirling oceans, the golden deserts, its stern mountain ranges, her enormous continents, and her various people and animals that live together.

"If we all could see it from space, we all can appreciate and cherish this fragility. It's a shame that we cannot co-exist and understand our needs and desires. But in my heart, this is what I greatly desire for my people."

Marina ponderously bowed her head and closed her eyes. When she opened her eyes, she gave Quatre another smile. "I am happy there are hearts as large as yours, Mr. Raberba. We need them in this world. Please, while you're in my country, feel the need to walk with my people and learn our culture. I'm sure it will satisfy your adventurous heart."

Quatre smiled back. He agreed wholeheartedly with her words and sentiment. The world, really, was held together by a few people who cherished love and empathy. Those few people bore the burdens of the world and society as the ills in society, in its anguish and cruelty, tried to crush them.

Quatre felt a hand pat his back and turned to find Abdul with a small smile. Rashid gave Quatre a friendly smile, but that soon vanished into an earnest frown. Quatre noticed his look right away as he straightened. It was his business disposition, the one where Rashid became head of the Maganac Corps.

Quatre had seen Rashid do this numerous times. His voice would change from a warmer to a cooler and deeper tone. He made every word count to make a clear point. Friendliness, although lingering, would evaporate into an air of formality. There would be no evading him as he would appear like a wall.

"Princess Marina, we shall indulge in your hospitality as we travel Azadistan. However, business must precede it. We have come to talk about the next stage. Azadistan has been getting restless under the political unrest. We are concerned about our solar generators and the safety and welfare of our crew and engineers.

"There have been targeted attacks on my workers, especially further away from major urban centers in the rural regions."

Princess Marina looked down at her hands in sadness and then up, her eyes as expressive as the sadness in her features. "You're referencing Sarbaz in the Sistan and Baluchestan Province. We knew this may happen, but escalation of tension between the conservatives and reformists have been getting out of hand, to where Mr. Rachmadi of the Hizb Laleh Qarmaz is having a hard time reining the simmering tension. Most have stopped listening to my voice and instead sought to fuel their anger and desperation."

Rashid acknowledged her response with a simple nod. Quatre had read the reports from the region, and he could only shake his head. The Sarbaz generators were a contentious issue for some of the people in Sarbaz. The predominant farmers and rural folk, aligned with the Hizb Laleh Qarmaz, had found the Royal Yasmin's solar generator an intrusion on the Azadi people, a foreign company infiltrating their community and bringing the destructive hammer of Western technology.

His engineers and employees had been threatened with sporadic gunfire and IEDs on their way to and from work. It had gotten so bad that rocket propelled grenades had launched into the facility, injuring tens of people and killing one. The security forces were either scared of angering the people of Sarbaz or had allowed the violence. Quatre did not know, but he was willing to find out on this trip to Azadistan.

"This is our concern," Rashid went on, his voice grave. "Our workers, some of your citizens, have worked to benefit your country's wellbeing."

"Of course," Marina interrupted. "Without you our economy wouldn't have stabilized without your solar generators and engineers."

"Indeed, but we will not tolerate putting our employees in danger, Princess Marina. Where are your security forces to protect my employees? Gunfire, IEDs, physical violence – these are unacceptable. There should be no reason for this violence."

Marina looked contrite as she wrung her hands. "You are absolutely right. Violence is unacceptable, in all forms. Truthfully, - and I'll be completely honest - I'm in a tenuous position. It looks like my security forces have… have failed to protect your people. I am inclined to send in the military, but I am fearful of the retribution the people of Sarbaz will feel and the repercussions to my kingdom.

"Can you imagine how terrified they will feel with armed soldiers protecting you? They'll think of this as tyrannical, as favoritism to the reformist party, the Hzib Mperators," Marina said, her voice taking on fear yet, there, underneath, was understanding of the ways of her countrymen. Quatre sensed it and knew this was a situation she was fearful of.

"I fear they may, if they have not already, gravitate to the extreme, and entrench themselves in their beliefs that they'll be no way of changing their hearts. They'll seek new means to express their anger," Marina said, her voice trembling over her last words.

"But we have to protect our employees," Quatre stated firmly, interjecting. "We cannot let them die or let your country dim without energy to your regions. I understand where you're at, and I understand the situation in your country, but it's either this or we fully pull out of Sarbaz. We –"

Rashid's large hand stopped in front of Quatre, silencing his words as the older man stared gravely at Marina. Shirin's eyes moved from Rashid to Quatre, narrowing in thought. She did not say word, but Quatre could gleam her mind was at work.

"I'm sorry, Princess Marina," Quatre apologized as Rashid's hand fell away. "I overstepped my boundaries."

Marina shook her head, a small smile on her face. "Please do not worry about it, Mr. Raberba. I see you're concern etched in your face. I know it must be hard for you to sit back and hear this."

"I too apologize for my nephew's outburst," Rashid said, giving Quatre a quiet look with his eyes. Quatre groaned inside. He definitely knew that look. It was the "we'll talk about this later" expression that never failed to give Quatre a long lecture on the importance of certain behaviors and formal decorum.

"However, he is not wrong. Something must happen to provide the necessary security to my employees, which brings us to one of the reasons why we are here. We want to propose a deal with the kingdom."

Marina blinked and then she and her advisor shared a look before asking for Rashid to continue. Rashid smirked. "You might have some reluctance to this, though."

"Where would my reluctance lie," Marina asked slowly, carefully, her full attention on Rashid, her body rigid as if anticipating something she would revolt at. Shirin had leaned a bit forward, her lips a line, eyes focused on Rashid. However, there seemed to be a certain level of understanding reflected in them.

Rashid did not sugarcoat his response. "Let us install our own paramilitary to protect our solar generators."

"You mean like in the Kingdom of Lebanon and Syria. Isn't that infringing on Azadistan's sovereignty, Princess Marina?" Shirin asked pointedly, eyes still focused on Rashid as her pointer finger adjusted her glasses.

"Yes, Ms. Bakhtiar," Princess Marina answered quietly.

Rashid's hands clenched his knees, and his voice came out tight. "Be that as it may, we need guaranteed protection for our workers. This isn't the first time we used our paramilitary to defend our generators and I'm certain it won't be the last. The Kingdom of Lebanon and Syria were in dire straits on the energy crisis. It led to a fierce civil war with the Union and HRL stoking the violence through their sell of mobile suits and military-grade weapons to their respective sides.

"We made a great impact, protecting our workers and providing energy to the cities that needed it against terroristic threats and attacks. We got the monarch's support. The Kingdom of Lebanon and Syria is better now, although deeply scarred from the war. But energy is not one of their concerns.

"Getting back to Azadistan, we, the kingdom and the Royal Yasmin, can use this opportunity to direct their anger, their antagonism of foreign investments and donations, toward us instead of your security forces. We have adequate resources to repel an incursion."

"Adequate? I'm hesitant to what you mean by adequate, Mr. Rashid," Marina asked as nervousness crept in her posture.

Instead of an answer by Rashid, it was Abdul who replied, an arrogant smirk on his face. His sunglasses held a certain ominous glint as it flashed from capturing a beam of sunlight. "Now, we're not talking about just armed men, your highness, we are capable of employing that. What Rashid is referring to is deterrence."

Quatre watched Shirin's eyes widen and her eyes shifted swiftly to Marina, who stiffened. "Deterrence?" asked the princess.

Abdul nodded, his smirk only widening amid the growing unease of those in the room on Azadistan's side. "Yes, your highness, deterrence, in the form of mobile suits."

The rebuttal came swiftly and fiercely from Princess Marina, desperation and anger and sadness were at war in her eyes and in her face. "Do you know what this means? If you do this, by answering force with heavier force, this is only going to exacerbate tension until those on the conservative side seek power to match yours. More bloodshed will arrive, and my citizens and your employees will be killed in the ensuing chaos of this decision.

"No one will be happy about this move…" Marina trailed off, but her eyes widened when Rashid followed up rather quickly.

"Then should I force my employees to leave Sarbaz? Destroy the solar generators and let the economy there go to ruin? Will I have to do the same for the whole province, Princess Marina? And then the next? My employees are in danger, and the threat of armed conflict has intensified into deaths and injuries. How can I protect my people when their lives are threatened by those in the region?"

Marina clasped her hands and closed her eyes. She worried her lower lip but bit it to maintain control. Quatre felt for her, he really did. He knew this decision was a costly one, especially toward the growth and sovereignty of Azadistan, but a decision needed to be made. The lives of his employees were at stake.

After a moment, Marina opened her eyes. "Mr. Kurama, please give me some time to make a decision. I need to weigh this between my staff."

Rashid gave a sigh but nodded all the same. Quatre knew this wasn't the answer he was looking for. "I understand, princess. However, please do not take too long. I need a decision by the end of the day before we depart to Sarbaz to inspect the facility. Please have a decision ready by then so I can make the appropriate adjustments."

Rising, Rashid, Abdul, and Quatre respectfully nodded to the princess and made their way out of the room.

---

Remaining inside the room, Princess Marina was in turmoil. Fear and its cold grip paralyzed her as thoughts of her country and her countrymen filled her mind. Worry came and she gripped her knees as dark thoughts passed through her head. Was there no other recourse except for violence?

She would not accept violence as an alternative. Mr. Kurama's offer was something she should have refused immediately, but the turmoil it would cause if his company pulled out of the region would destabilize the area. Marina knew the economic situation in Sarbaz was stable because of them, but the discontent politically from the conservatives in Tabriz had spread like a malignant plague throughout the provinces. Marina feared violence more than anything but what possibilities could she take?

She looked to Shirin who had stood up and moved to the windows. The blinding bars of afternoon sunlight struck her, outlining wisps of her long brown hair and her flowing turquoise dress. The bars stretched across the room outlining dancing dust particles. Shirin was silent, an unusual behavior for her advisor who spoke her mind without hesitation and was firm on her commitment to reform Azadistan.

"Shirin?" Marina called worriedly.

For a moment Shirin said nothing, still staring out into the Royal Square. When she spoke, though her tone imperious, there was a softness to it. "Princess Royal Marina Ismail, what future do you see for this country?"

"Future?" Marina asked, and then she smiled. She knew her answer like she knew her heart's desire. "I see Azadistan whole, free of pollical and social ills. I see poverty erased, children in school, men and women working in Allah's grace for a better tomorrow. I see Azadistan stable, our energy needs met, and my people happy and content."

Shirin turned to her, that familiar imperious smile on her face as she glided closer to Marina and peered down. "Is that what you see, Princess Marina Ismail? Because, right now, I see a future in ruins. I see this country, a country that I love, in flames of unrest and the terror of war.

"I see our people dying by the thousands because we failed them. This choice is not an easy choice, as all choices are. This one holds a consequence of rebellion and unrest, where leadership and its people will have a tenuous relationship that will devolve into civil war."

Shirin paused emphatically, and Marina felt a tightness in her heart and gut. "Princess Marina, I would suggest you nationalize the Royal Yasmin's Azadistan branch. The Hizb Laleh Qarmaz would see this as the monarchy flexing its power against foreign intervention and seizing control while the Hzib Mperators, although with distaste, would come to understand the significance of an Azadistan not reliant on foreign aid and technology.

"We could then maintain force and security of the company and its people without the Yasmin's paramilitary. Whether that'll solve the conflict or delay it, time will only tell."

"Shirin! To do this will only anger the international community! They might distrust us on any foreign investment and aid," Marina said, feeling a sudden energy burst into her. She wrung her hands anxiously. "You know how this might affect the reformists who seek to grow their business through foreign capital.

"Our economy is still stabilizing from the efforts of the Royal Yasmin, but it would never be enough considering the depletion of fossil fuels and the heavy taxation on its trade. We were close so many years back from falling into economic collapse."

"Then you must decide, Princess Marina, where the future of this country lies. Is it in our hands of the reformists, the Hzib Mperators; in the greedy and capitalistic hands of foreigners; in the conservative's vengeful grip backed by the ESUE; or, if they make do on their promise, in its destruction by Celestial Being?"

---

Setsuna strode into Heaven's Pillar orbital elevator with a singular purpose one would consider laser-like. The mission, which hovered at the forefront of his mind, never deviating from its trajectory, drove him on. He ignored the cool breeze of the air conditioning whipping across his face or the streams of travelers, with thick and bulky suitcases in toe, pass by him. However, he gleamed while his mind stayed focused, the female voice over the intercom stating: "Passengers boarding Heaven's Pillar Travel Bureau Number E-273, please proceed to Gate A12."

Setsuna realized he would need to hurry. He did not have much time left. Smoothing the tail of his crimson keffiyeh that ran down the front of his white long-sleeved shirt, Setsuna scanned the area, chestnut eyes calculating, measuring, scoping the people about. He scanned the size and weight of the passing travelers, who were too busy making their way to their flights.

Their world also looked to be entirely focused on their destination, moving mechanically in the stream of bodies and rolling suitcases. Their passing chatter flew through and out of Setsuna's ears like he was a simple funnel for the wind. Setsuna's short scan soon found, in the distance, what he was looking for. He made to the crowded food court to find three men gathered over a circular dining table.

The trio looked to be in a quiet discussion with the man in the orange vest, a green shirt, and dark pants, who was taking the lead, his lips moving. Setsuna read his lips and narrowed his eyes. The man was speaking to another on his left, who wore a tight black shirt and black skinny jeans. The black shirted-man nodded quietly, his shoulders somewhat tense like invisible hands pushing them down. Across from him stood a purple-haired man in a bright pink cardigan, an unbuttoned yellow collared shirt, and muted green pants. At first the purple-haired man had a look of disinterest, then a silent scowl came over his features at what was being said.

The man in the orange vest was the first to catch Setsuna's eye and waved him over, ushering him to their table. As he got closer, Lockon gave a cheery smile and said, "There you are! You're late, you naughty boy."

Setsuna acknowledged him and then Tieria and Allelujah with a glance. They all looked nonchalant around the table as two cups of coffee were nursed in Lockon and Allelujah's hands, and a full glass of milk sat by Lockon's right. Tieria had avoided beverages and had chosen to burn Setsuna with his ruby eyes that mirrored flames. Setsuna knew Tieria had doubts about him being a Meister, and there was suspicion and disdain, for whatever the reason, burning in his gaze.

Setsuna ignored it, knowing that keeping to himself had usually worked. Pretend like Tieria did not exist and the world would be right. When Tieria was angry, his anger, mixed with his sword of righteousness and duty, became intimidating if not excoriating. Setsuna doubted mercy nor appeasement would satisfy Tieria if he had screwed up on his mission. A vengeful haranguing would be in the future if Tieria had caught any sort of aberration to Aeolia's plan.

"I thought you died," Tieria said plainly, his burning ruby eyes waiting for a reaction.

"Did something happen," Allelujah asked concernedly.

Talking about any form of the mission was prohibited, strictly on orders by Veda, so Setsuna simply replied, "I submitted a report to Veda."

Turning his ruby eyes to a clock above, Tieria replied, "I'll have to take a look at it."

Of course, you would, Setsuna thought, knowing he would find the obstacle of that Flag pilot. "Sure."

Lockon looked on awkwardly, eyes hovering between Tieria and Setsuna. There was no doubt he could feel the tension mount or what he thought would be a feud when he stated, "Anyway, the main thing is that we're all safe."

He lowered his voice and continued, looking at Tieria, "I'm counting on you to look after space. We'll get started on our next mission."

Tieria closed his eyes for a second once more as if to withhold a scowl or retort and said, "I'll follow orders, though I have my doubts," whilst glaring at Setsuna when his red-eyed gaze opened.

Tieria looked up again and said, "I'm taking my leave."

Without another word, he gathered his belongings and left to the gate. Allelujah and Lockon watched him leave until the thick crowd swallowed him. Turning back to Setsuna, Lockon pushed the third drink to him. Setsuna gave it an inscrutable look and said, voice bemused by the beverage, "Milk?"

Setsuna was not a child. He had outgrown childhood fantasies and notions, and this beverage, whether Lockon knew or not – and Setsuna was sure he knew – indicated childish wants. He didn't dislike milk; he often favored it to western sugary beverages. It was Lockon's implicit gesture, and the meaning behind it, made Setsuna blink puzzledly.

Setsuna looked up to Lockon questioningly.

Lockon threw him a smirk and wink as if the gesture would invite Setsuna to partake in his service. "It's on me," he offered.

Much to Lockon's displeasure, Setsuna placed it to the side and focused on him. Lockon let out an irritable sigh while Allelujah gave a small smile at Setsuna before turning fully to Lockon.

"Can it really be done?" Allelujah said skeptically. "Returning our unit to space using the orbital elevator?"

Looking to the sides and then back on Allelujah, Lockon nodded and whispered. "Not to worry. It's mixed in with the colony development material, as planned. As long as it's the same weight and it goes through boarding, there are really no checks after that, especially here."

Allelujah's brow furrowed in thought. "It's certainly a blind spot. I suppose if we had a weakness, it would be that without Gundams, Ptolemaio's operating time is quite limited, with only four reactors –''

Setsuna reacted quickly, holding Allelujah by the shoulder, silencing him with a piercing and knowing look. "Don't talk about our secrets out loud."

The man was about to carelessly divulge Celestial Being's close guarded secrets to the world. Who knew what surveillance apparatus lay clandestine at the bottom of the orbital elevator building? They were not in a safe location, and Setsuna found it ridiculous as he withheld a scowl at the apparent laxness of his fellow Meister. Trouble could lurk when one was not expecting it, and in Setsuna's view, trouble was omnipresent in their line of work.

Anyone and everyone had the potential to be a possible enemy.

Gold and blue eyes filled with understanding as Allelujah clasped his hand and said, "My apologies."

The bell for the linear train rang and Setsuna looked up, seeing Tieria's train depart up the elevator on the viewscreen. The speaker over the intercom announced in an airy voice that seemed to come from everywhere, "Heaven's Pillar Travel Bureau E-273 will depart on schedule at 14:18."

"A linear train… to space," Setsuna remarked, watching the tail of the train elevate skyward.

Technology had advanced to a point where spaceships competed with linear, orbital trains. Most space shuttles nowadays were used as transports for companies, a country's military, or private pleasure. Most citizens used the linear trains to transfer to orbital stations above and then shuttle to a neighboring colony. Travel was expensive, though, on both sides, and Setsuna found most civilians rather remained grounded than afford paying the cost of travel to the orbital elevators or for a space launch.

As if on the same wavelength, Setsuna and his comrades stood and took their leave. When they made it outside into the brightly shining morning sun and the humid tropical weather that wrapped itself around his body like a hug, Lockon yawned loudly.

"Let's go home," Lockon managed through the yawn, his brown gloves lazily covering his mouth, while one hand pressed into his lower back, his chest pushing forward like a crane's curving neck.

Allelujah followed, a hint of a smile on his features with, "I wish we'd have a bit of a break."

Lockon gave him a roguish grin, his eyes twinkling, and said, "Gotta strike while the iron's hot. The world won't pay attention to us the first few times."

---

Angling his muted beige-colored rucksack on his shoulders and adjusting his dark blue Private Military Company Trust uniform collar, Heero Yuy slipped out the aisle of the plane into L'Aeropot de Cap Estel. Walking through the atrium, flanked by glimmering windows overlooking the runway and the vastness of the Mediterranean, Heero followed the crowd to the baggage claim and out the doors to the taxi station of the arrival transport. As he was about to leave the passenger pickup station, a growl of a motorcycle caught his attention.

His Prussian blue eyes shifted to the noise, watching a motorcyclist edge its way to him and stopped, kicking their stand. The motorcyclist appeared to be a woman, judging by her slender build in her metallic silver-blue and black jacket. The same blue uniform dress pants ran down her legs into black combat boots. Her gloved hand raised up her visor and light brown eyes, shining in perhaps curiosity or acknowledgement, stood out on brown skin, framed and cushioned by white locks.

Heero gripped the strap of his rucksack and narrowed his eyes on the woman before him. He knew what she looked like without the helmet, knew her when a person knows their superior and lead coordinator. He had to wonder why she was here. It wasn't ordinary when one's lead coordinator played chaperone. She met his stare, a playful sparkle now in her eyes.

"Lead Coordinator Neferu Naguib," Heero acknowledged.

Neferu's eyes smiled, crinkling at the end of her long lashes, and she reached back to the rear and detached an extra helmet. She threw it to him and said, "Get your ass on, Yuy. You're late enough as it is. We don't have that much time to be dallying, though you seemed to be enjoying yourself enough at this station."

Her deep and husky accented voice almost seemed to growl playfully at him. Heero gave her a questioning look. Their deployment was in two days, he was sure they had plenty of time unless something had happened. Most likely, judging by Neferu's impatience, command had expedited operations.

Heero caught the helmet and without a word put it on. He slid over the motorcycle and grabbed her waist. Heero felt her shift and turn her head. "I'll explain when we're on the road. Set?"

She didn't give him a chance to reply. With a twist from the handle, she revved her engine and tore into the road on Avenue Raymond Poincare. Heero slightly readjusted his grip on her waist to stabilize himself. The sky hinted at rain as gray clouds swallowed up empty blue. The dark sea trembled and crashed against the passing, muted, sandy shores.

Even in the fall, Heero found the south of France beautiful, within the territories of France and Monaco. He remembered traveling with Trowa to Sylvia Noventa's grandmother's house to confess his mortal sin of killing her husband, the peace diplomat Marshall Noventa. Even in turmoil, the gentle beauty of French architecture and villas along the sloping green of the rocky hills never left his memory. There was an idyllic peacefulness that clashed with the loudness of urbanization that assuaged the heart.

It would have passed by in a blur if Heero was not accustomed to high speed. Speed had never bothered Heero in the slightest. He felt alive in its ripping wind, its fast-paced momentum, and the control he had over it. Although, this time, he let another guide him.

Neferu glided across the streets like ice. The control she had over the vehicle moving at her slightest and subtlest touch was masterful. After five minutes, she began to speak through the intercom between their helmets. "There's been a change of plan. Our deployment is tonight. The ESUE's new arrival of Serpents to the battlefield has ramped things up with the African-aligned AEU countries.

They're scared out of their wits," she scoffed the last part yet there was a trace of humor in her undertone. "We have contracted with the Mali forces to reinforce their Anfs and Hellions. Like it would be enough against those fucking monsters."

"Is it just our team?" Heero asked.

"No. We got teams deployed to Chad, Mali, Mauritania, Niger, and Sudan. All a bulwark to stop the coming storm. Up to forty mobile suits, hundreds of infantries and tens of advisors, and transports of weapons. We're to maintain stability and recapture rebel points and provide military advisory to the indigenous people."

"It's gonna be a tough fight," Heero admitted. "Will be receiving aid from the AEU?

Heero could hear the smile in Neferu's voice as she answered, "Now, Yuy, don't play naive. It doesn't suit you. You, as well as I, know the AEU won't throw in their weight unless they risk losing significant territory. They'll call us cause they don't give a shit about the people there. Resources, money, and corporate power turn the wheels of men into menacing things."

The coming conflict would provide revenue and arm as a propaganda piece for the PMC Trust troops fighting for peace and stability. Suffice to say, the revenue in this war, no matter the side, would increase for the PMC, AEU, and ESUE at the detriment of the indigenous people struggling to live their lives. Heero could feel there was a greater problem over the horizon, one that relied on the ESUE's and AEU's tentative agreements and shared power over La Tour.

The power sharing despite being a boon for both supranational nations, favored the AEU as they were the only ones within the treaty to station troops and mobile suits inside the interior of the structure. The ESUE despised this move and made frequent accusations (some true) against militarizing the orbital elevators. The AEU had proved them right after Celestial Being's intervention. If Heero could portend the future of the two nations, only consistent friction and escalation and then war lay on the horizon.

"I agree with your sentiment, Yuy. But comparably, we will have the aerial advantage and mobility. We don't want to fall apart like the HRL-backed Tamils. Those arrogant assholes caved when those damn Serpents came to the party. Like a sheep to slaughter."

Heero raised a brow. "So, you've read the reports."

Heero posed his question as a statement. He already knew she did, but he honestly wanted to hear her thoughts. There were a few people who Heero had absolute trust in formulating strategies, and watching her during strategy briefings before an operation, Heero admittedly gave his tacit approval. In those regards, she was good and capable.

Neferu dipped her head in acknowledgement. "It wasn't surprising, considering the aerial and mobility of the Serpents, the Tierens were easily outmatched. Their mobility and firepower give them an overwhelming advantage against those overly large tin cans.

"It's also what I'm worried about. The ESUE Serpents work well in teams, and although these insurgents aren't trained, we'll have to go under the assumption that they are under advisory from the ESUE. Still," and in her voice humor colored her tone now, "it's remarkable the Gundams put all of that to an end in hours."

"They did," Heero agreed quietly.

No words were said on the rest of their way into the PMC sector. Reaching the military checkpoint, they made headway into the base, passing innumerable depots and facilities that sat in the gloom of the clouds. Raindrops covered the runways and darkened the ground. As they made it to the hangars, Neferu passed by their team's hangar.

He gave her a questioning look and even though she could not see it, and doubted even further she would answer, he knew she understood it as his eyes drilled into her. His thoughts soon led him to where she was taking him. Is there something more of significance going on here, he thought curiously over the roar of the cycle.

Eventually, she drove her motorcycle to a less known hangar that resided by the sea. The hangars in this sector of the base usually were empty or held supplies and spare parts that were allocated to the various divisions of the PMC Trust or the Morailian forces. Prussian blue eyes captured two men in deep blue uniforms guarding the entry door. A balding man in an expensive blue suit with a PMC Trust emblem on his collar stood by the entry door to the hangar.

Ambling around the balding man was a crowd of PMC Trust pilots, decked in their standard blue pilot normal suits. Heero counted eight pilots, all he knew to some varying degrees whether in person or word of mouth. Many, if not all of them, were experienced warfighters, veterans from the ESUE War. There was the Frenchman Julian Elliot, the dark-haired Russian Viktoriia Burgov, the pixie cut red-haired German Angela Schmidt, the olive-skinned Italian Stephan Bartoli, the Kuwaiti Abdullah Al-Salem, the American Francis Smith, and the lanky dark-skinned Congolese Babani.

At the sound of the motorcycle's rumbling engine, heads and eyes swiveled in unison, gazes drinking in the two late comers. Heero noticed Angela's smile right away as her lips quirked upward on the right side and eyes dancing with impish delight, a present sign of danger. For how small she was, she certainly had a larger personality. Heero usually steered away from her, she was far too much trouble when left on her own.

"Oh, the knight and his lady have returned. We definitely missed you, Yuy. Well, I missed you," welcomed Angela as she touched her heart.

"I don't know about these dweebs behind me," Angela pointed to the other pilots around them, a smirk on her face. "They're not the friendly sort to show their human feelings out in public."

There was a loud snort from Viktoriia and few grumblings and rolling of the eyes from the rest. However, they looked on in intrigue, and judging by their expressions, they seemed humored by their fellow pilot. This wasn't a position Heero had wanted to be in really and chose to not engage. Neferu silently followed his approach, although he knew she would have some choice words for the German pilot.

"Anyways, I was getting kind of bored when I heard you were not on base. I couldn't steal you to my team with Naguib hovering over you like a helicopter mom," Angela called as she crossed her arms. "Now that you're here, my offer still stands…"

Laughter soon came after and Heero pointedly ignored it, letting it roll off him like water. What he could not roll off were the playful eyes of Angela. Angela had been offering a position on her team since she first saw him in their advisory mission that turned into a combat mission in Mauritania against anti-AEU rebels plotting to overthrow the government in Aleg, Mauritania. She, in her incredible wisdom, had deemed him significant – the significance lied in what he can do for her team on the field and, he was sure, for her eyes never lied, what he can do off the field.

Heero had been filling in for Cynthia Parks, who had been on medical leave. She had been injured on a previous mission conducting aerial reconnaissance. A barrage of anti-air and -mobile suit missiles had damaged her Hellion Perpetuum, causing her to make an emergency landing. In Heero's estimation, she was lucky to be alive, let alone survive.

What was a simple advisory mission on mobile suit combat simulation and training in the Trarza Desert transformed unexpectedly into a three-pronged attack using ground and mobile suit forces on the capital, in Aleg, and the border city of Kaedi. The closest was Aleg, and so they formalized a strike force to fend off the incursion and then made headway to Kaedi. Angela had been so impressed by his quick thinking and adaptability during the mission, she boldly told him she would convince her superiors to trade him to her team and if she could not, to "lend" him from time to time.

The idea of being "borrowed", and not in the role of the mission, was not something Heero gravitated towards. More or less, it kept him on his toes and at a distance from the petite woman who he knew was adamant in her dealings with him and her superiors, to the point of uncomfortableness. She reminded him of Duo, and not in a good way; she didn't learn from her lessons but persisted even when walls and obstacles tried to divert her. She was a cannon ball that blew through walls and obstacles.

Heero let go of Neferu and got off the cycle. He took his helmet off and attached it to the end of the bike. Neferu took her own off. Her white hair spilled down her face; short, split, white bangs that curled elegantly rested past her cheeks, along with layered soft curls falling down her upper back. Her painted red lips held a soft smile as she attached her helmet on the handles. She removed her jacket, revealing her uniform, and stored it inside a black saddlebag. Before she closed her bag, she pulled out her cap and plopped it solidly on her head.

Neferu then looked almost exasperatedly at Angela before she chuckled. She placed a hand on Heero's shoulder and good-naturedly smiled at Angela though it looked a bit strained. "Not likely, Schmidt. My team relies on Yuy's prowess too much. He's family. The kind of family where you don't leave them alone with prowling tigers."

Something flickered or sparked in Angela's eyes briefly. Her smirk remained in place, but to Heero, he grew warier of it. It felt predatory and challenging. Her lips moved to say something but were interrupted by the balding man.

"As much as I enjoy the banter, we have a job to do," the balding man said, clapping his hands twice.

"Sir!" Angela's face became stern, but there was no doubt of the impish glint in her eyes and her refusal to let things be.

"Ms. Naguib, I see you brought Mr. Yuy. Wonderful. We've been waiting for you," the man said, smiling leisurely at them as he confidently strode to them, the surrounding pilots giving space to him like parting rivers. The two, armed guards stood still, resolute in their dark blue uniforms by the door.

"I'm Jean Bennett, the supply manager and chief operations coordinator for PMC Trust. I have something very special for you all. An exclusive gift for our top pilots undergoing this dangerous mission. We hope this would perform and produce satisfactory results on the battlefield far greater than the AEU's performance.

"The time of PMC Trust has arrived! Let's get to it." He nodded to the door, and an armed guard unlocked it and held it open for the group.

Heero gave Neferu a sidelong glance. Prussian blue met smiling brown, and she merely waved him forward after Bennett. Darkness greeted the group, and Bennett's voice echoed to them, grandiose in nature and sound, "Welcome to the future of mobile suit combat!"

With a sharp click, white light flooded from above. Black metal gleamed under the white lighting as it splashed and shimmered along their metallic bodies. Heero recognized the suit quickly and was reminded of its failure in La Tour. Ten AEU Enacts, in their flight mode, were positioned by numbered signs on the floor.

"Enacts?!" reacted Julian Elliot, sky blue eyes raking over the mobile suits in astonishment. He had taken a surprised step forward, unable to contain his emotion that was etched in his face and his wide eyes.

Babani, standing to Heero's left and bending slightly like a long stick of bamboo, let a low whistle, and whispered to Frances, "They're certainly bringing out the big guns here."

"It goes to show how our relationship is increasing toward the AEU's direction. Makes me wonder how long we're going to be autonomous," Frances whispered back. "This is just too convenient and coincidental."

"Undoubtedly," replied Bennett, directing a smug smile between the Enact and his audience. "PMC Trust were able to attain nine new models of them for our commanding officers in this next operation. We hope with more production we will be able to extend these to our other officers. These will be our mainstay suits soon.

"We attuned these suits from your personal data from the battlefield. All you need to do is customize it to suit your piloting needs. Unfortunately, the AEU's ace, Patrick Colasour, demonstrated a less than stellar performance of this new suit that leaves more in wanting. I hope on the field our lead coordinators perform admirably. We invested a lot of money for these transactions, I hope you can fulfill your obligations."

Bennett gestured to the Enacts with a grand sweep of his hand. "What do you think of them?"

"This is surreal," remarked Stephan, eyes wide and shining, voice tremoring in surprised and awe.

"And they say birthdays only come once a year," Angela said breathily, eyes bright in wonder.

"Please hurry and grow accustomed to them. Each unit is numbered by your team number," Bennett said.

In a rush, they hastily took off like children seeing ice cream. Even Neferu couldn't keep the grin off her face as Angela shimmied over and placed a hand over her back, while the other gesticulated wildly. Heero watched them go until he found the curious eyes of Bennett on him. The man appraised him intently.

"Heero Yuy, I've been hearing good things about you, about your performance, and…" Bennett began and drawling at the end, "your data. We at PMC Trust value our warfighters, but we also prize their data as it enhances our war and security performances. To say that we are impressed by you, is an understatement."

Bennett beckoned Heero with his hand. "Come. Walk with me."

They took off down the hangar at a sedate pace. Heero watched Bennett carefully as the man spoke. He had a feeling behind the grandiose appearance, there was a cunning edge to Bennett that many did not see. It put him on guard.

"Usually, these Enacts," and Bennett made a sweeping wave to the suits, "are meant for our top pilots and commanders of our teams. This is not a generosity gift from the heavens. We want results! They are for the experienced and seasoned warfighter whose data we collected from their previous engagements and simulations. All at a certain price I might add."

His brown eyes bore into his blue, a critical gaze of discernment through the icy layers that barriered between them. "Mr. Yuy, so far you served in only five engagements, a low level to be considered this honor. In fact, your teammates and others deserved this more, judging by their data and experience."

"Then what's the deal bringing me to this place," Heero stated. Understandingly, he wanted to know his reason for being here as well.

"Blunt," Bennett chuckled. "I like that. I thought of this too, thought of this as I looked at your age and experience. You're really young, Mr. Yuy, despite how you act. But we cannot ignore your superior combat simulations and training. First in your class in basic training and mobile suit piloting – aerial, ground, space, sea. Excellent scores across the board. That's a hell of an accomplishment from one so young. Some would consider you a prodigy, or you had previous training..." he left the last hanging, eyes still intense.

Heero said nothing and continued to watch Bennett, much to Bennett's amusement.

"No one can ignore this," Bennett continued. "Headquarters cannot ignore this development. There are people higher in the chain of command who have been watching, Mr. Yuy. They specifically, along with some recommendations, chose you to pilot this machine."

Bennett stopped at the last machine. The last Enact was like the others, although, its head antennae and shoulders were larger and as Heero's gaze roamed the body, a thought found its way in Heero's mind. "You said you only had nine."

Bennett smiled and nodded slowly. "You would be correct. This, Mr. Yuy, is the AEU-09Y812 Enact."

"A prototype," Heero stated, crossing his arms.

Heero knew the "Y" signified the AEU's acronym for prototypes while the 81 came from the 81st mobile suit of the 2nd unit. He wondered why he was given the prototype compared to his colleagues who received new models and where did the differentiation, aside from the physical, lay.

"Yes, we were able to get our hands on one of the two prototypes. As you can tell by the head power receiver antennae, it is larger than the standard Enact, meaning it receives more power from the solar power generation system of La Tour. This will be your suit," Bennett said, looking to see Heero's reaction of approval.

Heero said nothing, neither approving nor disapproving. A mobile suit was a tool to him, not a gift or token of appreciation. It was not gratefulness that pierced his heart when he looked upon the Enact – there could never be such emotion when war brought humanoid weapons to his feet. The Enact's only purpose served death.

Only the cold implication that he was given a better machine did Heero feel resigned to accept it. It would have to do. He was secured in his piloting to bring out its latent ability, one he knew Patrick Colasour of the AEU could not do.

No matter how a person dressed the Enact, whether to advance its technology or performance, it became incomparably insignificant to the talent and skill of a pilot. A weak pilot in an advanced suit was like a person who graduated from a canoe to a steam-propelled ship: they had the capabilities but were overwhelmed by the nuance and technology. In Patrick's case, it was his arrogance.

Patrick's loss had hit home for the AEU despite his mock battle performances.

A flicker of disappointment gathered in Bennett's eyes and reflected down his face to his apparent frown. Heero simply stared and kept his lips sealed, fighting down a smile at the man's dissatisfaction. He liked inverting reactions and expectations. People underestimated him all the time and assumed they knew what lurked in his mind.

"Do you not approve?" Bennett asked expectantly.

Heero walked slowly to the cockpit and accessed the control panel. "Compared to the Hellions, it'll do."

The cockpit door opened and without looking back, Heero entered and seated himself. The cockpit door closed with a soft click and the interface opened. He had three screen panels – a main screen and two flanking screens – quite less than the standard Gundam cockpit but similar to an OZ machine.

He saw the disapproving stare of Bennett on his main screen. "I expect results from you, Mr. Yuy."

When he did not receive a response, he shrugged and left to visit the other Enacts. Heero watched him leave and then returned his eyes to the machine. He perused its output and specs, finding that the engineers did increase its speed. His Hellion Perpetuum never had enough speed to exceed his expectations. Compared to the Zero, in Heero's eyes, they were slow, and Heero disliked lumbering mobile suits in firefights. The distinct gap between his reaction time and slower moving suits left him in precarious positions on the battlefield.

"What is this thing's weaponry?" Heero thought aloud as his fingers accessed the Enact's weapon system and he rifled through the selected files.

"A 20mm Beam Machine Gun mounted on the hips, a defense rod mounted on the left forearm, a blade rifle with a carbon blade, and a beam blade," he listed carefully, and then smiled dimly.

This weaponry would have changed the field if today's suits were its equal. However, today's suits were anything but extraordinary. The AEU had finally reached the beam race, and still, Heero wondered if it would be enough. The odds were still not in the AEU's or the PMC Trust's favor.

The Enact's debut was a commercial failure. Those Gundams depreciated its value and showed, in its short engagement, the lack of developmental technology in the realm of ability. The way the AEU was going now, it would only be a matter of time before their defeat.

So be it, he thought. We'll just have to soldier on until the ESUE brings their heavier weaponry to the forefront.

Heero spent his time adjusting the operating system and customizing it to his needs. He was so engrossed, so fastidious in his preparation that he nearly missed the soft rapping on his hatch. Before his eyes could trace the source and his fingers move to change the main screen to the outside, the hatch opened, and a black blur flew at his face.

Reacting on instinct, Heero caught the blur, feeling the contents inside shift and looked around it, finding two pools of dancing light brown under the low luminous green lights of his screens. At the foot of the entrance, a smirking Neferu was dressed in her dark blue normal suit. She climbed into his cockpit, crouching in the available open space near on Heero's left, near enough where he could feel her knee touch his.

"You forgot this," said Neferu, smiling. "I figure you'll need it soon enough for the fun shit were gonna do – and you know how regulation will have a fit seeing you in your uniform while sortieing. A heart attack in the making," she chucked a little at her last remark.

Heero looked at the bag and realized it was his normal suit. Heero muttered a quick thanks and returned to his work. Feeling eyes still on him Heero gave Neferu an annoyed look as he stopped his momentum just enough to regard her, not bothering to keep the coldness from his tone. "What is it?"

A slight widening of her eyes was the only thing Heero saw on her face at his tone before she ignored it and asked, "So how is it? Compared to the Hellion Perpetuum, this baby will be pulling more g-forces than the average aerial mobile suit? Lucky for us this thing can transform too."

Heero frowned at her expectantly. She should know, and Neferu looked to understand as she raised her eyebrows. "What's with that look, Yuy? Can't tell me you'd be disappointed over this."

"I'm not one for charity," Heero said coldly. "I'm not weak."

Neferu blinked and then snorted loudly. "And yet you sit here in this cockpit, looking like you're at home instead of floundering about in a sea of sweat and confusion."

Heero glared and then she crossed her arms, anger reflecting in her brown orbs like sparks. "Fuck, Heero, I can't believe I have to spell this out. You deserve this and you know it. More than Maria, more than Jean-Michel. I – we need you at your best! We're about to get into some gritty combat, and I'd rather know that you're actualizing your true potential than being a hinderance on this combat mission.

"And besides, I doubt HQ would let you say no, would they?" Neferu's knowing and imperious smile made Heero frown deeply.

"So, you gonna answer my question? What do you think of this baby?" Neferu asked, patting the side panels. There was a smirk of victory plastered on her face with a hint of a challenge as she awaited his answer.

Heero sighed, looking quite put out, finding he couldn't ignore it and play aloof. She wouldn't let him, even if he dared tried. "It'll do," he said. "The Enact is far more mobile than the Perpetuum and should put a good fight against the Taurus II and the Union Flag. Its speed and mobility will be a key factor in dealing with the insurgents and flying through tough terrain."

Nodding at his answer, Neferu encouraged him to expand. "I'm sensing a 'but' there. Out with it."

"The energy disadvantage for the mainstay suits," answered Heero simply.

Understanding shined in her eyes. "Beam weaponry," answered Neferu. "No doubt these AEU corporate fucks know that, and against those ESUE bastards, high powered or velocity shells and close combat is all that we have beside speed and our Enacts. No, I get it. We're still behind in technology.

"But" and she drawled the word, her eyes and face taking on a predatory smile, "we might have a fix for that."

A fix? Heero wondered to himself, furrowing his brow. "How?" he asked.

The smile never left her face as she responded, "From what I've heard from HQ Research and Development, they've found an answer to our problem working with the AEU. Along with the Enact's beam weaponry, they've analyzed the ESUE's beam weapons and, in turn, developed, a rechargeable energy pack for all related light and heavy weapons for future models, like this fellow here."

She patted the side panels to emphasize her point. "As long as the mobile suit is able to receive solar energy, and the weapon is either connected to the hand or at rest position, solar energy will funnel through it," said Neferu.

Heero rolled the information in his head, and then another query came, "How about the mobile suits already in rotation?"

"Rechargeable solar energy packs," came her quick reply.

Heero withheld a grimace. It was worse than he thought. "They'll need to manufacture those models as the barrels won't be able to handle the condensed energy of beam energy."

"Those fuckers will solve it, no problem. It's just a matter of when, that is, if we're still alive by then," Neferu said sarcastically, a smirk at the corner of her lips. She then grabbed her stomach and snorted at the side panels. "We'll make do like usual. We'll worry when our asses are on fire."

She glanced back up at Heero, lingering humor traced her smiling lips. Heero saw something flicker in her eyes as she then sat back and watched him silently. A moment passed by and they continued to watch each other, and Heero found himself somehow lost in her brown eyes, the same way how Relena captivated and enthralled him, a connection born from a desire he did not want to think about. And yet, the stirring and fluttering in his belly made it known. It was the same stirring, that same winged fluttering that swelled in his gut when he saw that woman at the restaurant in Japan.

He tried to ignore the feeling as he spoke, "Shouldn't you be in your En—"

"Hey lovers," shouted a voice from below. The two pilots turned to the cockpit opening, finding Angela at the bottom, her impish grin plastered on her face as she gazed up. Hands on her hips, there was an air of impatience and eagerness in her countenance.

Neferu let out an exasperated sigh. "Shove it, Schmidt. What do you want?" asked Neferu.

"I want a lot of things, Naguib, and some things," her eyes found Heero's, "that you have. But I'm not here for that now.

"Get your asses together. We got permission to test these things out before the mission. The game is follow the leader. Hope you can keep up," she said the last with a challenging look before striding away, her laughter ringing through the hangar.

Neferu sighed irritably and brushed a hand through her hair. She turned to Heero and gave a helpless smile. "Let's give her hell, Heero. I got an orbital-elevator-sized bone I got to pick with her and shove it up her ass."

Her smile grew wider. "Maybe you'll be the cherry on top and put her on her ass."

She gave his shoulder a squeeze and then jumped from the cockpit to the floor and vanished from his sight. Heero stared at where she departed for a moment and then shook his head. The relationship between those two ranged from frosty to hot to camaraderie in an instant. They never seemed to fail at one upping each other, and worst, since his arrival to Neferu's team, it seemed to be escalating.

Heero opened his bag, suited up, and put on his helmet. He disliked helmets and how claustrophobic they felt. If he was going to die, then he'd die on his own damn terms.

Closing his cockpit, the central control and monitors eased forward. The screens flashed and the cameras displayed inside the hangar. With a loud shudder and groan, the hangar doors opened, and grey light flooded in, competing against the white flood lights of the ceiling. Large thick clouds remained aloft, lumbering and morphing into larger and darker amorphous expanse of clouds.

Heero powered the engines, and the suit rumbled to life, thrumming a smooth vibration through his cockpit. He slowly turned his suit to the departing Enacts and followed Unit 09 out of the hangar into the runway. When it was his turn, he powered the engines and plunged into the swollen sky, easing his joystick upward. When he met the clouds, Heero eased his machine through the slight turbulence that trembled the suit.

Heero angled his Enact with his comrades and fell into position. They flew in an echelon formation with Heero on the far right at the end. The clouds past by him as they increased altitude until they were passing between the clouds with long stretches of blue in the middle. An alert caught him, and he saw it was Neferu.

Her image pulled up on his main screen. "Feels good being back in the sky. Damn. I missed this – just flying without a cause in the world, endless blue in front of me and the angry gray clouds above and below, moving like thick, mindless fog.

"I just want to lose myself in this. There's so much beauty in the world. I guess it'll pass you by if your distracted, so be on the lookout. You'll never know what you may find," she said with a smile.

Those words sounded familiar. Too familiar. As if someone grabbing him tightly, Heero froze, terror burrowing in his heart. She said the same words that were in his dream, that that child had said, so long ago. He didn't say anything, too lost in his mind, but it was in his silence that drew Neferu's attention.

"Heero, talk to me. Shit. You look like you've seen a ghost."

Quickly snapping out of his funk, Heero blinked a few times, and then said when acuity supplanted his dream-like state, "It's nothing. Forget it." He soon winced inwardly, realizing it was said too fast, fast enough to draw attention.

"Heero, you know you can talk to me about anything. I am your team leader. Just say it," Neferu said calmly, her expression encouragingly patient.

Heero was silent for a long while before he quietly spoke, "You reminded me of someone who said the same words once, though, it was just a dream."

He did not know why he said it or the reason so. And he felt this was a lapse in judgement, to be sharing something personal of his past with others. He never did. Not even with Relena. Not even with his friends.

Acting on his emotions was his modus operandi on how to go about life. Yet, sharing personal stories of his life… that was a line Heero did not trespass. To do so with her, and so easily, had to mean something. It was just why? Why her? After only seven months.

Neferu blinked at him in astonishment, no doubt surprised he would reveal something personal. Just as it appeared, she covered it up quickly.

"For real? Fuck," she cursed in a harsh whisper that brought back his attention to her. There was silence and she seemed to struggle on finding the right words as her mouth opened and closed. "Heero," she began, her voice uncharacteristically soft, "it was just a dream, right? You looked… you looked… you didn't look like yourself there."

Damn, Heero thought angrily. "Neferu," said Heero, eyeing her warily, wanting to move on. "It was nothing. Just a dream."

Neferu stared at him for a long moment and blew a frustrated sigh. "If you say so."

She seemed to have more to say by how her mouth twitched, looking to find the right words. "We're family, Heero. Remember that if you ever need to get something off your chest. We can talk in pri –"

"Hey, we're about to begin! Let's go," Julian interjected on their frequency, his voice roaring through Heero's cockpit in excitement. Because Julian was on audio, he missed Neferu pursing her lips in irritation.

Heero used this moment to redirect his attention to Julian's Enact. Julian was the first to start, bounding ahead and performed a rolling scissors. His turns were tight but manageable. He received a chorus of boos from his colleagues. And so, the competition began, each pilot copying the other, testing their limits and seeing if they could exceed it without damaging the machine or themselves.

Viktoriia performed a breathtaking Kulbit 140-degree maneuver and bounded forward quickly. The maneuver received a boisterous cheer. Frances challenged them with a quadruple Aileron roll. Banadi jumped in with a simple loop transforming into a four-point hesitation roll. Angela and Neferu, in a rare show of cooperation, rotated over each other in a downward spiral. This received the loudest cheer – not for the maneuver, Heero speculated, but for their teamwork.

"Come on, Yuy! Show us something that won't bore us," Angela egged on.

"Give us a good show, Yuy!" called Julian enthusiastically.

"Let's see what this kid can do," Viktoriia challenged.

A smirk appeared on Heero's face and accepted their challenge unflinchingly. He went into a dive, spiraling, falling into a falling leaf maneuver. His monitors blurred as he turned on the throttle. Usually, the falling leaf required the throttle off to simulate an autumn leaf falling to the ground, but Heero wanted speed, to feel alive through the acceleration.

As he fell, the dark sea grew closer, looking like a solid wall of blue. The wind roared around as he hugged the downward current. He pulled the nose but transformed the suit along the water, facing upward, Beam Machine Gun in hand, aimed at the swollen sky and the nine metal birds above.

Although they couldn't see it, Heero shot them a devilish smirk, feeling absolute confidence hammer in his veins at his maneuver. It was this confidence, as his gun followed their suits and the water a blue blur below him, that dared his rivals to challenge him.

A roaring laugh from Banadi came over his frequency. "No way in hell I'm doing that!" he exclaimed. "No way in hell!" he repeated.

"I pass," Viktoriia said breathily, her usual neutral tone filled with emotion. "Yuy's too crazy for me. С ума с ума сходят."

"I just got this suit. There's no way I'm reckon it," Frances complained. "Especially after the first day!"

"Are you sure I can't have him, Naguib?" Angela whined. "My team needs a person as crazy as him. He makes my blood boil."

"Not a chance," Neferu chuckled. "His craziness stays on my team."

Her voice then switched to him and said, "Good showing, Yuy."

Heero could hear the pride in her voice. It wasn't something he was used to. Pride, admiration, and respect from her and her team, from the PMC Trust pilots, it was all new to him. As he pondered this, a ring alerted him.

A message popped up on his main monitor: Return to base and board your transport. Operation Desert Fortress begins now.

"There goes the fun," Angela complained. "Don't go getting killed out there, Naguib, Yuy. You'll take the fun out of my sails if you do."

"What Angela said," came Frances then. "Do your duty and make it back alive. I'll treat you to some beer!"

"Don't get killed now," Julian said.

"Same to you," Neferu responded. "Call us if you need help – I'm pretty sure you're gonna need it."

A series of snorts was their response with Angela claiming Neferu would need her help in the end. Their respective goodbyes were sunny as usual, but Heero felt there was a lingering of uncomfortableness: a growing uneasiness that lied in the unknown on how this major operation will unfold. As the Enacts broke off, Heero couldn't help but feel a strange feeling overcome him. It was like his intuition was meeting an ocean of fog and he couldn't see through it. It was the same feeling he felt in space when Quatre had gone insane.

It left him on edge.

Heero followed Naguib to their transport that had left the hangar. It was sitting on the runway, its electric blue lights glowing along its surface. Its ramp was open, and Naguib transformed her suit into mobile suit mode. He followed her move and then they proceeded to land and walk into the hangar.

Two AEU-05G AEU Hellion Perpetuums Ground Types were crouched at the front. Naguib situated her suit behind them, crouched, and then exited out of her mobile suit. She moved swiftly to the windowed pilot room near the mobile suits. Heero soon followed and joined her in the pilot room across the hangar.

Neferu sat comfortably between two pilots, Jean-Michel Bernard and Maria Estevez. Jean-Michel Bernard was a big Black man of Haitian descent. His earthy skin was unblemished and seemed to glow under the white lighting and his blue flight suit. He was bald with a thin, pencil moustache and a closed expression. He was hunched over, his head down, and fingers clasped.

Maria Estevez, a light skinned Spaniard, had dark curly hair that wound down her front. She was in conversation with Neferu. When he came through the door, the trio looked up.

Jean-Michel was the first to start the conversation, a smirk on his full lips. "Ah, Monsieur Yuy, grand temps. Ca va? Did you enjoy your trip?

Heero moved to sit by the larger man. "It was fine," he replied, glancing at the man.

"You know you're the worst conversationalist ever, Yuy," Maria said, moving her hair out of her face. She rolled her eyes, but a small smile was planted on her lips. "What did you do? We want words and full sentences with elaborate descriptions, not curt replies short of grunts."

Heero gave Maria a sharp look but said nothing, finding the ceiling a perfect conversationalist that didn't bait him with the banality of socialization. Maria could learn a thing or two from silence. Then, frowning internally and thinking, Heero doubted she could as that would require patience and her stubbornness was a persistent force.

Receiving no response, Maria rolled her eyes. The trio turned to each other. Maria gave an audible sigh and said, "I swear Yuy, I'm going to make you enjoy a good conversation if it was the last thing I get to do. We are not going to have things go down like at my family's dinner."

Heero held a wince. That experience had been one of the most uncomfortable things he had done in a while. Maria's family dinner was a low point for Heero, and he'd rather forget about the awful experience. They downright targeted him in conversation, hoping he would talk or what he thought about anything and everything. Her parents were AEU dignitaries, diplomats, and Heero could see where her personality came from, where language and persuasion had force and was power.

They were very formal people, Mr. Estevez and Mrs. Estevez. Mr. Estevez reminded Heero of a leopard in human form. He could be positively playful in opening but relentless in his persistence and concise with his words, hoping to pry Heero open like a clam. Mrs. Estevez was what he considered a cooler personality. She was very refined in conversation, but her eyes held a calculated if not mischievous gleam.

Despite their love for their daughter and her military service, they seemed disappointed if not annoyed by her role working at PMC Trust. They hoped she would have stayed with the AEU or chosen something different than a private military company, hoping her rebellious adventurism would have died with her returning home from the war. Maria had simply scoffed at their annoyance and redirected conversation – to intruding on Heero's personal business, which they had, as if telekinetically agreeing, to broach his icy walls.

"Leave him alone, Maria," Neferu said, watching Heero. "There's probably a lot on his mind."

"That's right! Are you scared?" Maria enquired, leaning forward, smiling, her tone downright overcurious and teasing. "Don't worry, I'll take care of the bad guys. All you need to do is watch. Maybe you'll learn a thing or two from a veteran."

Jean-Michel gave a bellied laughed. "Monsieur Yuy, afraid? Non!" He patted him roughly on the back and Heero glared at him, making him chuckle more. "Yuy's never scared. C'est un homme de service."

"If you are Yuy, I'll protect you. It's going to cost you an arm and a leg and whatever else you can scavenge," Maria said, still smiling.

"There's nothing wrong with being nervous or scared. Being scared before a sortie is natural. If you weren't, I'd say you were lying," Neferu added as she leaned against her seat. "Fear is an instinctive trait; it lets us know when danger is present or coming. To be ruled by fear inhibits your response. You'll either freeze and die or flee.

"But Yuy's not like that," Neferu said, a hint of a smile on her lips and a slight narrowing of her eyes.

"Then what is Yuy like? All I've seen is a stone with a human face. A handsome human face but all stone," Maria commented the last part after a brief hesitation. "You can move stones, but you can't put a smile on their face."

"C'est un homme de service," Jean-Michel repeated, gesticulating to Heero. "But the boss brought up a great point. Fear makes the greatest men hesitate. Yuy knows nothing of that, from what I've seen, and I've seen a lot. I've fought in the ESEU's South African War.

He paused, his eyes growing distant. Maria had stopped smiling when Jean-Michel brought up the ESUE. There was an undercurrent of anger brimming in her expressive dark eyes. Neferu's face was made blank, and she simply stared at Jean-Michel, her eyes darker than the brightness he had seen earlier.

Jean-Michel words came out slow and heavy, "That war was a tragedy on all fronts. We never stood a chance. I've never felt as much fear as we loss massive ground to these monstres, these merciless devils. My fear was palpable. It reached all in my unit. No one was deafened by it. To think we'd be going back to the frontlines to protect the Sahel region from destabilizing…

"La guerre. It never seems to end. It always feeds these insatiable, power-hungry beasts. Ce doit être le destin. It has to be," Jean-Michel finished, looking to the ceiling for some form of guidance.

"We'll get them back, though," Maria snarled, her lips curling. She punched her hand. Her eyes darkened in anger. "We'll kick their asses back to space! Drive them back to the hellhole they deserve. I only served in the latter part of the war. I had just turned eighteen and was itching to pay back these bastards after they killed some of my friends. This is personal."

"We'll only do our job," Neferu said pointedly. "Anything less that would give way to grand scale war is prohibited. We cannot give them a reason to start another campaign. You can bet your pretty ass those fuckers are looking to start something as well, to find any excuse to justify their malice."

"I'll try but if I miss then it was an accident," Maria said snidely, receiving a sharp look and rebuke from Neferu. Maria simply shrugged her shoulders, but there in her eyes Heero noticed a dark and brooding look that promised revenge.

Feeling eyes on him, Heero found Neferu looking at him. He held her gaze but could not discern the look. After a minute, she began, "We all have experience in war, Heero. There's no shame to be afraid. You're one of PMC Trust's best pilots I have seen in a while. Perhaps better than Graham Aker."

"Really," Maria scoffed, her eyes sizing up Heero. "Yuy's good – there's no denying that fact. I even hate to say he's better than me. But Aker? America's golden boy? The hero of the Siege on Liberia? Are we making up lies?"

Jean-Michel had dipped his head down and then after a moment of thought nodded and said, "I would not have agreed if I did not see your friendly match between him, Neferu. Yuy can put on a show."

The show, as Jean-Michel pointed out, was anything but that. Neferu wanted to challenge him to see if he was the right fit for her unit. She did not accept anyone, and their superiors knew it. Jean-Michel had been in the audience. They had fought until Neferu called it off, seemingly satisfied with the result.

"I'm not scared," Heero stated coldly. He looked each person in the eye, putting all his intent as emphasis in his glacial stare. It seemed to get their attention as their posture changed, becoming attentive. "I'll eliminate all obstacles."

He paused and then continued, "What concerns me are the Gundams."

"The Gundams? Are we expecting them?" Neferu asked.

"Don't tell me those machines got you on your toes, Yuy?" Maria said mockingly. The smirk on her seemed to grow and become arrogant.

Maria tossed her hair back as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Knowing her, Heero figured she thought him a coward and her following response proved it. "Where's your backbone? Did you leave it back in Libya? We'll beat them, too. No worries. If you get scared just sit this one out and let us handle it."

Heero gave her a pointed look and rebuked sharply, "You're underestimating their capacity. Don't. They're unknown variables that seek to eliminate the combatants resolve and military hardware. From what they've shown in Ceylon and La Tour, I don't doubt they'll attack. This is a large-scale operation, and they've already shown the world what they can do."

"There's more to it," Neferu said, waiting for Heero to answer.

Heero gave a curt nod in her direction but still held Maria's gaze. "Geopolitical goals will change if they interfere and do what they did in Ceylon. I don't doubt this will anger the AEU and ESUE. What they do next will be our main concern."

"You don't think they'll exacerbate to a world war?" Jean-Michel asked, concern showing on his features.

Heero shrugged simply. "Anything can happen. I hope I'm wrong."

There was a sobering silence before a laugh from Maria broke it. "Haha! This is rich," she laughed. "If all it takes for you is to talk about military strategy to open a paragraph of words, I'll be damned."

She good-naturedly elbowed Neferu in the ribs and said, "I think we found our new project during and after this mission."

Face brightening, Neferu gave a conspiratorial smile to Maria. "Sounds like a plan, Maria," Neferu readily agreed as Jean-Michel joined in as well.

A chorus of chuckles sounded at Heero's ire, and he swept his gaze to his machine, wishing to depart the vessel rather than be reduced to a stooge.

---

Wufei slammed the taxicab door as he made his way onto the street. Morning's blush had disappeared into a storm of dark and amorphous afternoon clouds, and a light drizzle fell on his face. He had arrived in a quaint neighborhood where one-storied houses lined the backdrop of the much larger city of Berlin. He pictured from the air these houses looked like small, blue tiles compared to the industrious expanse and size of Berlin's vertical city. The skeletal limbs of trees decorating front lawns, which still clung to muted fall leaves of crimson, yellow, and shriveled brown, acted like terrifying guards to fend off hostiles.

Too bad he was the hostile seeking to bypass these limbs and seek the treasure that lay beyond their arms. Nothing would or could stop him from his mission. He tugged his scarf, dark eyes searching and lighting up at the address. He made headway to the door.

He gave a few raps on the door and stood back to wait. A moment passed and then an older man with peppered hair and a warm, genial smile greeted him as he opened the door.

"Ely Rahm?" asked Wufei, subtly appraising the man. He sensed the man was a kind spirit, one that was affable in nature. There was no hidden or lingering darkness that could spell danger for him.

The man's smile widened and he nodded softly. "That is me. Gutentag. You must be Mr. Chang, please come in."

Ely held open the door until Wufei stepped inside. He then followed the older man through the hallway into the living room, noting distantly the contemporary furniture, and three, plush couches centered in the middle. A glass table stood in front of the sofa. The room looked warm and inviting as gray light filtered in from the opened blinds. There was also a distinct smell of lingering morning bacon in the air.

"We just finished breakfast," he said, confirming the smell and looking at a woman across from him in the kitchen. Her back was to them as she washed the dishes. Finishing the dishes, she untied her apron, placed it on a hook, and moved towards them.

Ely Rahm motioned to her as they stood in the living room. "This is my wife, Rachelle."

Rachelle greeted him warmly with a shake of her hand. "I hope the ride was not long," she said. There was a motherly tone to her voice that denoted a gentleness yet, in the undertone, Wufei could feel a firmness.

"It was enjoyable. I do not often get the chance to enjoy scenery these days," Wufei answered politely, and Rachelle's smile grew. "My work has kept from the luxuries of enjoying the world."

Ely smiled, nodding, and said, "Young kids like you usually focus on their devices or social media, ignoring the world around you. The world deserves your attention. It's good that you got a great look at it. Perhaps spend some time in Berlin visiting different places. I'm sure you'll have a good time."

"Now, I must go. I have errands I need to accomplish," Rachelle said and gave Rahm a peck on the cheek. "I'd be warned, Mr. Chang, my husband loves to talk. Be prepared to tell him to stay on topic."

Ely made a disagreeing noise and waved his hand. "Kids these days need a good talking. Elders hold wisdom and experience they haven't attained yet or been through. I'm sure a good conversation is what the boy needs."

"Just make sure it's on topic," Rachelle called behind her as she grabbed the keys off the key hook by the door and left the house.

"Now, you are here to know about my ancestor, Eternal Ray, yes?" Ely asked, settling down on the couch closest to the window, and giving him his full attention. Wufei nodded and dropped down on the sofa.

"Yes," Wufei replied. "It's for a university research paper of influential men from the 21st century. I figured the descendants of these men would be beneficial to my research as oral history is a valuable tool for research."

"For the ETH Zurich University of Switzerland, correct?" inquired Rahm, and Wufei confirmed with a quick yes. "An excellent school, Mr. Chang."

The older man smirked and edged closer to the end of his couch. Eagerness shined in his eyes like a child about to receive a gift. "Good! Let's get into it. I'm glad there's more attention being brought to my ancestor these days. Just this past week, I had another person come in, a very gentle person he was, we talked for hours. He was so knowledgeable about Eternal, and I thought for a second, we were related, but anyways, you aren't here for that.

"You're here to know more about my family. I usually tell my grandkids about this, as Eternal Ray was one of the best of our family to come since great Uncle Andreas, who unfortunately died when I was a young boy.

"Ah, Uncle Andreas – brilliant yet troubled man. Came at all times of day, sometimes tired, sometimes drunk, as if whatever he was doing, or could be doing, was terrible. When he was drunk, he would sulk and then complain endlessly about the realities of adults. In his drunken rants, he said our family was fated to die for the sins of our forefathers. That we created monsters, that we thought of ourselves as gods. Quite terrifyingly, he scared the life out of me, and I would hide behind my mother. She had looked out of it, as if this wasn't new but was at a loss of what to do when he became drunk and drifted to mania.

"He then suddenly disappeared when I was a boy. The police found his body a year later, outside a bar in Paris. Had been going on a loud drunken rant I heard. I think he might have been robbed. Brilliant scientist, troubled mind," Ely said wistfully, looking out the window for a moment, seeing something besides the dreary sky, and then returning to Wufei, eyes back in the present.

"That reminds me of my Aunt Hilda. Now, she was –"

"I think we should stay on track with Eternal," Wufei interrupted abruptly. "I'm kind of low on time and don't want to take much more of yours as you, I'm sure, have things to do."

"Nonsense, nonsense," Ely waved. "I'm an old man - I got nothing better to do but talk," he laughed loudly.

"Still," Ely continued, smiling, "you're right. The stories of Eternal are numerous. He was a once in a lifetime genius after all. Born on 14 February 2066 AD, to the parents of Laurent Ray and Eclipsa Moon, he was the youngest child of four.

"As you can imagine, raising four kids is handful for any parent. Raising one rambunctious child is too much at times. Laurent and Eclipsa made it work somehow, living modestly. Laurent was an engineer and Eclipsa an artist. Being the youngest of four, he had large shoes to fill as his older siblings were outstanding in their own capacity – Simon the engineer, Fiona the dancer, and Tempa a high-ranking soldier. All these siblings lived notable lives in their time.

"But Eternal…"

Ely drawled his name and then chuckled quietly. "Eternal was more outstanding. At a young age, he loved the sciences. He studied and read everything he could from 20th to 21st century giants like Einstein, Chomsky to biologists like Robert Lanza and John Gurdon. He had a voracious appetite for knowledge of any kind. It kind of reminded me of my son, Allen – they would devour anything in sight just to learn more about the world. But for Eternal, there was something to biology he took great delight.

"His brilliance grew from his enjoyment of the arts – painting specifically – and astronomy. Oddly, he originally wanted to be a painter."

"A painter?" Wufei questioned. "Like his mother?"

A smile blossomed on Ely's face as he nodded. "Yes, quite so. Eternal loved his mother dearly and she taught him art at a young age. There was something about the movement of the human body that gained his interest – and learning art helps with spatial and abstract thinking.

"It wasn't until a primary school trip to the Ludwig Maximilian Universitat Munchen when he started his love for the stars. He wanted to live there, so the stories go."

Ely paused and looked down and said lowly, "Where he went after his tenure in EHT Zurich University is a mystery. No one seems to know, and I doubt" - and he now looked up – "we would ever receive a solid answer."

Wufei took this in quietly. As brilliant as Eternal was, and as important was his history, he still wasn't getting a complete story or what he was searching for in this conversation. He decided to chance it with another topic as he recalled something on the Internet before he set off on the hunt on Aeolia and Eternal.

"I noticed he was a chess player," Wufei began. "Did he play often?

A brilliant expression eclipsed Ely's face. "He did! He did. He was one of the youngest chess champions in Munich at the time. There are records that he competed in the world chess championships at fifteen. He did very well, placing in third, losing to a man fifteen years his senior. I believe it is the terrorist as we know today, Aeolia Schenberg.

"We, our family, made it a duty, a family tradition to follow in his footsteps. I dare say it is a rite of passage. Wait here." For an old man, he was pretty spry as he ran off into one of his rooms. He returned shortly to the living room with a shiny crimson box, weathered by age. He put the box on the glass table.

"This here is our family heirloom. Eternal Ray's first chest set, given to him by a mentor, the great Ernst Hartmaan, the 2080 chess champion of Germany." Tenderly, he took the top off, revealing crystal chess pieces of black and white.

"May I?" Wufei asked, inclining his head to the pieces, and the man nodded happily. He examined pieces closely, watching remarkably how they looked brand knew. He picked up the Pawn and rubbed its length with his thumb. It was remarkably smooth and firm despite its age.

"Would you be up for a game?" Ely asked warmly, though, there was a challenge in his tone.

Wufei found he couldn't ignore it. He wouldn't bother to hide his eagerness. A thought of a battle in a game of wits always had intrigued him, and he readily agreed with "I'll take that challenge". Ely set the pieces; he was white and Wufei black. They kneeled on the floor facing each other; Ely, eager in childlike energy and Wufei, calm and self-assured.

The game was a ten-minute affair, ending in Wufei's victory. Ely had looked unsure at the outcome at first, probably convinced he would win considering his family's legacy. He shook his head and said, "Didn't imagine that happening. Indeed, I did not imagine that my defeat would be so complete."

"You played a good game, but a bit too safe for my taste," said Wufei, crossing his arms.

Ely snorted at that. "You're… You're really brazen, I give you that. Never met one so boldly offensive in their moves. Quite the opposite of your countenance."

Wufei shrugged indifferently. "Never judge a book by its cover or a player by their countenance, at first glance," he lectured, giving Ely a careful look. "Otherwise," and Wufei said this with a smile, "you might encounter a surprise you have no time to react."

Ely nodded and twitched his legs. "No doubt, no doubt." He scrunched his brow for a moment and then said quite abruptly, "Well, my young friend, if you would excuse me, I need to take care of, er, some bathroom business. Could you clean up the chest set for me? Just be really careful of the pieces."

Before Wufei could formulate an answer, the man was halfway to the bathroom door. The door slammed rather resoundingly, and he blinked owlishly at the behavior before shrugging it off. As he cleared all the pieces and set them in their tray, something caught Wufei's eye on the chessboard. At first glance, he would have ignored it, overlooked it as an odd feature to the board but curiosity pushed him to test it.

Wufei looked at the pawn position at the far-left corner. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and yet there was something odd about it. The white square's four borders looked to be less secure than the others, as if one push could fold it. Wufei looked to the closed bathroom door quickly, hearing for any sounds that Ely would return, and then acted on impulse.

Placing his pointer finger on the square, he gently pushed down, a quick thrill shooting through him with the movement. A click sounded and then his finger fell through as the square turned. A hidden compartment, he hummed thoughtfully to himself. The space was small as his finger touched the bottom and then the sides. It was when he touched the edge of the bottom that his finger poked something hard and smooth.

Bringing the object to his eyes, he found an old, dusty, flash drive. It was quite small and red, and he wondered what it was doing there. Something clicked in his mind, and he was soon reminded of Eternal's message. "The key is in the pawn," Wufei repeated thoughtfully. He set it down on the board.

He then moved his eyes back to the chest board and scanned it for any more clues. Noticing another pawn position that seemed like it had a compartment door on the far-right side across the board, he repeated the same action. As his finger dove in from the slot, he touched the bottom and found nothing. He pondered for moment, wondering why there was one but not another. Was it a trick? Did someone else take it?

These questions did not satisfy him as he could not derive a solution. Speculation pulled forth, but speculation wasn't factual - it was only conjecture within the walls of his mind. The only thing he derived were more questions as he sat staring at the flash drive. It shined a dull luminous red despite being littered with century-old dust.

"Eternal Allen Ray. Now, what's in this pawn?"

He intended to indulge his curiosity and as he made to the couch to open his satchel, the bathroom door creaked open. In an instant, Wufei rushed to close the square, stuffed the device in his pocket, and lifted the chessboard. Just as he put it into the box, Ely arrived looking very relieved.

"Thanks for putting it away. I would have but, as you can see, I was quite occupied. Now, my young friend, do you need more for this research paper?"

Wufei shook his head. "Thank you for the interview, Mr. Rahm. I believe I have all that I need," Wufei replied, hiding a smile. For a short trip like this, the reward has been great.

"If so, that's great! Now you must join me for lunch, I must insist," Ely said unbendingly. "There's a great restaurant I would like to take you to, and then you must sign up on the Eternal Allen Ray fan page. I'm the president and we're in need of new blood to continue the legacy of my ancestor."

Wufei tried to decline, but Ely slung an arm around his shoulder and directed him to the door that led to the garage while going on in an endless ramble about his fan page. If there were a silver lining in this, Wufei hoped he would be dropped off at the public library, if only to get away from this man's ramblings.

---

Lynx would have preferred to travel by train or car than aircraft. As great as the scene below him was – the raging and sputtering flashes of lightning that arced menacingly as it flashed in and out of dark gray clouds –, this aircraft felt more like a target. It was large, beige, and slow. It was the kind of slow-moving craft that one knew would give an enemy a perfect, textbook shot. To Lynx, the feeling was like being on pens and needles with only empty sky around to grab on – and even empty sky was not tangible.

It was at the insistence of General Salpardu he make haste. Losing to the Gundams had put the Sinhalese on edge. What was once an assured victory, with Serpent Is at their disposal, had now become a race against time should the Tamil-backed HRL take the lead and commence sweeping incursions against vulnerable bases in the northwest and west of Ceylon. Or should the Gundams fall on them again, and they lose, the ESUE might cut off negotiations for a losing cause.

The ESUE disliked anything that failed to make headway in their foreign and war policies and seeing such weakness from the Sinhalese losing ground would make their investment in having a strategic ground against the HRL in the Indian Ocean worthless. The ESUE valued glorious victory, valued a warrior's challenge, and continuous losing was seen as a setback. But, in respect to victories, the ESUE held the glory of losers who died valiantly in battle, for they never gave in.

It won't be long now, Lynx thought to himself, eyes falling to his wrist as he checked the time. He breathed slowly through his nose. It seemed they would make good headway despite the dreadful weather. It could have been worse, he imagined thoughtfully, it could have been a clear day and they a clear and lone target for some fool seeking a quick chance at glory.

He was about to reminisce on other terrible situations he had been in when he had almost missed the words from the co-pilot who had swiveled his head behind his seat, his mouth moving, saying, "…what's she like?"

Lynx blinked and then looked up to questing man. His expression was hesitant but eagerness plainly spoke on the co-pilot's aviator glasses-covered face.

"Excuse me?" Lynx asked softly.

The co-pilot gave a nervous smile. "Sorry about that, sir. I just wanted to know, um, about the empress, Empress Mariemaia. I've only heard stories, but they all seemed more like hearsay. I saw a few videos of her during her speeches, and wow! She's like an angel; her voice as melodious as the princess of Azadistan. You can't help but be enthralled by her and her beauty. I have a hard time seeing her as a soldier."

The pilot sighed exasperatedly, still facing the cockpit window, but his lips soon transformed into a knowing, almost mocking smirk. "Wanting to know? He's been dying to know," the pilot scoffed much to the chagrin and embarrassment of his co-pilot whose cheeks dusted red. "Kid can't keep his hormones in his pants."

"The empress," Lynx hummed.

The face of the co-pilot had taken on an eager expression he was accustomed with, and he couldn't help but feel slightly amused. Foreigners had this strange curiosity of becoming enthralled by the empress of the ESUE. She was, in a sense, magnetic in drawing people to their cause from other countries. Lynx could say that the ESUE never lacked for manpower.

Empress Mariemaia Khushrenada-Barton, the heiress to the Earth Sphere United Empire. Praised by her rabid followers as a goddess of war and peace, the true heart of the nation, Empress Mariemaia was someone who touched the stars and left them waning in her presence. She was magnetic, a darling of the ESUE public whose dulcet tones swayed nations, calmed storms, and inspired soldiers, from top officers to the rank-and-file soldiers. To listen to her was to be entranced by her persuasive charisma, whether right or wrong, one found themselves spellbound by her words.

When she called, millions answered.

She was very beautiful, but something about her threw Lynx off. There was something unsettling behind those icy blue eyes that reminded him of a man he knew once upon a time. A man who shook the world, put it on its knees and stood on it. He had then willingly, for whatever reason, gave up that power and then came back to power to protect the world. They were very similar and that thought put him on edge, to a place where he couldn't be sure if the very world – their world – would remain intact or be shattered when her time came to take control of the Earth's Sphere in its entirety.

Truthfully, Lynx had never met her before. He had only seen her at ceremonies or on the television, always from afar. But when one gazed at her, one could see aplomb bursting from her being as she whirled her nation into a singular entity of hope and invincible resolve, dressed in warlike praises for the troops and her people. For a seventeen-year-old, young woman, charisma came to her naturally as if it was the center of her being, inherited by her father and grandfather, two men known to create waves in the political and military arenas through their unbound dominance, masterful oration, and temerity.

Mariemaia made the fire in him burn and erupt. That singular rage, that bellicose flame, her hands manipulated it into a force of her desire and will, and directed it at her enemies, at the nation's enemies. Lynx was able to temper the flame, made it so quiet that he could barely hear it, but he saw in others their infernal blazes rise with her words. Lynx saw them caustic and ballistic, enraged, vengeful, and bloodthirsty. It was terrifying, and it terrified him if they ever saw his tempered flame.

"She's…" Lynx paused, gathering himself. "I've never met her personally, but from what I've seen on media, she's heavily involved with the military. She is a soldier herself – she has to be, her grandfather and I believe her deceased father wouldn't allow her not to be. It is family tradition, after all."

The co-pilot made a face at him. "Deceased father? You mean that Treize guy? I've heard stories about him, but I still can't wrap my head on the man himself. I mean – I mean no offense obviously – but why is he important? Did he die in the South African Rebellion?"

Lynx cracked a small wry smile. "Treize Khushrenada. He was a charismatic leader of our empire in the beginning. He had the power to change the world at the snap of his fingers and a simple but tactical thrust of his momentum. He had died honorably in battle."

"Really?" drawled the co-pilot skeptically. "Never heard of such a man. Although, that kind of reminds me of Sergei Smirnov."

"Ah, yes, the Wild Bear of Russia," the pilot announced. There was an awe that colored his tone, no doubt reminiscing of Sergei's long military legacy. "A man of strict discipline and intelligence. Thank goodness he had not been sent to Ceylon."

Lynx couldn't blame the pilot for his tone. Sergei Smirnov of the HRL was a well-known tactician and veteran of the notorious Fourth Solar Wars and the South African Rebellion. His tactics against the dissidents in Papa New Guinea, who had tried, in a coup d'état, to occupy Indonesia and blockade HRL supplies against creating Heaven's Pillar, had been a textbook victory in luring out the enemy and crushing them in a divided ambush. Sergei's goal was to wear out the enemy by stretching them thin, and then consummate victory by capturing or obliterating a worn-out enemy. He was a textbook study at the academy.

"Don't tell me this Treize fellow could live up to the name of the Wild Bear of Russia? Ridiculous," the pilot laughed incredulously as his co-pilot nodded his head in affirmation. They shared a look that spoke of the ridiculous of such notion, that a person had the capacity to best Sergei.

As ridiculous and unbelievable as it was, Sergei could not hold a candle to the incinerator that was Treize. From his time with the Romefeller Foundation and OZ to becoming ruler of the Earth, Treize was an insurmountable force, based in legend. His exploits were true, but they were not based in fact, and Lynx had pondered on this for a while. Was Treize fictitious or was he a real person with a simpler past made grand. The textbooks stated it was true, logic dictated something else, and battle-hardened veterans of the South African Rebellion, who were now reaching their 30s and 40s had seen the man, bearing pictures of him that inevitably made him corporeal.

What was true? What was false? And can they both be true at the same time?

Lynx, then, looked out the windows, ignoring the tremoring of the plane, and said condescendingly, "You'd be surprised. Some men, as famous as they were during their time, are lost to the void and ruins of history. Yet" – and the flash of ice blue eyes and crimson hair appeared in his mind's eye – "they leave behind traces of their past through their progeny. Don't simply dismiss an answer because you don't understand it."

"Er," replied the co-pilot, nervously looking between the pilot and Lynx, bunching his lips while the pilot snorted and shook his head. "As much as I admire your military prowess, but you ESUE kooks are really something else, you know that? Talking about make-believe people as real."

The pilot then sighed. "Whatever – it's of no consequence," he waved off, and then gave his co-pilot a sharp glance. "You have any more things you need to add about your princess fetish, or can we move along?"

The co-pilot shook his head, and they both returned to their flight deck window, glossy blue sky reflecting on their black glasses. A long moment past by in silence until the pilot glanced down and checked his map. Lynx had returned his gaze out his window, staring blankly at the sky. The storms below looked rowdier and odious.

Feeling a set of eyes on him, he turned his to the staring pilot. "We should be getting close," he stated, and seeing the co-pilot nod, Lynx settled himself into the chair.

"Buckle up, Advisor Lynx. We're about ten minutes out from our destination. There is some turbulence so I would recommend you strapping up," the co-pilot said hurriedly, returning his gaze to his controls.

Lynx felt the ship jerk this way and that, the turbulence gaining, the noise almost deafening. A large violent current shook the aircraft, and Lynx found his body leaping an inch out of his seat before bouncing back down. His right hand found the aisle arm and he gripped it with his fingers digging into the soft cushion, bracing himself for more junky turbulence.

"Ruwanwelisaya Base Control, this is Sinhalese Military Transport 135 of Colombo. We are making our descent. Can I proceed to land, how copy?" the pilot asked.

A long, dreadful moment passed, and the pilot and co-pilot shared a look. "Ruwanwelisaya Base Control, this is Sinhalese Military Transport 135 of Columbo, do you read, copy?" the pilot repeated.

An encore of silence rang on the radio. "Strange," the pilot stated, his lips a deep frown. "They're not picking up."

"Do you think it's the weather?" the co-pilot asked. The pilot shrugged and said, "Possibly, but this has never happened before, mind you. Even in the thickest of storms, we were able to make connection. Something's interfering."

The pilot repeated his call over the radio and the result of a loud silence answered back. Something pulled at Lynx's gut as he surveilled the two pilots, watching their expressions become troubled then hard. He was glad he wasn't the only one feeling uneasy. Still, he could sense something was wrong.

"What's your call, captain?" Lynx asked, focusing on the pilot. The pilot said nothing for a moment and then: "We'll proceed to land and assume the weather has interfered with communication. However, we'll gain altitude if we find trouble."

The aircraft shuddered as the landing gears and wheels rumbled from their compartments. They stormed through dark and gloomy clouds, collecting rain that streaked along the flight deck window like passing, shooting stars. There was a strange atmosphere that settled within the cockpit. It seemed heavy and anticipatory. The two pilots were quiet, but Lynx could see they were unnerved. His mind flashed on his mobile suit aboard, and he subconsciously gripped his seat's arm harder.

In a burst of gray, they were out of the clouds! A heaviness pulled at his gut as past the sea of green foliage, spread throughout the land, was an apocalyptic sight before them. Lynx's eyes widened. No!

Plumes of thick, black smoke and fire writhed and enveloped the supply base. Embers danced with the fire, aglow like hellish fireflies. Lynx slowly unbuckled his seatbelt and moved besides the co-pilot's seat, touching the back as he leaned forward.

From towers to depots, everything was burning, consumed by raging flames that seemed to grow more wrathful, more monstrous. Mobile suits and tanks and transports and vehicles lay in heaps, smoldering, fire spewing and spitting from their metal husks. Lynx's eyes fell on what would have been the air tower, now a smoldering and decrepit pit of black. Alongside of it, the runway remained untouched except a lone wreck of a craft in the middle. The depots and aircrafts lining against the runway were filled with thick, black, rising, fingers of smoke.

Lynx returned his gaze to the wreckage of the aircraft, feeling something familiar stir within him. "Can you maximize that wreckage on the runway?" he ordered the co-pilot who nodded slowly.

The moment the image enlarged was when Lynx's breath caught in his throat. He took a slow exhale through his nostrils to center himself as he looked over the scene. It was worse than he thought. Judging by the size of the carrier and pieces strewn around it, it was an ESUE-make, perhaps, the Virgo transport; and its wreckage, before they even had the chance to deploy, were the mobile dolls.

Whatever had happened in this battle, had happened instantaneously, catching the base off-guard. His eyes slowly trailed the base's survivors hard at work, pulling injured servicepersons from wreckage or carrying them, slinging them on makeshift stretchers or around their shoulders. There seemed to be quite a bit of them which was a relief. This meant it was a purposeful targeting.

But who was responsible for the attack? The Tamils? Celestial Being?

"What in the world happened here?!" yelled the co-pilot. "The Tamils? How did they get through our defensive line that fast?"

"Could be," the pilot answered wearily. "This is bad."

"We don't have enough information to make that conclusion," Lynx said. He walked to the flight deck door and said behind him, "I'm leaving to my mobile suit. We were attacked. Let me out prematurely before you find a place to land."

"Are you sure that's a good decision, Advisor Lynx?" called the pilot.

"The enemy could still be out there, and I'd rather be the only target down there if I encounter them," than moving in this coffin of an aircraft, he thought the last to himself.

Without sparing them a look, he headed to the cargo bay. His Serpent remained crouched forward, behind the cargo bay door. He hurriedly entered it and booted power to the systems. The distinct sound of powering engines and thrumming cables brought a certain kind of comfort that put him at ease. Lynx laid his head against his headrest as his monitors sparked to life, displaying the metal and spacious interior of the cargo bay.

With a flick of his fingers, he tapped into the aircraft's audio and visual frequency. The two pilots gazed back at him as the pilot said, "Get ready to drop. There's no sign of the enemy – which is a damn great thing – but still be cautious. I don't like how it's looking out there."

"Opening hangar doors," came the co-pilot. "Unlocking restraints. Will begin drop in 3-2 – Where did that green mobile suit come from?!"

"Is that a… Oh, shit! It's a Gundam!" yelled the pilot.

A white flash struck the small visual window on his main monitor and then it cut off. Fearing the worst, Lynx reacted by disengaging his mobile suit's chest cable. The momentum took him backwards as the cargo bay's metal interior faded, in place was a torrent of flames. Descending, he turned his cameras upward and saw fire tear into the aircraft. It soon ignited, raining fiery wreckage of detritus around and on him. Pings echoed through his cockpit like hail on house roofs as metallic debris skimmed and bounced off his mobile suit.

An alarm alerted him as his sensors spied an enemy target. There, above, in front of the storm of clouds and swirling smoke, was the Gundam, its rifle locked on him. Its green eyes glowed like an awakening beast of terror. Lynx took in the Gundam with a sweep of his eyes and realized it was the same green and white suit he had battled at Lion's Rock. This time it seemed alone and -

Lynx barely had time to prepare as a pink burst bulleted from the Gundam's rifle! Acting swiftly – on instinct – he narrowly avoided the shot, moving his verniers to the left in a sudden burst. Using his side momentum, as he arced across the sky, he powered his verniers to hover while circling around the Gundam. He knew the Gundam had better mobility in the air – its particle engines allowed it unbelievable versatility; however, if he could keep it at a distance, then he could land, and it could afford him protection within the thick trees from its accurate sniping.

Taking his Gatling guns from his rack and opening his right shoulder, Lynx launched a salvo of missiles at the Gundam. Precisely and with deadly accuracy, the Gundam shot down each missile. As a wall of smoke took its place, Lynx released a wave of artillery beams from his Gatlings. They rumbled then thundered on release, yellow arcs blazing to where the Gundam would be behind the smoke.

The Gundam's pilot did not remain motionless as jets of pink burst through the wall of smoke, gushing it away with each attack. Lynx cursed as each shot narrowly missed him.

"Not a bad shot, this one," Lynx commended, keeping his wits about him. It had been a long time since he found someone that could rival him in mid-to-long distance shooting and in a fast-paced combat setting where every attack was a life-or-death situation.

Lynx quickly glanced at the base below, seeing soldiers stare, frozen in place by the battle. He needed to distance himself from the base to a safer location away from the injured. If not, they would be unfortunate collateral damage in their battle. "But where…?" Lynx wondered aloud, avoiding another close shot that was aimed at his chest.

Apparently, this pilot was taking him seriously. From the start, the Gundam had been aiming at nonlethal but important part points of his Serpent – the shoulders, the kneecaps, the arm joints, and the head camera. When the pilot realized his first few shots had missed was when the fight had escalated to lethal and vulnerable areas of his Serpent.

They traded back shots in furious tempos of blazing light. Shots rained from every direction, fading in out in the air and blooming in black smoke on land. The tempo was fast, chaotic, and incredibly persistent. Lynx found himself entranced as his muscles flexed with every effort, switching from defense to offense, as the tempo commanded it.

It was a grazing shot to his right leg was when Lynx formed his plan. Moving to land on the runway behind the wreck, he accelerated backwards. A torrent of pink beams crossed the distance to meet him and each one, erupted on cement in a hail of scorched earth and fire. Lynx zigzagged while firing, his own shots dodged agilely by the Gundam with an acute grace. They continued to trade shots until he stopped, making his way off the tarmacadam and into the thick foliage of the forest.

Treetops and their long, lush, green leaves canopied above him. Sunlight flickered in between the spaces of leaves as dust and rock roared and kicked around him from the Gundam's targeted shots. The Gundam gained altitude and seemed to warily look down into the forest. Lynx was pretty sure it could spot him, knowing his radar would give him away.

"But that's fine by me," he whispered somewhat cautiously optimistic.

These Gundams were beasts, but they could still be killed. Analyzing the pilot from his previous fights, he knew the pilot and he were two heads on the same coin: distant shooters who were disadvantage in close quarter combat. Lynx never liked to engage with melee weapons unless he had to and today, as he found a thick place in the foliage and checked the rack of his mobile suit for his throwing daggers, he might be forced to.

The tempo of the battle was fast, and Lynx knew he couldn't prolong it. Ammunition was running low, and when that went black, he would be in bad shape. The Gundam, as if granted infinite energy, still looked as if it came out the hangar. Besides the scorch marks, the Gundam remained impenetrable, a persistent eyesore that he watched with wary eyes.

It was time to end this battle with a thunderous climax. He hoped Lady Luck had gifted him tonight, for he might not make it out of this.

Lynx started circling the Gundam through the foliage as it remained aerial. He noticed a shift in movement as it attached its rifle – that's when he struck, unleashing another salvo of missiles! In terrific screams, they assailed the Gundam and then burst into another cloud of smoke and fire. Lynx halted for a moment, looking at the smoke. This was wrong.

"It didn't connect," he stated softly.

Within that instant the Gundam came, faster than anticipated, with a blur of rapid-firing shots of pink beams from its dual pistols. Lynx gritted his teeth and floored the accelerator. The Gundam was on the offensive as it followed him through foliage, pinks beams flashing so fast he had to bring up his Gatling gun to –!

He was rocked by an explosion as his right Gatling Gun exploded! The explosion catapulted his right forearm into the forest. "Damn!" he cursed, trying to distance himself from the hounding green predator. The rapid rate of fire was too fast, and the Gundam was gaining on him. He needed to act fast, he needed to act fast, he needed –

He released another missile at point blank range. As usual the Gundam evaded, flying out of target and then back in, returning fire. In haste, Lynx threw his last weapon at the Gundam and then hit a switch. A handle appeared through his Serpent's thigh, and he grabbed it. Lynx ignited the pink beam saber and stabbed at the Gundam while the Gundam shot at him and released what appeared to be tiny, orange missiles. He was able to stab into the Gundam's shoulder, seeing the pink beam melting its armor like wax, before his monitors cracked and flashed with fire and jumping electricity.

Everything became a blinding white in his cockpit and then pain came. Metal tore into his right arm and shoulder and he bellowed out a grunt, staring at his smoking screens. He was suddenly thrown to the side and weightless, like being swept off his feet, before he painfully hit his head on his cracked side monitors. A shooting pain barreled into his head before his vision blurred and then faded black.

---

In the Maya Oha outskirts, at Garrison 7 Base in the Tamil-controlled region of Ceylon, a steady stream of smoke and fire poured from the base. Another explosion came with an eruption of smoke and red-tongued flame as debris rained from the sky and showered the ground and unprotected soldiers who scrambled for cover. Yellow shells danced and arced in the sky at a white figure, but it spun and sidestepped its way to the Smoothbore-firing Tieren, its GN Blade slicing through the Tieren's armor and bisecting its waist.

Before the head it the ground, Exia was on to her next target, blazing a trail with abandoned restraint. Two-hundred-millimeter yellow shells flew past Exia, and Setsuna regarded them listlessly. They were only obstacles in his way, mere distractions to finishing the mission. Turning Exia, Setsuna engaged, whirling Exia's GN Blade in a blur of gray. It sliced through two Tierens easily enough, destroying them instantly.

Folding the GN Blade, Setsuna regarded the destruction impassively around the large base. All looked clear on his end. The Tierens who held resistance had been brought down as well as the gun trucks and SAM trucks. Compared to his last mission, Setsuna found this one easier.

This mission required a check to HRL-backed Tamil Tigers, that as long as they continue their war, Celestial Being would end it. It was Setsuna's objective to attack the garrison base and destroy the tools and supplies necessary for making war. Miss Sumeragi predicted he would not encounter heavy resistance, but he should be aware of any retaliatory forces if reinforcements came from the mainland. So far, her predictions had been accurate.

"First phase complete. Moving on to…" Exia's alarm blared, and Setsuna forcefully pulled back his joystick, avoiding a barrage of shells exploding before him, shaking his cockpit from the force of the impacts.

A gush of smoke and dust rolled through and Setsuna looked up as a beige Tieren flew around him, its imposing bulk and height making it a winged monstrosity of metal. Reading the mobile suit, he was presented with data on it. It looked to be an MSJ-06II-C Tieren High Mobility Type, judging by its aerial flight pack.

Knowing this, it meant this Tieren had extra mobility and a set of engines to accompany its bulky armor. "Reinforcement?" he questioned. Setsuna found it incredulous that they would only send one mobile suit to meet him. What was so special about this unit?

And, more specifically, who came to fight him?

The Tieren finished its predatory circling and came to a landing. The ground quaked when its feet touched the ground. Setsuna regarded the machine, eyeing its offensive stance. He readied Exia, unfolding her GN Sword.

The Tieren folded its wings and then, the manipulator holding its 200mm Smoothbore rifle, dropped to the ground. Reaching behind it, the Tieren pulled a large, carbon blade. It was a katar-like weapon with a trapezoidal-shaped blade that paralleled the grip. It gleamed dangerously in the sunlight, and Setsuna sensed a sudden desire from it: to violently smash.

Setsuna eyed the blade carefully; it was a weapon mainly used for smashing, not cutting, until the mobile suit was inoperable.

"They're throwing away its firearms. Does it intend to test or capture me?" questioned Setsuna to himself.

He couldn't decipher the reasons for this pilot's true intent, but he would be ready for the incoming attack. The Tieren's engines soon howled, a rush of wind gushed out of its engines, kicking up dust like a hurricane. The Tieren quickly blitz towards Exia. It looked to run him over as it led with its carbon blade.

The incoming move was predictable as it was easily avoidable. Setsuna saw it coming and acted, rushing forward, ducking under the thrust of the weapon and slashed its arm off with Exia's GN Blade. The arm flew skyward, and just as Setsuna turned to finish the Tieren, he was met with a manipulator to Exia's face.

Setsuna felt gravity leave him when the Tieren raised him off the ground, squeezing Exia's head viciously to crush it. All Setsuna could see on his main camera was the inside manipulator of the Tieren's gripping metal palm. Setsuna tried a downward strike, but it met the armored forearm of the Tieren, its impact lessened because of the blade's halved momentum.

Angrily, Setsuna growled as the Tieren's grip increased, the metal groaning under duress and Exia's alarms wailing in impending doom. Setsuna had to react, otherwise, with the danger growing more by the second, he would lose this battle and risk the exposure of Celestial Being's secrets.

"As if I would let you!" he roared, ejecting his shield. He then grabbed a beam saber underneath Exia's right shoulder, ignited it, and slashed at the offending arm.

The Tieren fell backward, but Setsuna was not finished. His blood demanded retaliation and he again roared in aggression. He slashed at the hip, and then its right leg as his enemy fell. The machine slammed into the ground with a thunderous sound, quaking the earth.

Smoke and fire burned from its remains. Setsuna took deep calming breaths despite the erratic racing of his heart and gushing adrenaline thumping in his fingertips as he gripped his joystick. He could still feel that age-old anger, that disbelief, of those who would dare touch Exia, burn in his veins.

He pulled off the offending manipulator still attached to Exia's face and dared the Tieren: "Don't you dare touch me."

He gave the mobile suit a glance. He had to be sure it did not attempt to strike him again. Seeing no movement beside its fuming exposed parts, he set on to the next phase. He waited a minute, watching the land and sky, searching with his eyes of enemy movement. When a minute came and no form of resistance or retaliation persisted, he took Exia into the sky.

"Beginning second phase."

He now had to rendezvous with Lockon at Kuliyapitiya and then they would egress the country to their respective destinations. It didn't take long to reach the rendezvous point, and as he hovered in the sky, there was no sign of Lockon in all horizons. Time was dwindling and as soon as the rendezvous time ended, was when Setsuna became concerned.

The sky appeared mostly empty with beckoning dark clouds hailing from the north. A sharp beep from his radar signaled movement. Turning his eyes to his monitors, he magnified the image.

There, in the distance, a green speck was moving. He almost blew a relieved sigh. He should have known Lockon would finish his mission. As it grew closer was when Setsuna's eyes jumped.

"Lockon!"

Dynames drifted from the north. Smoke billowed from what looked to be a hole-sized, molten wound in its right shoulder. Setsuna could see the sky, a brilliant purple dusk, through its hole and the melted and cauterized metal and wires. Fear grew in his stomach.

For a Gundam to be damaged so, at this early stage rose growing questions of concern for Setsuna. He knew he had a tough time against his opponent, but were the opponents that Lockon fought that strong? To damage a Gundam, especially a Gundam Meister, meant some pilot had training comparable against Celestial Being. Veda did not report any mobile suits that would hinder Celestial Being's capabilities.

"Lockon!"

"Lockon is okay! Lockon is okay!" came the chirping of Lockon's personal Haro unit on his audio frequency. Setsuna felt his shoulders, that he didn't know were tight and hard, held by his apprehension, droop. He released a relieved sigh.

Soon, a window popped open of Lockon on his monitor, looking non-too thrilled at his situation. Irritation lurked in his eyes, and he held a scowl.

"I'm all right, Setsuna," Lockon said, grimacing somewhat and then rubbed his helmet and sighed. "I somehow made it from death's doorstep."

"What happened?"

"Some suicidal Sinhalese pilot tried to take me out at the last minute. Too bad I was able to evade a lethal blow. For the pilot, they'll be lucky if they came out of it alive. I didn't think they'd be that insanely good to rival me in their Serpent I. It's got me riled up," Lockon growled.

"Let's commence the third phase and get the hell out of here," stated Lockon.

Setsuna nodded and said, "Commencing third phase and egressing from the battlefield."

As they made their departure, he heard Lockon say, "This wasn't in the forecast. There's no way the Sinhalese could be this strong individually unless…"

And something seemed to click for Lockon as he growled, "Damn those ESUE pilots! They're engaged in combat in this war instead of advising."

His theory made sense to Setsuna, and as he thought about it, thought about his previous battles with the Sinhalese and their Serpents, he could not disregard how strategic and quite good those Serpent pilots who had posed a significant threat to Exia. They worked cohesively together, had tactical knowledge engaging stronger opponents, and were more creative on the battlefield than the average Sinhalese fighter despite their mobile suits.

As the sun began its descent and the storm clouds moved in, Setsuna knew whatever were the ESUE's tactics, it boded ill for the world. Something trembled within him. He did not know where it came but, at its core, felt destructive in its outreach.