Treize and Zechs had departed from different hangars. This was part of the reason Zechs arrived at Treize's office almost an hour after Treize did. It seemed that everywhere Zechs went, his pilots had gotten there first and were begging him to celebrate with them. All expressed desperation for his presence, and many promised him copious amounts of alcohol.

            Treize's instruction gives me a good excuse to avoid participation. I don't have the luxury of celebrating in that particular manner, but I'm glad that they're happy. I've driven them hard over the past two months; they definitely deserve to celebrate.

            He arrived at Treize's office, took a moment to straighten himself, and entered.

            He was both surprised and unsurprised to see Major Une already there, poring over some papers. I almost forgot. Of course I didn't see her celebrating with the others; serving Treize is how she celebrates.

            "Sir, First Lieutenant Zechs Marquise, reporting as ordered."

            "By all means, Zechs, please enter," said Treize. By his tone and word choice, Zechs knew that this was to be an informal occasion. He scanned the spacious office and spotted Treize facing away from him. As Zechs approached, he saw Treize was pouring wine—some unpronounceable vintage; Zechs had some knowledge of etiquette, but was out of practice—into a pair of glasses.

            Treize turned and handed one glass to Zechs. "To our first real success," he said.

            "To small victories," Zechs answered.

            "Cheers."

            They both sipped their wine, and then simply stood there. The two of them, the lieutenant colonel and the lieutenant, allies and friends, shared the moment of victory. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours—there was no talking between them, for there was no need. There was nothing more or less than an air of satisfaction, supporting and succoring them.

            And both enjoyed every moment of it.

            Treize finally turned to Major Une. "Lady Une," he said, breaking the silence at last, "you may leave for the night."

            "Sir?" she asked.

            "We'll be very busy soon enough. Please get some rest."

            Major Une glared suspiciously at Zechs, then obeyed.

            After the door had closed again, Treize spoke. "We need to discuss the future, Zechs."

            "Can you be more specific, sir?" Zechs said with a half-smile. Though these conversations were informal, Zechs still dropped a 'sir' here or there out of respect.

            "Naturally. As we work towards the day we overthrow the Alliance, the question for me is where best to use your talents."

            "You mean you've found more work for me?"

            "Yes."

            "Well," enumerated Zechs, "you want me here of course, and we spoke before of co-opting one or more military academies. What are the others?"

            "The third task is to train our all-OZ units, and the fourth is to command a small task force capable of responding to anything."

            "All-OZ units?" Zechs asked. "But none exist."

            Treize settled back in his chair. "In this case, to talk about the future, we must talk about the past. A little more than twenty years ago, the Alliance was suffering an identity crisis. Although it had kept the peace for decades, it had done so by maintaining a practical monopoly on military power. While the rising nobles had small private armies, even collectively they could not stand against the Alliance. But this was acceptable, for the nobles had decided that it was in their best interest for the Alliance to remain intact. For these reasons, both the nobles and the Alliance were faced with a dire threat in the form of the pacifist, Heero Yuy."

            "Heero Yuy?" said Zechs. "You mean the leader of the colonies, who preached pacifism and unity. But he was assassinated in AC 175, am I right?"

            Treize nodded. "What you probably didn't know was that OZ was behind that assassination."

            "What?!"

            "They had two reasons for this," Treize continued evenly. "The first is that Heero Yuy was deluded. The will to fight is an integral part of our humanity. Heero Yuy proclaimed that mankind could overcome its own will to fight. But that brand of pacifism is a phantom, fleeting and ephemeral. By denying that will, by saying that it could be ignored, Yuy was disrupting the natural human condition. In effect, he was causing the colonists' will to fight to stock up, fester, aggravate, and worsen. Had he been left alive, the colonists would eventually have unleashed the most terrible war imaginable. But, if warrior virtues are cultivated and wars confined to small groups of people, which populations can appreciate and mourn collectively, they can project their wills to fight into a small number of truly noble champions. Thus the horrors of war are held at bay, even as the human will to fight finds expression."

            Zechs nodded. There's only one flaw in your analysis, Treize. You weren't the leader of OZ at that point in time, so I doubt your philosophy was foremost in Romefeller's eyes.

            "Sir, the other reason?" Zechs asked.

            Treize smiled wryly. "The other reason, I'm afraid, is more cynical. When the nobility re-emerged as the leading politicians of the world, they were responsible for portions of their countries' military contributions to the Alliance. In most cases, the nobles tithed a portion of their own forces for this purpose. Obviously, those soldiers' first loyalties were to the lords that sent them."

            "Obviously," said Zechs. "Since they were joining the Alliance only because of their lords' commands, they had no loyalty to the Alliance itself—only their lords."

            Treize nodded. "And so the lords had agents throughout the Alliance. When the nobility united under the banner of the Romefeller Foundation, they united their various agents under a single banner as well—and so, OZ was born.

            "The nobility thus resolved to use OZ as a means to control the actions of the Alliance," he continued. "But Heero Yuy's pacifism threatened the continued existence of the Alliance—and, therefore, OZ. Left unchecked, Yuy's rhetoric would have dismantled the Alliance. Subsequently, the resurgent will to fight would have caused a greater war, and subsequently undone whatever proto-state arrangement Yuy was planning to replace the Alliance. And from there, who knows?"

            Zechs nodded, putting the puzzle together. "So Romefeller used OZ to kill Yuy out of self-preservation. It had to keep the Alliance intact, and it had to protect itself from an unpredictable future. If Yuy had lived and the Alliance been dismantled, it would have taken much of the nobles' power with it. Control of the future would be out of Romefeller's hands."

            "And there's more," Treize continued. "In the wake of Heero Yuy's assassination, the Alliance felt a sudden, desperate need for military power. The Alliance increased its own production, but also stepped up its demands on its member nations for tithed troops. Thus, more and more agents of OZ infiltrated the Alliance as more and more personnel came from the nobility."

            "But they were just independent agents, correct?" said Zechs. "From what I've seen of Alliance personnel policies, they split up troops who come from the same country in order to prevent collusion. OZ had no ideology then, did it?"

            "OZ didn't know it needed an ideology," said Treize, who clearly found that amusing. "It was as you say—a scattering of independent agents, operating only when they received instructions from the lord who sent them. Romefeller had seen these agents as simply a means to acquire additional power. It fell to me to present OZ with a greater purpose. I've had much to remedy, and uniting all of OZ under a single command structure with me at its head is just the beginning."

            He trailed off, and stared past Zechs at something far distant. "Something bothering you, sir?" asked Zechs.

            Treize closed his eyes. "The Alliance never completed its investigation of Yuy's assassination. After some fruitless searching, they closed the files and declared that he was murdered by "persons unknown". However, this was only because of our intervention. There was some evidence we failed to remove in a timely fashion. In other words, it is possible that someone with sufficient motivation and connections could connect OZ with the killing. At least, if they looked before we erased everything."

            Now Treize opened his eyes and shook his head. "I know that Yuy had to go. But there must have been a better way to do it—if nothing else, the cover-up could have been executed better. The point is that I believe making an enemy of the colonies is a mistake. And we may have already done that."

            He smiled tightly. "But enough of that matter. Here is where we stand. My connections with the Alliance via Romefeller are currently negotiating a new system. The goal is for the units sent in by the Foundation's members to remain intact. In fact, the plan is to fold such units under the Specials banner. This is contingent upon those units being upper-tier elites, naturally. This is why they need your training. If they get proper training, then we gain a huge advantage in our quest towards overthrowing the Alliance."

            Zechs nodded in acknowledgement. "Our plan requires subversive persons within every Alliance unit, who strike simultaneously to cripple the Alliance and prevent coordination. It also requires all-OZ units to then sweep from place to place, defeating local Alliance troops as they move. The members of OZ already in the Alliance, plus those we send from this school and the military academies, are the first element. The complete units donated by Romefeller are the second element."

            "Quite correct." Treize stood. "So, this is our dilemma. All these troops need training, and there's only one of you. Plus, I want you as leader of a roving task force, to act as the first responder in the event of crises."
            Zechs nodded, his brain working. "What we can do is use this base as the place to instruct the instructors. From this base, we get the personnel necessary to take over the training here. Then the leaders they produce take over the training of the all-OZ units."

            "And the military academies?"

            "Those instructors can come from here, too," Zechs said. "However… well, Lake Victoria at the least won't be a problem."

            "Why is that?" said Treize, his voice curious. "You said before that you wished to be a part of the mission to Lake Victoria. Is there something I should know?"

            Zechs hesitated, trying to figure out how to say it. "I have a… friend there. Her thoughts, feelings, and methods are close to ours, but the Alliance is no doubt stifling her. To gain a presence at Lake Victoria, all we need to do is establish the Specials' right to train there, and then make her the primary instructor of pilots. Surround her with auxiliary personnel from this base and she'll handle the piloting and political instruction."

            "Intriguing," said Treize. "I look forward to meeting this woman, if you decide to introduce us. You don't need to tell me any more than you feel comfortable revealing, of course." He closed his eyes. "I'll entrust this matter to you, to handle as you see fit. I will get your foot in the door, so to speak, and aid you if you request it, but the rest is up to you."

            "Thank you, sir," said Zechs, sighing in relief. After all, how exactly would I explain Lucrezia? Well, at least now I have some time to figure out how.

            Treize moved behind his desk and sat down. "Once you have accomplished that, you can spot-check the training sessions. Your primary duty, however, will be to respond quickly to any special events or problems and solve them, swiftly."

            Zechs waved his hand with a slight smile. "Sir, I can only plan for so many things in advance. If you can determine our overall goals, I'll focus on achieving them individually."

            "I can see I've tired you," said Treize. "Very well, that will be all for tonight. Rest soundly, for we'll soon begin our push to co-opt Lake Victoria."

            "Yes, sir."

            Zechs returned to his room and turned off his alarm.

            That was his way of celebrating.

            What can you possibly be planning, Treize?

            Zechs stood with his back towards a wall, drifting around the fringes of the clumps of people in the room. Scattered throughout was a dizzying array of dress uniforms. The majority were standard Alliance dress uniforms, but certain territories had their own unique uniforms, and certain commands had their own. Zechs was holding his own in identifying who was who, but it was a struggle.

            This is no coincidence. The Alliance doesn't have very many social events for its top brass. You timed this very carefully, Treize—to finish my class just in time for us to attend this party. What is going through your head?

            Treize was in his element. There he was, moving effortlessly from conversation to conversation, at home in this environment. But Zechs noticed that officers' eyes followed him wherever he went.

            Zechs looked distastefully at the drink in his cup. I have this for appearances, he thought, but I dare not drink it. I'm a mouse in a snake pit. I must be both quiet and careful… especially if HE is here.

            Zechs hadn't seen him yet, but that didn't mean he wasn't here.

            Zechs' scans of the room were interrupted by loud bellows of laughter. His wasn't the only attention drawn; everywhere conversations were dying out and people were looking towards one particular discussion.

            "Well, well! After one successful class, Lieutenant Colonel Treize Khushrenada thinks he has done something great!"

            "Not great, per se," said Treize. Though his voice didn't seem any louder, it was carrying to everywhere in the room. "Just better than what we have now."

            "And so…" the person he was addressing tried to choke down laughter, "and so you believe you are better qualified to handle instruction of mobile suit pilots?"

            "My unit, the Specials, is," said Treize. "But I am not unreasonable. I don't wish to claim all the pilot instruction—just a portion of it, until Specials grows enough to incorporate the rest of the training sites."

            There were titters all around. By now Zechs had finally worked his way close to the conversation and fell into a position behind and to the side of Treize. Treize was speaking to a man Zechs identified as General Compton, the man in charge of training Alliance personnel. "That's rather pompous of you, Lieutenant Colonel. Training mobile suit pilots is an exhausting endeavor—it requires large numbers of exemplary personnel, excellent facilities, and already-developed techniques. You have none of these!"

            "On the contrary," Treize countered. "We've already developed the methods over the past few months, and I will vouch for our personnel. As for facilities…" Treize's eyes gleamed. "I was considering your Lake Victoria base."

            Dead silence. "This just stopped being funny," said Compton. "Do you mean to say that you wish to take over the training of mobile suit pilots at Lake Victoria—essentially ripping personnel, responsibilities, and facilities directly from me?"

            "Yes," said Treize, his voice level as ever, "on the grounds that I can do it better."

            "How do you know you can do it better?" Compton snarled.

            "Because the pilots that have resulted from my training are the best in the Alliance," Treize said.

            "How can you possibly make that assertion?!" Compton exploded.

            Treize smiled calmly, and Zechs got the sudden, strong impression Treize was about to do something mind-blowing. "How about we settle this with a gentlemanly wager?"

            Compton tightened his face and narrowed his eyes. "How do you mean?"

            "The only real, fair way to measure which of two pilots is better is for them to fight each other. To that end, I propose a series of engagements between your newest graduates and mine. I have just graduated a class. They haven't been sent to their new assignments yet, so they're available." Treize paused, in a way reiterating his smile. "You may, of course, choose pilots from Victoria's basic or advanced courses, at your discretion."

            "And so…" Compton began, but Treize kept going.

            "With your permission, we'll use the Lake Victoria facilities as the grounds on which to settle the bet. The wager is on victory in these engagements. There will be five engagements, the size of which is up for negotiation between our representatives."

            Compton gave a puzzled expression. "Our representatives? You mean you won't be fighting? I thought this was your profession."

            Treize bowed instantly. "My apologies for my presumptuousness, General. I would be delighted to face you in mobile suit combat."

            Compton blanched as the crowd around exploded in titters. "That won't be necessary, Colonel," he managed. Anyone who could read insignia could see that Compton was an infantryman by trade—Zechs could only imagine the struggles he would have in a mobile suit.

            "Very well," said Treize. "The size of the five engagements will be negotiated by our representatives," he repeated, getting back on track. "But I am totally confident in my troops. I will give you a five to three numerical advantage in every engagement."

            Zechs looked at Compton now, and could see him start calculating his odds. "Well…" Compton began.

            "There is one more condition," Treize half-interrupted.

            "What?" said Compton, clearly on-guard. He obviously expected Treize to demand something of him.

            "I say that my troops will win all five engagements. If you win even one, you win the entire wager."

            Compton's eyebrows shot up. "You are spotting me a five-to-three numbers advantage, and I only have to win once in five battles?"

            "That's correct," said Treize. "If I win, I want you to cede to me the mobile suit training facilities and responsibilities at the Lake Victoria Military Academy. That's both the advanced and basic schools. But, if you win, I'll disband the Specials immediately."

            It was as if a bomb had gone off. People dropped glasses, rocked back on their heels, exploded into chatter. Zechs struggled to bring his own reactions under control. This is it. This is how he would "go after Victoria". Why does he never tell me these things?

            Compton seemed to be in shock for several seconds, but he eventually cracked a huge smile and said, "I agree to your terms, Treize." Applause broke out from all quarters.

            "My subordinate, First Lieutenant Zechs Marquise, will contact you shortly." Treize bowed deeply, turned on his heels, and left. Zechs followed in his footsteps; the crowd behind murmured, growing louder as the distance between Compton and Treize increased.

            Treize and Zechs left the building altogether. They stood together on the porch outside. Treize addressed a nearby soldier, serving as both a guard and a chauffeur, "We have no further business here." The guard saluted and left.

            With no one else within hearing, Treize turned to Zechs. "So? What did you think? How was my little performance?"

            "Your performance was great, sir," he said.

            Treize smiled slightly. "It isn't my performance that bothers you," he said.

            Not one of your greater perceptual leaps, Treize. "No, sir. Are we really ready to put everything at risk? No sooner have we made our first modest gains then you're putting it all on the line."

            "Is there a better time?" said Treize. "After we've made more gains, shepherded our resources and entrenched ourselves? When we've grown so attached to the minimums of slow progress that we lack the ability to be truly daring?" He shook his head. "No. That's the Alliance's sickness, not mine. Now was the right time for this wager." He smiled. "You don't actually believe you'll lose, do you?"

            Zechs gave a hmph. "Sir, I may not approve of your recklessness, and I may strive for realistic assessments, but I do have some pride of my own. It will be difficult, but we will win this." His expression changed. "Actually, sir, there's also a good tactical reason for us to do it now. Compton has no basis on which to guess our actual abilities. He certainly hasn't seen what our soldiers can do, so he has a serious gap in his intelligence. Once this first class goes out and makes their names known, that advantage disappears."

            Zechs looked to Treize for confirmation, but Treize wore only a blank smile.

            "That never occurred to you, did it, sir?"

            "No, Zechs," said Treize, still smiling. "Though it is fortunate that it worked out that way, isn't it?"

            Serendipity, thought Zechs. This should serve as a reminder for the overconfident, Treize. In world events, especially military events, the best-laid plans go awry. Sometimes, things just happen. Even to you. But as long as they're happening in our favor, I don't think you'll notice.

            Zechs released that line of thought and picked up his original again. "But honestly, sir, you did your best to stack the deck for him. You were making it impossible for him to refuse, weren't you?"

            Treize nodded. "As it stands, Zechs, the tools available to us to gain power are few. We have ourselves, we have money and equipment from Romefeller, we have a small selection of elite pilots and a number of deep-cover agents—but aside from Romefeller's contributions, those mean little in the halls of power. And I'd rather not call upon Romefeller more often than absolutely necessary, lest we grow indebted and dependent."

            "But there is one more thing," Zechs said, "and you spotted it. We have the vices of the Alliance leadership."

            Now it was the satisfied smile that crept onto Treize's face. "One of the more prevalent vices is a hatred for us, and all we stand for. Even the leadership of the Alliance originated as lower-ranking personnel. As incredible as it seems in an autocracy, they maintain the belief that everyone should be able to rise in rank. Aristocracy offends their sensibilities. They can't abide someone whom, they perceive, got their position without earning it."

            "And so you offer them what seems like a golden opportunity to destroy us," Zechs said, coming up with the rest. "You give them what look like very long odds on our survival and beg them to take the bet… which is easy, because they want to take the bet so badly."

            "Not 'them', generally," corrected Treize. "Just Compton. You see, the more important vice in the Alliance leadership is the same as in any large organization—internal competition for small numbers of positions. If Compton loses—when Compton loses—he loses more than Lake Victoria. He loses prestige and recognition amongst the other leaders, who will then force him to honor his agreement. If I had taken that bet up with him in private, he might have had a chance to get out of it. But in that setting, with the entire Alliance upper tier listening in, he can't escape. His peers will hold him to that agreement. We will get all that we asked for."

            "The end result is that Compton looks doubly incompetent—once for losing, and twice for taking the bet publicly and failing to make good," said Zechs. "So, if the other generals believe that it was merely Compton's incompetence that allowed us to win, we continue to avoid drawing close scrutiny from the other generals."

            "We continue to look harmless," said Treize, smiling at the irony. "We maintain our image of naïve schoolboys at play, and all the while we sink our claws into the Alliance's vitals."

            A car arrived, driven by a soldier Zechs remembered was from Specials. The driver got out of the car to open the doors, and bowed deeply in doing so.

            Dead give-away, Zechs thought. "Don't do that," he said to the soldier as Treize entered the car.

            "What, sir?" asked the soldier.

            "Salute us next time." He got in next to Treize.

            "Yes, sir," said the soldier.

            "Good catch," said Treize, smiling slightly. "We want to be seen less as nobility and more as officers."

            "Vigilance is something I've learned to live with," said Zechs.

            Treize nodded appreciatively. "All the same… Zechs, you will eventually need some kind of title in order to command authority in OZ."

            Zechs glanced over, then away. I dare not use the title I was born with. And if Treize has used his knowledge of my face to determine my identity, he knows that as well as I do.

            "That's your prerogative, sir," said Zechs.

            Treize smiled. "Very well, then," he said. "Bring me Lake Victoria, and you shall be no longer the Lightning Lieutenant, but the Lightning Baron."

            The Lightning Baron… has a nice ring to it. I could live with that.

            "One more thing, Zechs," said Treize.

            "Sir?"

            "There is an ancient but wise toast, repeated by military men throughout the ages. I want you to memorize it and appreciate it." Treize turned those powerful eyes upon Zechs and began reciting.

            "He either fears his fate too much

            Or his desserts are small

            Who dares not put it to the touch

            To win or lose it all."

            Zechs nodded slowly. "Profound, sir," he said without irony.

            "And when you've fully grasped that," Treize said, "you'll understand what I did tonight."