Noin was the first person at Lake Victoria to hear about the battle at Pokhran.
She wasted no time. She went immediately back to her room and opened a piece of paper that lay folded on her desk.
Zechs' anxiety was low-level, but constant. It wasn't that he expected Treize to mess up horribly; it was just that the consequences of even small failures here, now, would be catastrophic. He couldn't shake the subtle fear that had attached to him from the moment he'd heard that they would be the subject of an Alliance tribunal.
It had to be the company.
Looking around from his position behind Treize, Zechs saw a veritable who's who of Alliance top brass. There was General Vente, leader of all Alliance forces on Earth. There was General Septum, commander of the Alliance's space forces. There was their old friend General Compton, commander of all training and logistics. And, though not visible to Zechs because Treize was in the way, in the center of the chamber sat Marshal Noventa. Supreme Commander of the United Earth Sphere Alliance. Treize's fate rested in that man's hands.
"In conclusion," said Treize, finishing his narrative, "I handed over the prisoners Lieutenant Zechs captured per your instructions." He bowed, signaling that he was done.
Marshal Noventa sighed, then spoke. "The chair will now allow questioning of Lieutenant Colonel Treize Khushrenada."
General Compton was the first. "Colonel Treize," he began, "something bothered me while I was listening to your stories. It seems to me that you glossed over the most critical part of this incident, and the reason why we convened this tribunal. How did you make the logical leap from the fact that the upper Indian base was attacked to the conclusion that the enemy was going after Pokhran? How could you determine that with such certainty that you'd dispatch your lapdog lieutenant to intercept them?"
A mix of emotions hit Zechs, but the big one was relief. They'd known this question was coming, and they knew that it would be problematic. The truth was that Treize had cheated. He'd used OZ's intelligence assets and satellites to detect the second enemy convoy. Granted, that was only after he'd guessed correctly that the convoy existed, but the confirmation he'd received from OZ was the key to his decision making.
The problem was that, for obvious reasons, Treize couldn't go out and say that. So now he had to spin the tale he'd told the Alliance—spin it enough that it looked like a very good guess with a logical basis, based only on the information available to everyone.
But since we knew someone had to ask the question, our hope was that Compton would be the one to ask it. He couldn't restrain himself, and it plays into our hands.
Zechs restrained the urge to smile. Everyone knows Compton hates Treize for making a fool of him over Lake Victoria. With him doing the questioning, Treize can emphasize Compton's antagonism and make Compton's anger the issue, rather than Treize's guesswork. By the end of it, Treize will have Compton screaming that the nukes at Pokhran didn't matter at all. That's something the Alliance brass won't buy—even the Alliance takes nuclear weapons very seriously. The more foolish Compton seems, the more righteous Treize seems, regardless of evidence.
Zechs didn't have to see Treize's face to know that the man was licking his chops. Zechs almost grimaced in sympathy for Compton. This is going to be ugly.
Zechs knocked on the door, right above the numbers 420.
Noin opened the door. "Welcome home. Please come in, Milliardo Peacecraft."
That name! Even to you I only said "Milliardo"! And you're welcoming me "home"?!
"You opened the paper," he said. Not accusingly, not gratefully, but with his typical inflectionless tone.
"Yes, I did." She stepped backwards; he followed her.
His mask was off the moment the door was closed.
He looked around. There, pinned above her desk, was the paper he'd given her, with the words written on it "Sanc Kingdom". "Noin…" he stopped. "Lucrezia. Yes, I am Milliardo Peacecraft, orphan prince of the Sanc Kingdom." The words flowed easily from his lips. Which was not surprising, given that he'd kept them bottled up for over a decade; it was amazing, if anything, that he didn't speak more quickly.
"The son of a pacifist… why did you, of all people, dedicate your life to being the perfect soldier?" she asked.
He sighed. "The Sanc Kingdom was a bastion of pacifism. Its rulers were dedicated to the notion of total pacifism, that mankind could overcome its will to fight and achieve peace for itself. But, for its non-compliance with the Alliance, it was overrun and destroyed."
"Don't tell me," said Noin. "Don't say you became a soldier to defend the notion of pacifism!"
He shook his head. "The Kingdom was already gone, the notion was lost. The ideal was as dead as my nation. No… I became a soldier to get revenge."
He chuckled lightly. "So odd. Of all people, myself, a man known for his rigorous control of his emotions, responded to such a base desire as revenge. But I did then, and I do now. As I grew older, I began thinking about the matter more seriously, and I decided that my hatred for the Alliance wasn't just that they destroyed my kingdom. A kingdom dedicated to pacifism is no threat to anybody, yet the Alliance felt it had to destroy the kingdom out of self-preservation. When you're threatened by peace, there is something wrong with you. Such an Alliance can't be allowed to exist. So, the further along my path I traveled, the deeper and more complex my motivations became.
"To enable my revenge, I crafted Zechs Marquise. It took me years to create new mannerisms, accents, and mindsets from my own. I even created a different set of morals and scruples for Zechs. This mask is the personification of this other-person, Zechs Marquise. At the same time, I learned all I could about mobile suits, because I knew that they would be my destiny. They would allow me to have the greatest impact."
He shook his head. "Now that I'm actually inside the Alliance, my determination has only waxed. I've seen first-hand the idiocy, callousness, greed, and wastefulness that permeate the Alliance. The Alliance has long-since outlived its usefulness—it was obsolete the moment it destroyed the Sanc Kingdom. I knew I couldn't do much, but I could do a little—even if I only killed a few of the Alliance's villains, that would be fewer left to run amuck on the world stage."
Noin nodded. "And then you met Treize."
"Well, more like Treize arranged our meeting," said Milliardo. "It was at a training exercise. We were on opposite sides of a very large battle, but by the end we'd fought each other to a draw. That alone was enough to attract my attention. He fought so differently from the rest of the Alliance—and so well! He was the first person who could match me on the battlefield. Afterwards we spoke, at length.
"By the end of our conversation, he'd revealed OZ to me, and told me of his plans to overthrow the Alliance. All he wanted was my fealty. I told him, eventually, that I had ulterior motives. I was as vague as possible, but I told him that I had another set of priorities to accomplish that weren't necessarily what he would want me to do. He told me he didn't care, that I would have free rein to accomplish those."
"And so you joined OZ," said Noin, guessing the rest, "because it hated the Alliance the same way you hate the Alliance."
Milliardo nodded. "That's fair, I think."
She shook her head. "But you did that without even thinking about the merits of OZ. Who's to say that a world under OZ's leadership won't be worse?"
"Yes, I was hasty," he said. "But… Treize Khushrenada gives me hope. I haven't had hope in a long time, so it appealed to me. Even now, I still hold out that Treize can bring peace."
"And if he can't?"
"Then I'll turn against OZ," Milliardo said. "I said already, I hate the Alliance more than I love OZ. If OZ is no better, I'll have no regrets fighting it." He smiled wryly. "I am getting pretty good at this soldier thing. I'll keep on fighting until I can find someone who's got it right."
"I hope that's not as long as I think it'll be," said Noin.
He laughed. "I hope so, too. I don't want to be Zechs Marquise forever. Someday I hope to live in a world where I can be Milliardo."
"Milliardo, monarch of the Sanc Kingdom?"
"It's too late for that," he said, his face growing dark. "I'm already one of the most famous soldiers in OZ, perhaps in the Alliance. I could never become a credible pacifist, let alone ruler of a pacifist nation."
She shook her head. "So the Sanc Kingdom really is dead."
"No," said Milliardo. "There is another."
"Another what?"
"The Alliance killed most of the royal family in their attack," he said, "but they missed two of them."
"Two!" she exclaimed. "If one of them is you, who's the other?"
"A girl. My sister," he said. "I haven't been able to find her—granted, my resources have been distinctly limited, but for the most part it would be very unsafe for me to go looking for her. But she is alive, of that I'm certain. And as long as she lives, the Sanc Kingdom has a chance live again." He clenched his fist. "If I could fight for that, maybe I could be a soldier and Milliardo at the same time. As it is, where I can only fight to destroy, I must be Zechs Marquise. But the day that I fight as Milliardo Peacecraft, I'll have found a way to bring peace to this world."
There was silence in the room. A long silence, as both parties absorbed the things he'd said.
"That's it," he said. "I have no more secrets. That's the lot of them."
"Well," said Lucrezia, "now I know what I'm really fighting for."
"And what's that?" asked Milliardo.
"The same as it always was," she said, smiling. "I fight for you."
He turned away to hide his blush. "Lucrezia, you… can't know how that affects me," he said. "This shame and fear I've lived with for so long, I… to hear you say those words now, after I've told you everything, is… why?" he asked desperately.
"Why what?"
"Why do you fight for me?" he said. "It doesn't… I can't understand. My own behavior shames me, yet you fight for me. What about me—this wretched coward who hides behind masks to satisfy primal desires, who bloodies his hands while prattling of justice… what can I possibly offer you?"
He shook his head, confusion evident in his unmasked eyes. "It's not as if I can give you anything; it's not as if I can change the object of my life at this point. I can't not be a soldier, even as Milliardo; so long as there's war I must be a part of it, and there will always be war. So why? Why fight for me?"
He turned back to her with his last words, begging for an answer—and found her staring hard at him, her face angry. "Do you think so little of me," she said, "that I would love this person you have just described?"
His mind blanked out—he was stunned. He lost all forms of expression. He had to hear more or be paralyzed forever.
She softened her gaze now, and began to speak in a tone he'd never heard before. "Milliardo… I never wanted to join the Alliance, you know. To this day, I think that the only reason I applied to Lake Victoria was because it was free education. I tested out so highly in their aptitude tests they were willing to do anything to get me there. I had the head for the military, but I didn't have the heart.
"So there I was, a brand new student-soldier with no direction and no purpose. That's when I met you. I saw you passing by one day, wearing your mask, with your chin set in the I'm-on-a-mission way only you can do. Some seniors nearby were whispering about you. I went up to those people and I said to them, "Don't mock him! Anyone wearing a mask has a very good reason!""
She smiled in the remembrance. "I never told you that story, did I?"
He shook his head. "I never heard anything about that."
"But I remember it clearly," she said. "Milliardo, you're the most dedicated person I've met, but you're also the most doubting. The reason you continue to impress me is exactly because you hold yourself to such rigorous standards. I know, when you decide to do something, that it's what you feel is truly righteous. And that… confidence…" she trailed off.
He didn't say anything, so she tried again. "After all, how many people have the strength of mind to create a whole new persona for themselves, keeping to it absolutely?"
She looked away from him. "As I got to know you better," she went on, "I realized a lot of what you just now told me. You don't give me enough credit, Milliardo. I could sense you hiding more than just your face with that mask. One of the things that infuriates those around you is how much you sound like a penitent—even as you prove your superiority as a soldier and a person. But I knew you well enough to be sure that you had reasons for acting that way. And the more I found out about you, the more I wanted to know."
She smiled. "I admired your strength. And I admired how you had done so much just by deciding what was most important to you. So I decided I wasn't going to be aimless anymore. I decided that you were the most important thing to me. I decided that I would fight for you, because I loved you."
She stopped speaking, but Milliardo's panic continued to rise. In jerky motions, Zechs grabbed for his mask.
As his hand reached the mask, hers grabbed his wrist. "Why?" was all she said.
He trembled. Hesitated, the seconds stretching out into miniature eternities.
"Lucrezia…" his voice trembled more than his hands. "…If I… say anything… back to you… I'll… I won't be able to be Zechs Marquise any longer. If I… say… if I let you be the… the most important thing…" he broke from her grasp and pushed the mask onto his face, hiding the turbulent emotions as they broke through his control.
Lucrezia withdrew her hand—and smiled. "It's okay," she said. "I knew it had to be like this when I decided to love you. I understand. Things will be just as they were before." Zechs finally understood her smile. It was the smile of someone who has every reason to cry and is choosing not to. It was the smile of someone who was trying to find happiness by letting him not love her.
He lingered, that pitiable face etching itself into his memory—and then rushed from the spot, before he broke down.
Lucrezia… it's not just that I can't let myself love you. It's that I'm incapable of loving you the way that you deserve.
But one thought burned in the corner of his brain, a renegade thought he dared not think too often.
What's most important. I'm trying to tell myself that I would sacrifice anything for what's most important. So far in my life, that's exactly what I've done. But if she…
That face appeared again, and it wouldn't leave his consciousness.
If she stood between me and what's most important… could I…
Could I…
Kill her?
And he broke into a sprint, trying to get away from her. But he couldn't escape his own thoughts.
The next day, Zechs and Noin met to discuss the training regimen at Victoria and how best to incorporate Aires training. They didn't talk, gesture, or act any differently than they always had.
They were very careful to make sure that was the case.
They were careful again the next time they met, three days later. And again four days after that. Two days later they met again, and they were no less careful.
Denial gets easier with practice.
Zechs was standing on a lift, headed towards the cockpit of his Aires, when he noticed something strange. He stopped the lift and moved it over towards the Aires' left. Yes, that was odd… he'd never seen a weld like that before. He dropped back to ground level and scanned around for a mechanic.
"Excuse me," he called to one. When the mechanic had joined him, Zechs pointed at the Aires. "Is there something different about this Aires? I noticed a few welds in odd places."
The mechanic grimaced. "You noticed, sir? I'm sorry, they must be left over from my restoration job."
"Restoration?" Zechs stood there, not comprehending. "Is this…?"
"Yes, sir," said the mechanic. "This is the Aires you took with you to Pokhran."
"But that Aires was all but destroyed!" Zechs exclaimed.
"I'm not denying it was a challenge," said the mechanic modestly. "Still, I'm embarrassed that you noticed its imperfections. I suppose I need more practice."
"Mizer! What are you doing, chatting idly…" the voice trailed off as its owner, the lead mechanic, noticed Zechs. "Sorry, sir. I didn't know the two of you were working."
"You rebuilt the Aires I took to Pokhran?" said Zechs, still amazed.
"Actually, Mizer rebuilt it, sir," said the head mechanic. "I said we should scrap the whole thing and use what was left for parts, but he said no, let him have a crack at it. And, well, I'll be darned if it doesn't run at least as well as it did before!"
"The fact that it hadn't failed you meant it was a faithful machine," said Mizer, "and I hate more than anything to let a faithful machine die. It was a nightmare, sir. The gyro and balance systems were totally shot, most of the structural supports on the left were worthless, and the left engine is more replacement parts than original ones. Even so, I know it won't fail you, sir. I'll guarantee it."
Zechs suddenly felt a great deal of affection for his Aires—and more than a little respect for Mizer. "Thank you for your hard work. I'll try to bring it back in one piece, next time."
"Thank you, sir. And if you don't, I'd be honored to work on it again."
Zechs added Mizer to his mental list of extraordinary people. He would use that man again, certainly.
"Sir," said Zechs.
"Yes, my friend?" asked Treize.
"I've completed my assessment of the Aires. I have mastered this mobile suit." Zechs let himself a smile. "I've even come up with a few things no one intended the design to do."
"And my associates in Romefeller have completed work on the heavier weapons you requested," Treize said.
"In… Romefeller?" Zechs said.
"That's why it's called a military-industrial complex," said Treize, a smile on his face.
Well, it makes sense. I just didn't expect him to say it like that.
"Prototypes are on their way to you," Treize continued.
"Excellent," said Zechs. "I'm ready to hold a training course for the first round of students."
"The ones who'll become instructors for others?"
"Exactly," said Zechs. "Just as we did with the Leo. I'm transmitting a list of the personnel I plan to train. You, of course, have authority to edit the list as you wish."
Treize smiled inscrutably. "Second Lieutenant Lucrezia Noin is on your list again. I still haven't met this woman."
Zechs turned his eyes away from the monitor. "You said I need only introduce you if I wanted to."
"Of course, forgive me." Treize apologized without dropping his smile. "In any event, I want you to keep something in mind."
"What, sir?"
"These training exercises are your top priorities, but events in the outside world are speeding up," Treize said solemnly. "The rumbles of discontent beneath Alliance rule are growing louder and more violent. The attack on Pokhran marked a turning point. Since the destruction of the Sanc Kingdom, the enforced peace of the Alliance has reigned without much resistance. That's over. We will be very busy soldiers, Zechs."
"I understand, sir," Zechs answered. "We'll bring live ammunition with us, this time."