Trowa had been at his post in the ballroom when what sounded like an explosion had rocked the palace. Overhead, the giant chandeliers swayed violently, their hundreds of dangling crystals clacking madly. The guests started screaming.
He took off in the direction of the blast, skidding out into the hall ahead of the terrified guests who seemed to think that one person heading for the door meant "stampede". He stopped in the middle of the hall, mouth agape, as he saw what had caused the "explosion". A giant mobile suit hand had punched its way straight through the wall of the palace. And it was made of gundanium. A Gundam! he realized. Men armed with machine guns were climbing in through the hole surrounding the suit's hand. No uniform—just a ragtag and very scruffy looking bunch in street clothes. They weren't important.
He sprinted for the main entrance as the men opened fire. Bullets zipped by on all sides. A woman behind him shrieked. He didn't look back to see if she had been hit. He didn't want to know. He dove for the entrance's metal detectors to give him some cover, letting the momentum carry him safely out the door left open by the fleeing guests. Picking himself up, he headed for the car park. His truck—the giant flatbed—sat at the back of the lot, taking up most of eight spaces. On it, underneath the gray tarps, was his Gundam, Heavyarms.
He had no idea why he had felt the compulsion to bring it. Catherine had called him nuts. If the reporters that had been poking around all day had found the Gundam, it would have been a disaster played out through the media. The general populace felt there was no place for mobile suits in this post-war world.
Which would be true, he thought as he pulled the tarps off and then clambered up on to the back of the truck, except we just can't seem to put all the fighting behind us. He pulled himself up on to Heavyarms' chest and opened the hatch, lowering himself into the pilot's seat. Strapping himself in, he started up the mobile suit. The deep rumbling of the Gundam coming to life echoed in his chest, right behind his sternum. "How long has it been?" he asked himself out loud. A gauge above his head beeped at him. Low on ammo. His nod to peace—not keeping the Heavyarms fully armed. Anyway, it was almost impossible to obtain ammunition these days. He had a cache hidden away in Duo and Hirde's scrap yard, but that wasn't going to do any good here.
Careful of the truck, he brought the Gundam up into a standing position. "Unidentified mobile suit," he called over the radio, "Withdraw now or be destroyed." People, small as ants below him, scurried madly, trying to get away. He hoped they succeeded before the fight started. "I repeat, unidentified mobile suit, withdraw now or I will destroy you."
The jade green suit retracted its hand and straightened to face him. The suit's eyes flashed eerie electric green through the growing darkness. "That's the Gundam OZ called 03, isn't it?" the enemy pilot said over the radio. The voice was distorted by static and a heavy Asian accent, but it was still distinctly female. "The Gundam Heavyarms."
Trowa tensed, hand poised over the control to open fire. "Retreat now," he warned, one last time.
"I don't think so," she replied. He could hear the sneer in her voice. "This is Wren Davis, pilot of the Gundam Dragonbreak. Prepare to fight, Trowa Barton." The enemy Gundam raised its gatling gun and started shooting. His hand came down on the button, and the Heavyarms let loose with all it had. One volley, that's all the ammo he had. Once it was free, he dropped the arm and pulled out the small knife that had been designed as his melee weapon. The radar screamed at him as it acquired a new target—a shuttle making tracks away from the palace.
She laughed and pulled a beam saber out of a compartment in her suit's arm. "So this is the great Trowa Barton?" She lunged, and he brought his knife up to parry. The energy weapon struck metal with a shriek of distress that made him wince. He slid to the side, the Gundam's foot ripping up the grass on the lawn and displacing about a foot of earth, as he broke the contact. The radar went wild again as an Aries lifted up out of the trees and zoomed off after the shuttle. Heero, he thought. Had to be. He back-flipped the Heavyarms to avoid a hacking slash from the other Gundam. He couldn't win this fight—she was too heavily armed, ironically, compared to him—but there was no one else to face her. "I'm used to losing battles," Trowa whispered as he snuck a cut of his own in. The knife nicked off the jade-painted surface of the suit's hip, leaving a small scrape in the metal. Not enough. He backed off…waited…
She lunged. Slashed. Hacked. He dodged it all. But he didn't return the attack, not yet. "What are you doing?" she demanded, "Why won't you fight me? Give me an honorable fight, damn it!" She dropped the beam saber, still activated, to the ground. The grass beneath it burst into flames that shot out across the lawn. She didn't seem to care. "What's wrong with you?" she screamed over the radio. "Do you want to die, Trowa Barton? Is that it?"
"My name isn't Trowa Barton," his voice was low, hardly more than a whisper, but it carried over the radio.
"Then what is it?"
"I don't have a name," he replied. "I am nothing more than a nameless, faceless soldier on the battlefield. That is where I live, and that is where I will die. But not today. I will not die today."
"Then fight, person-without-a-name," she growled. "I…" There was a burst of static as the transmission was cut—overlaid by an incoming signal that his communication's package couldn't decrypt—momentarily. He reached down with one of Heavyarms' massive hands and picked up the beam saber, thumbing it off. He held it out to her, butt pointed towards the other Gundam. A risk, since she could easily activate it while taking it from him. Somehow, he doubted she would. The static faded away, and her voice came back over the radio. "I am afraid we will have to finish this later." The enemy mobile suit accepted the saber from him and saluted him with it before returning it to its compartment. "Until then." The Gundam leaped upward, transforming into a shuttle form similar to Wing Zero's before zooming off westward.
Trowa watched its white contrails slowly dissipate into the oranges and lavenders of the setting sun. It had been a long time since he had anyone to fight…besides himself.
"What do you think of my little distraction?" D. asked when his call got patched through to her. She had allowed visuals, for once, and he could see that she absolutely pleased with herself. The half of her mouth not hidden by the mask she always wore was curled upwards in a cruel smile.
"Is that what you're calling it now? Abducting Relena Darlian is nothing more than a distraction?" J. felt outrage rush through him. He had a bit of a soft spot for Relena—the girl had spunk even if her Peacecraft philosophies were foolish tripe. Secretly, he hoped the Aries would be able to intercept the kidnappers' shuttle.
"It worked, didn't it? Everybody will be so busy looking for the Vice Foreign Minister and that new Gundam that they won't notice our main agenda until it is too late." She folded her arms across her chest and glared through the monitor at J., daring him to argue.
Dr. J., though, was not going to let it go. "You sent the Dragonbreak? I thought it was only eighty percent completed!"
She nodded. "It was functional enough for our purposes. After all, in this time of world peace, who is able to oppose a Gundam?"
He shook his head but kept silent. There was madness in her brown eyes. Today was obviously not one of her rational days. She was having fewer and fewer of those lately, and it worried him. Again, he questioned the logic of following a mad woman…but then, he remembered his oath and, as he gazed through the static-fuzzed screen at the cold silver mask that hid her ruined face, he knew he would keep it. He owed her that much, at least. "Very well," he said, "I will call off Dacia and Heero. They were in pursuit of the shuttle."
"Heero? Heero Yuy?" D. leaned forward in her chair—her expression changing from smug confidence to an almost childish eagerness. He waited. Then, her face—what was not hidden by the mask—fell, and she slumped back in her chair. "Oh, the boy. Yes, well, call them off…I can't have them interfering. The girl did get the plans, didn't she?" He nodded. "Send them to me. I will speak with you later." The tone of her voice suggested that it would not be a pleasant talk. The transmission ended, leaving the old scientist staring at a blank screen.
He turned on the radio and adjusted it to the Aries' frequency. "Red, this is J. Come in Red." Static hissed back at him. "Red, this is J., come in," he repeated. Still nothing but static. Why weren't they answering?
At the bottom of a man-made lake northeast of the palace in Prague, a little fish exploring a new cave heard something it had never heard before. "…cia, Heero…come in…copy?"