Chapter One

SSDF Orbital Station 002
Mars orbit
(Approximately three thousand years later…)

Seto Kaiba awoke with a strangled scream echoing in his mind.

Panting as if he had just run a marathon, he lay frozen as the last vestige of the dream released him from its hold. Gradually, the scarlet visions of blood--on his hands, on his clothes, everywhere he looked--retreated back into the darkness that had spawned them.

He sat up, struggled to free himself from the tangled sheets, and palmed on the bedside lamp. His heart was pounding as if it would break free of its cage of bone and fly out of his chest. Sweat beaded on his skin and plastered his hair to his forehead. He slumped back against the cool plastic of the headboard and forced himself to breathe deeply until his racing heartbeat calmed. He scrubbed one hand over his face, then shoved his trembling fingers through his sweat-matted hair, roughly combing the tangled strands off his forehead.

Third time in as many nights, and the nightmares were becoming more vivid with each repetition. He was both thankful and frustrated that the dream images dissipated upon his waking, leaving him with a vague impression of horror and blood -- and the soul-deep sense that he had lost something of great importance. That feeling continued to haunt him even after the dreams had faded, and he would spend the rest of the day feeling irritable and jumping at shadows.

With a weary groan, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, not for the first time grateful for the privacy offered him by his small, one bedroom apartment. If not for his position as an elite Duel Mech pilot, he would be stuck in bachelor officers' quarters with the rest of the unmarried pilots. There were definite perks to being one of the very small group of pilots who could form a workable gestalt with their mecha. Of course, the biggest perk was merging with his mech. Becoming the Blue-Eyes White Dragon made risking his life and sanity worthwhile.

The red numbers on the digital alarm clock showed it was still two hours until his duty shift, but he stumbled to the bedroom door and padded down the short hallway to where his brother slept on the pull-out sofa. Here was another perk: his little brother, whole and safe (as safe as anyone could be in wartime), and far, far away from their father -- or what was left of him. Seto clung to the hope that Gozaburo Kaiba wasn't much of a threat to anyone anymore, except maybe in his sons' nightmares. But sometimes it was harder to make himself believe that. While it was true that Gozaburo's body was mere ashes now, it remained to be seen if the evil the man had done, like that of Caesar, lived after him.

Seto shook himself, forcing those dark thoughts to the back of his mind, where they normally lurked, by sheer willpower. In the here and now, Mokuba was curled on his side, hands fisted in the thick gray blanket clutched beneath his chin. Mokuba sighed softly as Seto smoothed the covers over Mokuba's back, then tucked the blanket more securely around the sleeping boy.

It always amazed him that Mokuba could sleep so soundly on the pull-out bed. Seto had put in a request for larger quarters, an apartment with a separate bedroom for Mokuba, but the requisition order hadn't been approved yet. Most Anchors slept in BOQ, as did most pilots; even the much-decorated 'Dark Magician,' before his recent elevation in rank, had been quartered there. But Seto had demanded, and gotten, individual quarters from the first. He preferred that no one other than his little brother be aware of the nightmares which plagued his sleep; if he could, he would have kept Mokuba in the dark about them as well. As it was, he had so far managed to avoid letting his fellow pilots --and the staff psychologist-- in on his shameful secret. And he intended to keep it that way.

Reassured that Mokuba had not been disturbed by his nightmare, Seto retreated to the bathroom where he cranked up the shower as hot and hard as it would go and stepped under the pounding water. He stood under the punishing spray until his skin was red and tingling, and he felt almost human again. Resolutely, he ignored the odor of blood lingering in his nostrils…and the scream still ringing in his ears.

Two hours later, when Mokuba wandered into the tiny kitchenette in search of breakfast, he found Seto asleep at the kitchen table, his head pillowed on his folded arms and a cold cup of coffee beside him.

"Nightmares, again, big brother?" Mokuba murmured sadly, looking down at the strained expression on his brother's face.

Even in sleep, Seto Kaiba seemed unable to relax his guard. Mokuba's frown deepened. Yet another legacy from their father. His hands clenched involuntarily into fists. He hated Gozaburo Kaiba for everything that the man had done to Seto, and for everything from which Seto had been forced to shield Mokuba. In his never-ending quest to 'make Seto strong', Gozaburo had come close to destroying him. It was something for which Mokuba would never forgive Gozaburo -- or his memory. If their uncle had not taken care of the final arrangements, the Kaiba brothers would have cheerfully dumped their father's ashes in the nearest landfill and been done with him. As it was, the memorial service had been a tense affair. In that, at least, it had differed little from every other family function Mokuba could remember attending.

Mokuba sighed and forced his suddenly tensed body to relax. Seto had managed to shield him from the worst of their father's excesses, but just the thought of Gozaburo triggered a fight or flight response Mokuba doubted he would ever outgrow. Seto's reactions were more extreme, more…disturbing. Mokuba shuddered suddenly, despite the fact that the room was quite warm. He remembered all too well Seto's last confrontation with Gozaburo. It was something he prayed daily never to witness again. A glance at the clock on the microwave informed him it was time for them to go to work. Cautiously, because waking Seto was not an action to be taken lightly even by him, he reached out to gently touch his brother's shoulder.

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From the moment he woke up from yet another nightmare, Yami had known that the day was not going to go well. Bleary-eyed from lack of restful sleep, he managed to burn his eggs, spill coffee all over his clean uniform shirt (which necessitated a hasty change before dashing out of his billet), and to nearly flatten an unlucky Valkyrie pilot in the curving hallway as he raced toward his office in the lower ring of the orbital station.

So it was only natural that the first person to demand his attention was none other than the last person he wanted to see.

"Well, well, well. Look what we have here."

The voice was cultured, aristocratic…and overflowing with an all-too-familiar contempt. Yami didn't have to look over his shoulder to know that the voice belonged to Seto Kaiba. He suppressed a groan and forced himself to ignore the glare he could feel boring into his back as he kept walking. The pilot followed, obviously determined not to give up his favorite game so easily.

"Decided to slum it down here with us lowly pilots?" Seto continued, voice coming closer as his long strides easily caught up to Yami, then swept past him. Seto halted, feet braced wide apart, hands outstretched at his sides as he towered over Yami, effectively blocking the corridor.

"What's the matter, Major?" Seto stressed Yami's new rank mockingly. "Too good to speak to me, now that you've moved up in the world?"

"I don't have time for this, Seto." Yami knew he sounded every bit as weary as he felt, but couldn't bring himself to care. "Did you want something or are you just trying to get a rise out of me, as usual?"

"Why, Major!" Seto feigned surprise. "Are you accusing me of insubordination?"

Yami's mouth settled into a thin white line as he tried not to rise to the bait, but someone else answered for him.

"If the shoe fits, Captain Kaiba--"

Neither man turned, but Seto spared the newcomer a narrow glance over one broad shoulder.

"Stay out of this, Lieutenant," he snapped, only the narrowing of his eyes betraying his agitation at having his Yami-baiting interrupted.

"Why don'tcha make me, you jerk?" Joey Wheeler took up a flanking position, shoulder to shoulder with Yami, as ready to be his wingman on the ground as he had been in the skies. He shot a look at his buddy that said as clearly as words 'I got your back.' Yami acknowledged it with a grateful nod.

"If that's all," Yami said, with a dismissive glance at Seto, "I have work to do."

"Oh, yes, of course! The hero has to get to his desk or else the world as we know it might end."

"Hey, you shut yer trap, you bastard!" Joey shot back at him, jabbing a finger into the other pilot's face. "Yami's work is important and you damn well know it."

Seto snorted. "Some of us have real work to do."

"Why, you--"

"Forget it, Joey," Yami said, sparing Kaiba a cold glare, but otherwise not reacting to the jibe. "Let him get on with his 'real work'. I believe you have a patrol scheduled, Captain Kaiba?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" Seto snapped off an equally mocking salute. "Of course, you would know, wouldn't you? Now that you're flying a desk, tucked in all nice and cozy at HQ, you can sit back and watch while the real pilots do the dirty work. And to think, it only took your partner's death to set you up with such a cushy job--"

The only thing stopping Yami's lunge for Seto's throat was Joey's firm grip on his upper arms. Gritting his teeth as he struggled against the wiry former-pilot's surprising strength, Joey said, "Yami, don't! He ain't worth it. And Anzu wouldn't want to see ya court-martialed for the likes of him."

Reluctantly, Yami relaxed his stance. He drew himself up, his features hardening once more into an unreadable mask. "You're right," he said, and his voice held every bit as much contempt as Seto's had. "I've better things to do with my time. Excuse me."

With that, Yami turned on his heel and, back ramrod straight, stalked off toward his office. He didn't look back.

Behind him, Joey wheeled on Seto, his fury startling the other pilot enough to make him fall back half a step. "Just what the hell do you think you're doin', Kaiba?"

"Shut up and mind your own business, Wheeler." Seto had recovered his poise, blue eyes cold as he glared down his nose at Joey. "This is between me and Yami."

"You're one cold-blooded son of a bitch, you know that? I don't know how you can live with yourself." Joey's light tenor had dropped to a guttural snarl that was almost unrecognizable as his voice.

Surprise flickered briefly across Seto's face before his usual, haughty mask settled back into place. "Have you forgotten that you're speaking to a superior officer, Lieutenant?"

"There's nothing 'superior' about you, Kaiba, except maybe the size of your damn ego. How could you do that to him? Don't you know what today is?"

Seto's brows drew together in a frown as he concentrated, a minute shake of his head all the confirmation Joey needed. His righteous fury ratcheted up another notch and it was all he could do to stop his fist from knocking that oh-so-smug expression off Kaiba's face.

"I can see ya don't, you lousy asshole." Joey was practically vibrating with anger, his fists clenched at his sides. Only sheer willpower -- and the knowledge that he couldn't afford a disciplinary grounding right now -- kept him from introducing said fists to Kaiba's face. Neither, however, stopped him from shoving his face into Kaiba's until they were practically nose to nose.

"Lieutenant Anzu Mazaki, Yami's Anchor," he ground out, through clenched teeth, "was killed exactly a year ago today."

Without waiting to see the effect of this revelation, Joey shoved Seto roughly aside and stormed off down the corridor after his best friend. Like Yami, he didn't look back -- and so missed the momentary flash of dismay that flickered over Seto's face. The truth was, he hadn't remembered that this was the anniversary of Mazaki's death. But he shoved his unease aside and squared his shoulders. For the space of a single heartbeat, he allowed himself to close his eyes. When he opened them, the mask was back in place, and he was 'Captain Kaiba' again. The familiar smirk settled onto his lips as, shoulders back, head held high, he stalked toward the hangar bay.

He was the greatest pilot the Solar System had ever known, and he had no time for petty regrets. Unlike some, he had real work to do, smashing the forces of the alien invaders and saving the worlds, instead of hiding behind the dubious safety of a desk. So why did his stomach clench at the memory of the accusation in Wheeler's voice -- and the stark grief in Yami's eyes?

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"Why do you put up with that guy, anyway?" Joey demanded, catching up with Yami at the door to Yami's office. If Joey had been in charge, Kaiba would've been busted so low he would have to salute the janitorial robots.

"In case you've forgotten, Duel Mecha pilots are at a premium and he's the best we have on active duty." Yami rolled his eyes. "And, unfortunately, he's also my cousin."

"Oh. Yeah." Joey scratched at the back of his neck, ducking his head sheepishly. In the heat of the moment, he had forgotten that particular point. He dragged his fingers through his shaggy mop of blond hair. "Guess ya can't exactly choose your family, huh? Sorry 'bout that."

Yami sighed. "You and me both."

The lights came up as Yami keyed open the door, the envirocomputer automatically adjusting the room's settings to 'work mode' now that it was occupied. Yami slumped into the cracked synth-leather chair behind his equally battered desk and watched with a dull, disinterested gaze as the work station built into the desk booted up. After a moment, he spoke again, almost to himself.

"We've never really gotten along, you know. Not even when we were kids. Our fathers were…Well, 'rivals' doesn't even begin cover it. Our family get-togethers tended to have body counts." Yami discarded that uncomfortable line of thought with a slight shake of his head and a sigh. He straightened, expression all business as he eyed Joey. "I know Seto has a patrol. And, unless I'm greatly mistaken, so do you."

"Don't remind me!" Joey switched to his patented wheedling tone. "You could change that, you know, ol' buddy ol' pal..."

Yami looked suddenly thoughtful. "Maybe Seto has a point. You are getting insubordinate…"

Joey snapped to mock attention. "Sir, yes, sir! Lieutenant Joseph Wheeler reporting for duty, sir!"

Yami snorted. "You're lucky you're a Duel Mech pilot, Joey. You wouldn't survive ten minutes in the regular forces."

"Tell me somethin' I don't know. Sir." Joey smirked, relaxing back into his habitual slouch. Yami frowned at him and he grinned unrepentantly, striking a pose. "What? The regular forces don't deserve the wonder that is me."

"Well, you're half right." Yami managed a lopsided smirk of his own. "Now, get out of here. Some of us have more important things to do than irritate our superior officers."

"Yami…" Joey managed to sound both pitying and scornful. "There is nothing more important than that."

Yami threw a stylus at him.

"Okay, okay! I'm goin'!"

Since Yami's grounding, Joey had been flying with Seto. It had been, in his opinion, twelve months of pure hell. But the limited number of AI-enhanced combat robots, dubbed "Duel Mecha" by their pilots because of their resemblance to the creatures in the popular card game Duel Monsters, made it a necessity. That didn't mean he had to like it, though.

Joey tossed off a sloppy salute as he sauntered out the door. "Catch ya later, Major. And don't worry. I'll show Captain Blue-Eyes how it's done."

"Just come back in one piece, Joey." The quiet words were spoken with all the sincerity of a prayer.

Joey nodded. "You know it, pal."

Yami nodded as well. His solemn gaze followed Joey until the pilot was out of sight.