Archangel's Amazing Adventures

by CSS Stravag

Mass Crossover fic. Chapter 51 UP! Powerful magic draws the Archangel and the ZAFT Creuset Team into a world of magic and intrigue like nothing imagined by the straight-laced CE residents. Their battles on Cephiro are only the beginning of their nightmarish journey as they give Odysseus a run for his money in the 'bizarre trip home' category...

27. Ends And Beginnings

(Archangel's Amazing Adventures, Set 3, Chapter 11: Ends and Beginnings)

(10 May 987)

"Fine weather for campaigning," Lord Cyan notes in a low, directed whisper as he looks through Natarle's binoculars at the town.

"Better than some of the battles we've been in," Natarle confirms. Cyan was using her binoculars for the moment to analyze the buildings of Jidoor while Natarle was using 'mark-1 eyeball' (1) to check for possible human activity.

"By what they have on the outskirts to town in sentry, likely there shall be few of them with combat skill," Cyan declares. "Shall we be off, milady?"

"A moment, I shall fell the sentries," Natarle declares as she fits the silencer she had prepared for her rifle onto the barrel. A monstrous device, the suppression quality it gave to her weapon was phenomenal, but for general room-clearing purpose it made her rifle too long and changed the balance. The optics she carried on the weapon were no less stellar, of course, being purchased on Twycross for just the purpose. She flipped down the bipod that was standard on the assault rifle, then sighted up the farthest of the two sentries. When the nearer of the two looked to her right and away from the other, she fired a round with an initial aimpoint six centimeters above his head. Gravity did the rest as it dragged the flying .308-caliber round down and into the hollow of his left eye. With that accomplished, she sighted up the other of the two sentries and waited for him to turn on his downed friend, then fired the same distance above. The helmet he was wearing provided no protection against the standard 185-grain FMJ round that entered the side wall of it, eventually bringing that sentry to the ground as well. With two silenced shots, there was no guard on the south perimeter of town, meaning they would be largely uncontested going in.

Damn, I'm even beginning to sound like the natives, Natarle thinks as she jumps up to join the crew headed north from the treeline outside town.

A Battalion had been assigned to a rather unpleasant task: take Jidoor, then release it. There would be no Imperial-style tactics or policies of taking and holding territory where they were not welcome. The objective was to eliminate all armed resistance, and simply fade away, actions as a clear warning that their hostile raiding of convoys headed from Kohlingen to Zozo (Which had been cleaned up with the deployment of a Battalion and a few Espers to said city) would not go unpunished. These persons who had committed wholesale slaughter of civilians, men, women and children, were to be executed on sight. Such were the orders of the King of Figaro, who had no tolerance for dishonorable larceny and piracy.

Natarle had taken up the challenge. The strike, as was laid out, had been her plan. The one sop to the matter at hand was that the strike would use almost completely local resources and personnel, despite the fact that Natarle wanted to do it with the Commando Team. There were two of the Light Machine Guns from the Archangel on her left flank, the area of expected heaviest resistance, and her assault rifle with scope and silencer, and that was it. Everything else was the local-manufacture heavy machine gun or the Enfield bolt action rifle, with a few anti-tank rockets here and there just in case of the worst case.

Aerial reconnaissance of the town by the Skygrasper had netted good, hard intel on civilian structures, commercial structures, and deployment of sentries. It had also scared them into a week lull in raiding actions while Natarle and Lord Cyan worked out an assault plan. Narshe Jaegers had verified that the raiders were indeed deploying from the town, meaning that these were not bandit attacks as was initially feared, but were indeed a concerted effort at undermining Figaro authority over Zozo and renewed cooperation with Kohlingen (after a new mayor had been instilled in the town).

And now, 'the final ten percent' as it was always called in Natarle's academy days. The final execution of effort is pulling off the plan, and for that Natarle was just as ready as the rest of the unit.

The two hundred meter charge across the open territory to the southern territory of the town was strangely quiet. Natarle did not expect complete surprise as they approached, she expected some dumb watchman to call out attack and stir the people to action, yet no such cry came into the air. Even as her platoon approached the corner of the outskirts house, nothing was heard even after she approached the far-side corner and did a quick sweep around to verify there were no concealed sentries.

"Be there a lack of persons with spine in this town?" Cyan asks from right behind Natarle.

"I am beginning to believe the same—" her sentence was ended by the wailing of some lady as she ran northward from a house west of where Natarle stood, screaming about an invasion. Of which she was right, of course, but not for the reason she thought she was right. Natarle tracked her with sights on, but did not fire as the unit's mandate was to minimize civilian casualties.

Of the resistance generated by her wailing, two young screaming bucks, one with dual wheel-lock pistols and the other with a saber, tried moving against the oncoming Battalion. The one with the pistols crumpled in a bloody heap under rifle fire from the Doma contingent of the force, 3rd Company, taking no less than a dozen hits in the space of a second and a dozen more in the next two. The fop hit the ground in a bloody, soggy mess, his pistols unfired. The one with the saber fared no better, his flashing blade clear warning to the Narshe Jaegers that this guy was not playing nice and a single aimed body shot to the sternum brought him to the ground skidding and rolling, his death assured.

With that accomplished, there was effectively no hiding the fact that the force was there any more. "Surprising, our stealth lasted this far, better than I expected," Natarle declares before she strips the silencer off the end of her rifle. "Advance slow, eyes on the windows and be wary of possible lateral ambushes. Move out!"

The Battalion moved out slow and cautious now, since they had the possibility of lateral ambushes and vertical envelopment (some of the buildings were three or four stories tall), they had to make sure that the area they were approaching and entering was not hostile. A simple enough task, given that the infantry entering the town may have outnumbered the whole town population, much less any armed parties within. Street by street, building by building they advanced, the sight of civilians at their windows watching their actions was unsettling to Natarle but so far none of them were stupid enough to try shooting. The silence, though unsettling, was far preferable to the outright sound of massed gunfire that Natarle did not want ot hear today.

"Commander, we've got somethin' up in the center area of town," a Jaeger Private from the Narshe Jaegers declares after worming his way back to where Natarle and Lord Cyan were. " 'Bout a hundred guys with hunting rifles waiting in half-ass ambush, probably for us."

"Best course?" Natarle asks as she unfolds her map and holds it against the nearby wall for them to plot out. The map was a composite of aerial recon photos, giving them immense detail of the structures if lacking in accurate intelligence on where people were right now.

"Use these alleys here to force them into a limited fire field—or even enter and clear these buildings on these sides of the clearing and plunge fire into them." If anything, Narshe Jaeger were not afraid of the principle 'vertical envelopment', given that most of their hometown was built into the walls of a canyon in the mountains that made it famous as a mining town. There were areas of the town where you could literally shoot at someone five hundred meters south of where you stood, and be shooting at them from an altitude of 500 meters or greater. The Jaeger were trained in such combat and excelled at it, now more so with the introduction of the Enfield Rifle.

"That's how we'll do it, then. Radio team, pass the word around that all companies are to approach the central square cautiously and take up positions on the perimeter in buildings while minimizing exposure to the enemy riflemen." Within moments the radio operators were to their handsets, relaying the orders to the company commanders to enact the move-and-fire plan. "Private, relay to your commander to have the Jaegers start moving around the area toward the rear of the enemy ambush. With a lot more and a lot better guns in every direction, they may grow a brain and surrender," Natarle orders.

Not bloody likely, the Jaeger Private thinks but does not say. "As ordered, Commander," and he was moving away before Natarle could begin folding her map back up to continue the movement with the rest of the battalion command section.

The whole force was shifting location, and despite the main resistance being in the center of the town by accounts, there was still quite a bit of skirmishing being done almost entirely by the remnants of the few fighting-capable men in the town not set up for a blatantly obvious ambush. Natarle saw no more action as she followed the command section in approach march, though when she did near the town center there was some sporadic gunfire from first company.

The teams basically converged on the center of the town as per Natarle's battleplan almost completely at the same time, and by taking the houses and commercial buildings first they gave themselves the benefit of a covered structure to use as a defensive position. The only downside was that some of the enemy was smart (dumb) enough to do so as well. Natarle watched from the east perimeter of the area as one of the buildings on the opposite side was site of a scene only seen in real life, as one of the Doma troops entered the top floor to take plunging fire and was accosted by someone in the house using it as a sniper's perch. After a bit of a physical struggle, the local was butt-stroked out the window he was prior aiming through, to fall two stories and land with a sickening crack of bone and back; the trooper, then a moment later a machine gun, now occupied the broken window, aiming at the cluster of people with rifles in the center of the area.

The scene was repeated several times over, though in many cases not violently, as more and more Infantry took buildings and took position to give them hell. After enough time, with windows and doors now glistening with bayonets perched on the ends of rifles, the sound of Enfield bolts being drawn back and locked in load was sinister and creepy in no other fashion to the civilian militia now trapped on three sides by the people they were supposed to entrap themselves. Natarle could tell the enemy was about to break in one fashion or another, be it surrender or fight.

From the corner upon which she was braced, watching the actions of the enemy, she could see the horrid fate coming. One of them leveled a rifle in her direction and fired; the shot passed by her once, struck a stone wall, and bounced back into her. It was just her luck that the bounce shot missed her body armor and penetrated the back of her left shoulder, driving her whole body into the wall she was braced against, and causing her to screech in pain as she recoiled back from the wall.

"Hold, milady," the company commander of the Narshe Jaegers half-shouts over the sounds of a few more rifled musket shots, though those hits did not get close to her. The Captain in question pressed a cloth against the entry wound, there was no accompanying exit wound since the slug lost most of its velocity in the bounce but not all.

The sound of the machine guns, the rifle fire returned from the Battalion that had come to quell these renegades was something altogether horrifying to Natarle. She wanted to avoid this, the only casualties mandated to the unit were to be the bastards that were raiding the caravans, but an outright wholesale slaughter was something she wanted to prevent. Still, she could do little as the Captain of the Jaegers used a cloth to keep her from bleeding too badly. Thankfully, the shooting only lasted a few seconds, though immediately thereafter there was the inevitable screaming that chilled the listener to the bone.

"Commander Badgiruel, looks like they've surrendered," one of the Figaro Lieutenants declares. "Who is left, that is," he continues after a moment.

"How bad?"

"You and one other got hit," the same Lieutenant replies. "Other guy's being seen to by a field medic, and one's coming this way now."

"No, them," Natarle asks as the field medic arrives to begin treating her.

Not entirely sure, the Lieutenant peeks around the corner and takes stock of the foe's situation. "Oh, about a third of 'em dead, the rest wounded to a man."

"Not how I wanted this to end, but it could be worse," Natarle declares.

"Milady Badgiruel, a white flag approaches," Lord Cyan notes.

"Cease fire! We surrender!" Someone on the far side of the corner shouts. "I want to parley with your commander! Is he here?"

"You're it, Lord Garamonde," Natarle declares. "I won't be of much use right now." Despite movies to the contrary, being shot did a lot to the body, including make it far harder to think straight and rapidly, necessary talents of the negotiator.

"Thine plans shalt be done," he says before turning to head around the corner.

It took several minutes, during which Lord Cyan's gravelly voice was answered back-and-forth by a moderately deep one and someone whom Natarle could only guess was speaking in such high pitch he could almost pass for a lady under these circumstances. Apparently, by the tone and bent, the two that Lord Cyan was 'negotiating' with did not like what they were being told, but at least they appeared to show the good sense not to inflame the matter. Or at least Cyan was being restrained about how pissed off he was becoming. Natarle could not tell which.

"It is done. Thine foes have received the message, they shall no longer threaten trade convoy," Lord Cyan reports after he returns.

"Indeed, it is done," Natarle sighs. "At least we did not go with Yzak's recommendation to use the Duel as support here. One shot of some of his arsenal would have killed them all and distributed the parts all over town." Natarle was still bracing against the wall of the building, and could not see the grimaces from the officers around her. It was reassuring to her, however, that nobody opined that would have been a better solution.

-x-x-x-

(22 June 987)

The walls of the control chamber for the teleport system had been plastered with charts, diagrams, calculations, operational plans, and a poem of prayer that all the aforementioned crap actually worked. The last was Hikaru's contribution to the 'Wall of Madness' as some of the prior Imperial Teleporter Techs called it, since the plan involved utter madness. The former Teleporter Techs didn't trust the demon they created on their own, they sure as hell were not going to trust the upgrade planned. Last Athrun had heard of them, the techs were headed north, as in Narshe north, to take up jobs as mining equipment technicians.

In one of those classic almost-too-unreal-to-be-reality principles, the solution to the problem was a classic guy's euphemism: more power and control. The Imperials had tapped a lot of energy to get the Teleporter system working, but they had deliberately engineered it basic so that the only thing it would do is teleport around the surface of the planet. Yzak, Kira and Athrun had gone over every piece of documentation on the machine, every schematic, and every theoretical physics lesson the three had ever heard and mashed it all together into the oplan on the walls around them. To get it working on jumping between dimensions as they so needed to get home, it would require both a slightly larger power output (on terms of megajoules more power) and a system of controlling the 'where' and 'when' of the destination home.

"So, today's when we start, right?" Hikaru asks before taking a seat at one of the consoles. Athrun and Kira had just showed up and were sucking down military-grade coffee to combat a poorly-disguised hangover on Athrun's part and general lightheadedness on Kira's part. They had made the mistake of delving into one of the hard liquor bottles that had been 'acquired' from the former Imperial Infantry barracks, something called Scotch. Given how bad it hammered the two Coordinators, Hikaru decided on the spot she wanted nothing to do with such self-inflicted torture.

"And this is where it is supposed to begin, but we first have to wait for our hung-over colleagues to get some caffeine in them," Yzak declares with a decided hint of disdain.

"Hey, I offered you a drink," Athrun notes.

"And I declined for just this reason. I'll save my brandy on the rocks for when we get the bastard working, clear?"

"...Couldn't find any brandy, man..." Kira half-mumbles.

"And I thought Miguel had problems with the hard stuff. You're beating him out on wimpiest drinker in the unit, Strike."

"I'm not sure if that is a good thing or a bad one," Kira replies as the coffee starts getting his mind working somewhat properly.

"Probably both," Athrun replies coldly. "So, where do we start?"

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Yzak held up the classic 'V for Victory' sign.

"Uh," Athrun cocks his head, looking at Yzak. "One plus this," and Athrun flips Yzak the bird for being an officious smartass.

"Works for me," Yzak grumps, getting the message. "All right, now that we're ready to begin, today our primary objective is to pull the stage-1 charge coil housing and begin replacing it with a higher-rated coil. We'll need it for the amperage boosters down the line, and for controlling the taps for the dark energy that really does the dirty work here. I expect rebuilding this to better spec should take about three days."

"Two," Kira corrects Yzak.

"I agree, we can do it in two, piss-eyed drunk at that," Athrun replies.

"Murphy's Law," Yzak rebuffs them. "Always add a gratuity to any operational estimate to counter for Murphy's Law."

"He has a point," Athrun replies after a moment and a heavy sip of high-power coffee.

"Murphy's Law? Never heard it, what is it?" Hikaru asks.

"You've been hanging around gearheads and mechanics for how long?" Athrun asks.

"Over a year, almost two?" Hikaru replies.

"And you've never heard Murphy's Law?" Yzak asks, rather shocked of tone himself.

"I've heard it mentioned, but never really explained. What is it?"

"Anything that can go wrong will go wrong," Athrun, Yzak, and Kira all declare at the same time in the same tone.

"Usually in the worst possible way," Athrun continues.

"And at the most inconvenient time," Yzak adds.

"And in the area of the project with the least amount of backups or redundancy, thereby crippling the whole thing," Kira finishes their series of add-on corollaries to the classic Murphy one-liner.

"Wow, that is really happy-go-lucky," Hikaru replies drolly.

"Anyways, we should get to it," Yzak notes as Kira stands up and stretches in a fashion that caused his spine to pop several times in rapid succession. "Man, that sounded like you just hemorrhaged a disc out of your spine or something," Yzak notes almost with a tone of disgust.

"Nope, felt good," Kira replies offhand as he heads over to his locker and pulls out his toolbox.

Hikaru did not keep a tool set, instead mooching off the nearest toolbox to where she was. She also managed to keep it straight as to whose tools were whose, so nobody took offense. Yzak had a blue-painted box with more electronic gear than mechanical tools, used mainly for covering the inner control systems of the machine.

Athrun was the last to his locker, and Hikaru watched as he opened it. Something large and purple jumped out of the locker and straight at Athrun's chest, causing everyone in the room to jump at least a foot. "SHIT!" Athrun shouts as he drops to the ground under it's jump arc, instinctively drawing his pistol and taking aim at the thing that was now hanging over his head.

Hanging on a spring, that is. A large purple spider, and a kinda cute one at that, were it not used to scare the shit out of everyone in the room.

"Jesus, Kira, that was slick, not even a scratch on the lock from where you picked it open," Yzak replies with no shortage of admiration for the sheer bravery of such a prank. "Woulda worked on just about any of us equally, no telltales until it hits you in the face."

"Thank you," Kira replies instinctively, but only after realizes by acknowledging he blew his plausible deniability.

"Kira? What the hell, man?" Athrun asks, still aiming his pistol up from the floor at it.

"I told you I would get my revenge for that stunt you pulled with the crate and the fuzzy arm scare," Kira replies deadpan.

"Oh," Athrun replies, now knowing why this happened. "That...well, I did start this," Athrun replies philosophically, staring past the spider and to the ceiling.

"Even?" Kira asks, offering Athrun his hand.

Athrun nods yes for a few moments, then holsters his pistol and takes the hand to help get up off the floor. "Even," he declares after standing up. "All right, who wants the spider plushie?" Athrun asks after dusting his pants off.

"I'll take it," Hikaru declares, then realizes that she had no clue how it had been attached to the wall of Athrun's locker. "Erm, can I get a hand pulling it?"

"Sure, here," Kira disassembles the spring-load mechanism and gives the whole thing to her. For their effort, the occupants in the room got one of Hikaru's heartwarming smiles as she set it in a corner to be collected later after the work was done.

"All right, jokers, let's get to it. Time may be infinite but our lifespans are not," Yzak concludes the incident with a harsh reminder of the matter at stake.

-x-x-x-

(10 July 987)

One of the requirements of the treaties that Commander Badgiruel had signed was that the Magitek facility had to be disassembled by a multi-national team of the North, South, the Archangel, the Espers, and at least one of the Gods that had been freed. Though unlikely on the face of it, the plan was to ensure that the power contained in the facility was not abused and the workings of the Magitek Research Facility were completely eradicated to prevent them being used again by anyone.

The Archangel had sent two of the most unusual people to see to this problem: Murdoch and Pytor. The bulk of the labor was being deployed by the former Imperial Magitek researchers, headed up by (former) Imperial Research Officer Cid, and enforcement was being provided by a company of Narshe Jaegers conspicuously armed with their Enfield Rifles. No bullshit allowed; two who had tried to smuggle an intact draining capsule out had been jailed for three years, no parole. The two attempted thieves had almost been shot on the spot had Murdoch not convinced the Jaegers that using a wrench was somehow more satisfying. Murdoch had been vindicated when the two traitors had tried resisting, and then somewhat creeped out about how much the Jaegers enjoyed using a wrench on them.

"I just thought of something," Murdoch begins; "Once we've disassembled all the Research and Magitek Armor component lines and tooling, what do we do with this facility?"

"A facility to produce the Metal Gear machines would be one course, and likely require little to be reinvented about the facility," Pytor offers.

"I think producing those trucks your ship has would be best. The things that we could move with those things would be immense, and far more reliable than steam power," Cid replies.

"Electric would be the way to go for low emission, then, but fuel oils are just as readily available and in a natural form," Murdoch thinks aloud.

"Bomb Juice?" Cid asks, thinking he knew what was meant. Pressed Bomb Juice was rapidly becoming a hot item, since it was even more potent per liter than diesel fuel was, just not quite as stable. Refining would be a minimalistic task, no more so than pressing grapes, though getting the Bombs would be difficult unless regulated bounty hunting was performed.

"Exactly. Damn stuff is just useful, I think it can even be gelled into napalm if we tried," Murdoch comments.

"Napalm?"

"Hot-burn fuel that has been turned into a heavy liquid. Sticks to everything and burns for hours. Hellishly effective against structures and infantry."

"Can be deployed by aircraft bomb or by rockets," Pytor interjects. "When I was in Sibko training, I used Infernos—napalm rockets by another name—to great effect against other warriors, as most Clan Omnimechs are notorious for overheating under combat load."

"Oh, yeah, jack the heat up and they can't do a thing about it," Murdoch replies, never really considering that angle.

"What would we be lacking if we started building trucks?" Cid asks, apparently fixated on the thought of moving forty tons of freight easily.

"Well, you'd need good tires, something I've only seen on your Mag Roader (2) bio-units, and transmissions for the truck engines. We can probably do the engine specs and design easily. Hell, you want to win points, import the engines from Figaro and have Doma do tires and fuel," Murdoch opines.

Cid was writing notes down furiously. "You may have just saved this facility from going completely under," he declares.

"Hold on, Cid, hold on!" Murdoch half-shouts. "We want this facility to go completely under, but to be reborn as something else. The whole Magitek line has to be shitcanned first before we can redeploy it for something else. You clear?"

"Wow, why? I mean, yeah, using Magitek is immoral, but you don't have to completely wreck the facility before we retask it, do you?"

"Oh hell no," Murdoch replies immediately. "No, we just have to remove any of the fabrication for the Magitek, including the Esper Research equipment, and break it all down. Scrap it and recycle it. After that, the building is out of our hands," Murdoch concludes. "You want to build trucks, go for it, you want to build beach umbrellas, go for it, not our concern once the Magitek stuff is toast."

"Got it," Cid replies immediately.

"You there!" Pytor shouts, pointing. "Step it up on dismantling those capsules! That glass is supposed to be smelted and reforged already!"

"Yes sir!" one of the workers in question shouts back.

"Another thing you will have to correct is the roads between destinations. There is a lot to this southern continent; the four largest cities not including the Eastern Gate have very poor roads to and from, sometimes inside their bounds. If you want practical road transportation, the roads will need to be graded, paved, and most of all, maintained thoroughly and regularly." Surprisingly, this wisdom was from Pytor, whose normal affectations they all considered to be blowing things up, not improving them.

"He's right, roads are a must for high-speed truck traffic. Good roads. Graded brick at the least, pavement would be better, like concrete or asphalt," Murdoch declares.

"I think with the labor available now, we can probably do that," Cid replies. "Easier, if we could get the Espers to help since they would benefit as well. How cooperative are they really being?" he wonders aloud.

"Downright civil," Pytor replies immediately. "I think they realize that they were partly at fault for the animosity of the past millennia. If you covet power, everyone else will want it."

"More to the point, they know they can't live alone and isolated, their world is too big and too interwoven to this one," Doom says as he steps up to the observation platform they were watching things from. "And you are correct about coveting power, Mechwarrior. Too many people now have Magic on both sides to walk away from that kind of power, but your team shows that even the magic of the Gods can be used for good purpose if it is done right." Doom had approached from the rear of the facility, having volunteered to help disassemble the research areas and deal with the stored Magitek power in a rational fashion. Murdoch had little doubt that he was storing the power for use himself, but he was not going to argue the matter with the Grim Reaper of old legend.

"I was thinking more along the lines of magic use for civilian purposes, not necessarily combat, Lord Doom," Pytor replies after a moment's silence.

"Both are valid, and both are forms of power. I have been working with the elders and Goddess to work out a way to normalize training and summoning for the groups." Doom hangs his head for a moment, looking almost straight down over the rails. "We created the Espers...as penance to Existence for a crime we committed long ago, to build new lives in compense for the ones we aided in severely hindering or destroying. But they are along the same model as the Summons of elsewhere in Existence, and many of them want to become Summoned, instructors to humans." He looks up and back to the others. "Can you find us the willing, people who want the power to help and protect?"

"You're not going to pay back what you've already run up in debts, man," Murdoch replies somberly. "Some things become a permanent charged debt on your soul, things you can't undo by doing one, ten, a hundred good deeds. You can do better next time, you can pay what your society thinks is just payment for your actions, though it just can't be erased. I think once you realize that, you'll be all right." Holy crap this is weird, psych'n up a God for shit's sake. How the hell do I get these things on me, Murdoch asks himself.

After a few moments, Doom smiles. "You and Lady Badgiruel may be the smartest humans I have ever dealt with, closely followed by Captain Ramius, General Leo, and forgiving his lecherous tendencies, King Edgar."

"Hey, I just fix things, you're a God. Some things, though, you don't fix 'em, but you do better next time. You been through the Archangel before?"

"Indeed," Doom replies immediately. He considered it a fascinating ship, but silently he wondered why such a technological marvel also had a strong magic and spatial aura about it...

"You go down through the Sauna area?"

"I have, but I did not partake of it."

"There are boxes on the walls outside the saunas. The flag boxes of those who've died on this trip already. We've lost a lot, man, but no matter how hard we try, they ain't coming back. All we can do is pay our honors to those who died saving our asses and do better next time. I'd say it's probably going to be the same for you guys as well, and the others who were in on this mass crime with you. Just do what you can, but do it better, and you won't repeat the mistake next time."

"Most of those vile scum were already dead for their crimes, the remainder have fled their posts forevermore," Doom replies, now understanding completely what Murdoch meant.

"You lazy stravags! If I have to come down there, you will be disassembling and maintaining the toilets in this facility well into tomorrow morning!" Pytor shouts over the rail at the workers below him, who were visibly and quite crassly slacking off. As soon as he began shouting, the whole wad of workers split up almost frantically and got back to their tasks. "I am truly glad this task is almost done, it is beginning to grate on my patience."

"And now I am beginning to understand the Clan mentality," Doom replies.

-x-x-x-

(14 August 987)

(Location: South Figaro Township, Factory District)

Umi was poring over paperwork in the manager's office for the Figaro Arsenal, the factory that produced the wildly popular Enfield Rifle, and was now diversifying into other military small arms. Modernizing the military was the goal of all three of the large powers, mainly because the countryside was no less safe today than it was a year ago. Umi had been called upon to oversee the Figaro factories for that purpose, and though the thought of managing a factory did not really thrill her, she took up the challenge instead of loitering around the Archangel.

The theme was World War II weapons. Umi had little to no love of the things, her schooling had pretty much beat any acceptance of warfare out of her, but since her rude awakening in the fields and forests of Cephiro she had learned that war means the difference between a chance to go home and being guaranteed dead before she could return to her family...

...And thank them. Umi knew half of the reason why she was still alive was the wondrous friends she had come across in the travels, the remainder was her iron will to not give up before going home. Saving the worlds of Cephiro, the Inner Sphere and Terra, was all well and good but saving worlds and being a hero was not in her blood. Hikaru, definitely, Fuu, maybe (she was a self-confessed RPG gamer and saving the world is integral to most RPGs), but not Umi. Thus, she was running on determination to go home, and that is something she figured she owed her family. Someone, somewhere, could and likely would consider such conduct selfish but Umi didn't really look at it that way.

The numbers were adding up. They always did; one thing Figaro Arsenal had going for it was personnel that were loyal and efficient, and the quality of material coming south from Narshe was exceptional. The quality of material coming from Vector was just as good. The flip-side was that verifying sheet after sheet of nothing but production quotas and listings of units turned out numbed her brain after a while.

After a half-hour, her head hit the desk. "Any normal girl would have flipped out by now...." she tells herself. "I'm just barely sixteen, I've been the next best thing to a soldier for two years, and now I'm practically running a factory that builds high-power rifles and sub-machineguns. Something is wrong with my life, seriously wrong," Umi grumps as she puts her head down on her forearms on the desk surface. "No, no, no!" She berates her own logic. "That's the pacifist schooling talking! That belief is not going to get you home, girl!" she rages at the paperwork centimeters below her nose. "I need to get out of here before the numbers start telling me to do things," Umi pushes herself away from the desk and stands up. "Definitely can't end up like Flay, or I'm toast."

Getting out of the office and the building for her was simple enough. All she had to do was tell the Foreman that she'd done the numbers and they all came back green, so she was headed out for the day. There was no objection, the shift was about to change anyways and the Foreman did most of the dirty work of making sure these things worked out properly.

That accomplished, she was instantly reminded of a lesson Murdoch taught her: 'The air is always fresher on the way out than it is on the way in or during the duty shift.' The air did seem fresher to her by far than it had in the morning, despite the growing stink about South Figaro as more metalworking shops were opening up by the week. Hardly a pleasant smell, the constant burning of coal to heat blast furnaces for the metal-hungry forging and stamping industries, but the smell of industry and booming economy she could tell. Her intention was business major through Secondary schooling and college, therefore she could look at the numbers and tell that the rough times and uncertainty were over, Figaro and Doma, and even Vector were now booming as people no longer feared the inevitable war to come. Things were looking up for the locals, but word from the Teleporter Labs was that setbacks were driving the deploy time back bit by bit.

Wandering around the southeast of town, she saw houses and businesses interleaved, people in the streets going about their daily tasks. Nothing special, but reassuring. A busy people with honorable politicians above them were less likely to call for war than any others, which made things more stable in the long run. A few greeted her, most were cordial, almost all that she passed knew she was one of the Magic Knights that had led the Espers in the most Gods-awful bead down of any military force they had ever seen. There was much respect among the people on the ground for that, which both did and did not thrill her in the long run.

"Huh?" she asks a strange sign she just walked past, looking at the sign closer. "Magic classes? I could always use more magic," Umi says. "Wonder if they accept walk-ins." Without a second thought to the contrary, she tested the doorhandle and found it opened readily. A moment later she was through the door and tt did not take her long to realize what was inside: not much. A simple circle of six benches—four persons in the room total—with one of them wearing the non-combat garb of the Undine, a water Esper. Of the two on the benches, one was an older guy, the other two were ladies in simple garb. Other than that, it appeared to be just an average building in a row of 'em.

"Come in, come in, please," the Undine requests immediately, realizing that someone had just entered. "You are here for the training in basic magic?"

I always wanted to learn more than just a few spells, Umi thinks quickly. "I wasn't sure if this was the place or not..." she begins.

"This is the correct establishment," the Undine says. "I was just beginning the day's lesson and regimen. You are well come."

"Thank you," Umi gives a significant bow. "I am Umi Ryuuzaki, of the Archangel Team."

"Umi...as in Magi Knight Umi? Of the Rune God Selesce?" the Undine asks warily after a moment of overcoming the shock of being told such.

"I am," Umi replies calmly. "Though, being a Magic Knight, I'm more along the 'Knight' side than the 'Magic' side, so I'm willing to learn anything that can help, if you are willing to teach me?"

"Certainly," the Undine replies immediately after regaining composure if not a ration of decorum. "It would be an honor, milady Magic Knight. Please join the group."

"Thank you," again with a bow, before Umi does take a seat among the group.

"Well, to continue where I left the discourse, the shared history between the Human and Esper is indeed a bloody one, and rightfully so, but it is not the whole story. Among both groups, the Human Magitek and the Espers, battle wizardry accounted for less than a third of the skills in use," the Undine says, with emphasis on the 'less than a third' in his sentence. "For every Magitek Knight and Combat Esper, there were at least two among both sides who truly excelled at healing and general purpose magic, not in the deadly arts. To both sides, this fact is ignored but it is there for any who want to see it. Certainly it is the same upon your ship, Magic Knight?"

Umi was not expecting to be included in the lesson, but had no problem with it after a moment's hesitation. "Uh, yeah, there's about twenty-five dedicated fighters on the ship, and about a hundred or more in support crew. It amazed me at first, I thought everyone on a warship was a fighter, but most of them just run the ship and never get to shoot the guns."

"And this also applies to the human and Esper societies: for every soldier in anyone's military, there are at least twenty, as many as fifty non-soldiers in both groups. It would only make sense that most of the spellcraft would be for civil purpose, and this is where the teaching always begins; once you learn the basics, you can advance to learning the more advanced combat spellcraft, the more advanced civil and general purpose spellcraft, or a combination of both. We will begin today by learning how to levitate the stones that are on the bench behind me."

"Yes, sir," the two ladies in the learning group chant, believing it an explicit order.

"Please open your spellbooks and prepare to transcribe your first spell." All four of the others open their recording books, though Umi took a moment to find the fountain pen and book under her bench waiting for her. "The spell is as follows: Of gravity I annul to bring buoyant this object as I Levitate Object, and there you would either point to the object or gaze hard at it, though the gaze trick is for more advanced spellcasters. Please begin attempting to levitate the stones as you see fit," the Undine instructor declares as he steps aside to allow clear sight to them.

Umi does point first. "Of gravity I annul to bring buoyant this object as I Levitate Object," she chants letter-perfect, and after a few moments the stone that she was pointing to began hovering off the surface of the bench...then immediately shot up to the ceiling and bounced off the wooden clapboard that sufficed for the inside layer of the roof. Once it hit the roof it continued traveling upward by way of floating uphill until it was at the highest point in the roof and hovering motionless. "Oh, wow, it worked!" Umi half-squealed before the rock dropped and narrowly missed landing on one of the students.

"I can tell you are versed in the power of the Magi, if not in the ways thereof," the Undine notes. "If you shall try next?" and he indicates the first of the two ladies in the room that was not Umi.

"Of gravity I annul to bring buoyant this object as I Levitate Object," the lady chants, pointing clearly to one of the other stones on the bench. The stone in question slowly takes off from the bench but achieves no more altitude than a meter clearance.

"An excellent start," the Undine declares. "This will require drilling, but an ostentatious beginning compared to the average among Espers. You shall be next, good sir," and the instructor indicates the younger of the two ladies in the room.

"Of gravity I annul to bring buoyant this object as I Levitate Object," she declares, and the stone that she indicated raised only a half-meter for her efforts.

"This is what I seek to see. The more you cast spells, the more effective your spellcraft becomes, and the more effective the spellcraft of those around you becomes. Even failures are still beneficial, for you are still improving even slightly. Please continue."

For Umi, the lessons were something more rudimentary than she expected, but she also knew she would never guess the chants for Levitate Object, Read Hidden Marks, Heal Minor Cuts, and Glowing Ball. A far cry from her Watter Dragon spell, but as the Undine had mentioned more than once, she had the power of a true Magitek Knight but not the skills of one. Despite her insane levels of power comparative to her skills, Umi never received a crass comment from any of the other inductees. Each of the persons in the room had to cast at least a hundred spells of the four types during the day's training, which made Umi wonder if her teaching was simply a case of perfection by repetition or something else.

"Before we break for the day, Lady Umi," and Umi focuses back in on the Undine from her mind wandering on a strange tangent. "I would like you to use the Heal Minor Cuts spell on me, please," and before any word could be said the Undie had drawn a small belt knife, presented his forearm, and cut a spiral slash into it. Umi could tell by the way the Undine bit his bottom lip that it was a rather painful experience for him.

"Oh man, that's just freaky how you did that," Umi declares. "I'll do it, but please don't use yourself for a testbed any more, please," Umi declares as she stands and approaches. "The bounties of Nature and its regenesis shall eliminate the painful scrapes by Heal Minor Cuts," Umi chants, touching the forearm of the Undine in question, as was required of the spell. Rather grotesquely, the cut itself seemed to fold in on itself as the damaged tissue rebuilt itself into a normal forearm. "Is that...right?"

"It is excellent, I feel nothing. Truly your power is amazing, Magic Knight." He looks to the students and gives a bow to them. "The class is concluded for the day. Each of you has made measurable progress, and tomorrow we continue with more spells. Though not necessary, I do advise you practice your spells tonight, the more you use the spells the better they shall become. Thank you." The other six of the class (two more had entered and joined at random) stood, bowed to their instructor, and were gone in less than a minute. Umi remained, however, as the Instructor requested she did.

"Simply be wary that your power can also be a curse, Magic Knight, or it will eat your soul doing some of the things that those corrupt on power tend to do."

"Thank you, sir Undine," Umi bows deeply. "I have many friends on the ship, we all keep each other straight and sane between the insane battles we have to fight. I will be back tomorrow for more instruction, if that is all right with you?" Umi sounded genuinely concerned, as her power was immense and some people would not want to deal with that.

"Please do so, and bring any others who would like to learn with you. It has been a pleasure, and I would love to learn tales of your existence and exploits, but I must return home to my daughters."

"Thank you again," and a moment thereafter Umi was moving toward the door with a smile on face and a spring in her step.

Nothing beat learning as far as she could tell. Of course, Flay would beg to differ, but Flay had not been seen nor heard of since the day she was released.

-x-x-x-

(5 September 987)

"Vector shall not be overlong before 'tis ready to stand upon its own," Lord Cyan judges.

"Concur," Natarle replies. "Almost all benchmarks for the installation of a legitimate government are in place." Natarle knew this well, she had done most of the organizing of the new state herself. She had wanted to set up a republic, but both Figaro and Doma had preferred an honorable monarchy or oligarchy system. Not that either really mattered to Natarle in the beginning, she intended to leave here one day with the ship.

"It will still be months, years before Vector is completely ready to stand alone," King Edgar declares. "And, with the exception of the Imperial Generals, we have no line of command or succession. This will need to be rectified before we can release the nation," he completes his pitch smoothly, and the glance he gave Natarle was plausibly deniable in such a circumstance. Commander La Flaga thought little of it. Natarle knew otherwise.

Natarle had to admit, in the beginning she was completely willing to walk away once the Teleporters were done being modified. Today...not so much completely. With everything that had been transpiring, Natarle had found herself personally not wanting to leave the state she had essentially rebuilt with the help of the Espers. After a fashion, it was less than surprising to her: spend a year of hard effort rebuilding something, you're not going to want to leave it. And yet, she found that still did want to return. The combination thereof was beginning to tear at her.

And the hell of it was, if Natarle was actually offered the job, she had little doubt that she would accept it. Those unpleasant tasks of first gutting the original Empire, and rebuilding it, seem now a far less challenging tasking than ever her combat controller position was, and she found it a bit more satisfying in the long run. A year without battle simply reinforced her growing belief her purpose was here, in Vector, no longer on warship trying to transit hell the long way without melting the ice in the cafeteria. Not that she considered doing so was anything lacking of challenge, but with time comes wisdom and she finally realized that her battle was here and not at her home in the Earth Alliance.

And then, the rest still had to be dealt with. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I see someone I need to speak to," Natarle bows out gracefully and heads past Edgar to now-Ensign Kojiro Murdoch.

"Commander, how goes?" Murdoch asks in his usual, casual fashion.

"Excellent," Natarle replies evenly. "The Magitek Facility, it is completely disassembled?"

"Everything except the components that were rotated into the assembly line for trucks," Murdoch replies. "Pytor's the one who needs thankin', he kept those Imperial sore-loser slackers from sabotaging the effort or dragging it out overlong."

"Diesel-drive heavy cargo trucks. Whose idea was that?" Natarle asks, never properly grasping who came up with the idea to use the Magitek Manufacturing Facility for production of trucks, given that the last report on the status of the facility was rather fuzzy as to who was responsible.

"Cid, actually, ma'am," Murdoch replies offhand. "His idea. I was just plannin' on tearing the whole thing down; Pytor suggested that Vector use it to build those Metal Gear monsters for defense purpose."

"Not allowed," Natarle replies immediately. "Treaty states that we can rebuild the ones already on hand, but we're not allowed to produce any more unless Doma and Figaro get one each at half going market value." Which was a price that the Free Vector Government was not willing to pay right now, so a stop order had been placed on all Metal Gear production.

"That sucks. Then again, they built those things to take down the Archangel, so other than armored scare tactics or artillery, they really don't have much use."

They are more useful than you think, Natarle thinks but does not say. Murdoch was overgeneralizing the differences between the units, thinking the Metal Gear was an artillery or anti-aircraft platform and not the legged battletank style that it more closely matched (similar to the Omnimechs or Mobile Suits). Natarle understood different, and she knew intrinsically that the Metal Gear units would make a fearsome weapon if used properly. Certainly not the match of the Gundams, but enough of a threat to turn heads as it had done with the Doma and Figaro troops.

"Still, they beat the pants off nothing...I guess you don't agree with me on that one?" Murdoch asks after interpreting her expression and posture.

"No, actually not," Natarle replies. "There's a lot that can be corrected on the designs, but those things are walking tanks, not high-mobile artillery with short-range defense. Given time, I don't see much in the way of assets being able to stop them short of the Espers." Natarle was obligated to throw the Espers in as a caveat, since they were not going away and they were easily capable of the kind of destruction that was normally reserved for mobile army or naval forces.

"Gotcha, ma'am," Murdoch replies. Something about her mannerisms was bugging him... "Beggin' your pardon, Commander, you all right? You seem distracted," Murdoch asks.

I am, in more ways than one, Natarle thinks and thus proves him right. "A lot on my mind, Murdoch. We've come so far, here and on our trip to get home, yet we still have a long way to go," she judges.

"Yzak think's he'll get the teleporters working straight-up without issue. I don't think we'll be away from home too much more, Commander."

"Yzak is good, but so was Odysseus. Care to take a guess how many times he got close to home and never quite made it?" Natarle asks.

"I don't have a clue, I'm not going to guess, and that is seriously depressing, Commander," Murdoch replies drolly.

Natarle got the hint. "Don't stake your hopes on one final solution, Murdoch. You better than most should know that one already."

"Aye, ma'am. By your leave?" Murdoch asks as he notices King Edgar approaching with the Goddess of the Espers following close.

"Thank you, Murdoch," Natarle offers as a dismissal. As he was leaving the King and Lady Jaide approached.

"Commander, I am told by the King that several of the persons other than the Magic Knights are also linked to the Rune Gods," Jaide asks as the two approach and come to standing nearby. "And that you are one of their ranks," she adds after a moment.

"I am," Natarle replies. "This is part of it, but I think it goes farther," Natarle indicates her magic glove.

"How so?" King Edgar asks.

"I think at a level the linked can understand what we each are feeling, even at distance. It's more than just that if the person involved is psionic." Natarle's clipped tone told a story in and of itself, to which Jaide immediately knew what happened.

"Oops," Jaide says with a evil smile. "I can guess what happened. How many of your staff were close at the time?"

"The whole command staff, bridge staff, and the pilots." With the rearranging of quarters and Miriallia being promoted, she now had an officer's berth toward the front of the ship. At that time, though, they had been in Tolle's quarters, which was a deck below the officer's suites, though a deck did not make much of a difference in psionic cross-bleed. The reality was that Miriallia really did not know how powerful she was in this respect, and Natarle thought she was only getting more powerful. Lately it had been the Captain and the other Commander, and what little Natarle knew of Murrue's prior relationship, she was definitely not going to begrudge the Captain the effort. "Call it about twenty-five persons, or a fifth of the ship overall."

"Oh...my," Jaide half-squeaks. "That...that had to disrupt your ship's routine."

"The first time, it was rather unpleasant being kept awake like that, much less the other component of it, but after a while I got at least somewhat used to the fact it was there, but never the feelings." Natarle did not need to speak what those feelings were, she could tell Jaide knew and knew well what was referenced.

Edgar, on the other hand... "I must admit my defeat here. I have no clue what you two are speaking of," he notes judiciously.

"A good thing, that is," Natarle replies. "You would not relish being subject to what I, and by inference Lady Jaide, have gone through. Trust me on that if nothing else tonight."

Edgar simply nods twice. "While I am thinking about it, Flay Allster, she will be left here?"

"Indeed," Natarle replies. "Her stay of execution is only so long as she does not cross the Archangel or her crew again."

"Is she not linked to Selesce as you are?" Edgar asks fairly.

"Indeed. We shall see what happens to her after she no longer serves with the team," Natarle replies.

"So, you are not concerned for her?" Jaide asks.

"I understand what she is, milady Goddess. Flay is an excellent manipulator. She will find some way to survive by making others do the heavy lifting, in due time she may even flourish when she has built her semblance of power in her own little way. I am not worried about Flay so much as I am worried about what she can do to others, particularly the government here in Vector if she gains a bully enough pulpit for her purposes."

"Ah," King Edgar groans in surprise. "To that end, I have a proposal for you, Commander, about the upcoming trade summit between the Four Governments, and I was wondering..."

-x-x-x-

(20 October 987)

It had required over a year of off-time searching, but she had narrowed down the location of the last known Tonberry. The absurdity of the situation was quite clear to Hikaru. Magic Knights normally did 'knightly' things or 'magic' things, to which what she was now armed with was definitely not either of the above. Searching for the Tonberries could be considered a rather Knightly quest, and one she wanted to do to help with the ship, but the way in which she had to do it was far from a knightly proposition.

The Thompson Sub-machine gun was far from knightly, in fact Hikaru remembered seeing it in old gangster movies imported from America and subtitled. It was a weapon famous the world over for being a weapon of organized crime and open defiance of the law. It was firepower in a small package like few others, the heaviest of sub-machine guns used in World War II in terms of man-stopping power, though this was arguable among the crews that were building the weapons as the Russian PPSh SMG had a terrifying rate of fire for its smaller bullet. And no SMG was a match for a Light Machine Gun or the infamous fifty-caliber.

On the other hand, it was an iconic weapon of the Allies' strength and industrial might in World War II. The Thompson had served both in Europe and the Pacific, especially in the battles to strike down her homeland of Japan. This also added to her mixed feelings on the subject, Hikaru definitely retained her loyalty to her nation since it had done nothing wrong since the disaster of World War II, but the fact that it had served against her nation in the past still chilled her slightly to hold one.

The clincher and the victory for the Thompson had to be the battle against the Grenade in the forest, though. She had managed to shoot herself by way of bouncing a weaker 9mm round off the bottom side of the Grenade, where it struck the ground and buzzsawed into her leg, with very painful results. Even with some healing help from Nicol she still could remember the pain and had problems walking for a week. She carried the Thompson in response to that little FUBAR, as there were monsters around the world worse than the Grenades and Bombs, and a little 9mm pistol would not cut it against them. Only to make things more powerful for Hikaru, the Thompson she was carrying was outfitted with tungsten core armor-piercing spire point ammo in lieu of the normal 'ball' (round nose) ammo. Hardened carapace may not be able to stop her now.

Which was probably in the category of 'wise idea' as far as Hikaru could tell. Zozo had been 'cleaned up' mostly by the Figaro infantry stationed there, but not completely. There was still a lot of street crime to be had, especially in the tenements of the larger skyscrapers. There was also word that a renegade Imperial soldier was on the prowl in the town, one that was exceptionally well trained in the use of magic. Hikaru figured if she did cross him in the course of searching the tenements and slums for the elusive Tonberry, she could ventilate him with a quick burst of 45 ACP in armor piercing. She even had magazine pouches attached to the 'skirt' of her armor with a total of twenty stick magazines carried on her at the ready. It was a lot of firepower, but Hikaru could handle it since her armor felt weightless anyways.

"Hi, excuse me, I'm looking for this guy, he was supposedly...drat," Hikaru says as the lady in question scurries down an alley and into a building. "This is not going to be pleasant," Hikaru grumps, realizing that the slums and the vertical slums (the skyscrapers) were rather profuse in this town. It was proof that life itself is not fair, that in any equation there will always be people who are getting the short end of the rope compared to others. Of what she understood the history of the town to be, someone tried violating that little fact in the form of socialism, and thereby completely collapsed any semblance of order in the town. When in doubt, refer back to the basic rule, Hikaru thinks aloud, reciting a mantra she had picked up from the mechanics on the Archangel about the premise of life being fair, making sense, or working right the first time.

Rayearth, can you sense it? she asks inside the confines of her mind to the soul of the Rune God that also borrowed part of her mind's space.

It is not far, slightly north of west from where you stand. Your glove shall show you the path, and Hikaru held it up so she could look into it. A line was pointing roughly west toward where the Tonberry theoretically was.

Yeah, right into the really crappy part of town, Hikaru grumps as she looked around the run-down buildings in the area. After a moment she cinches the sling in tighter and makes sure the bolt was locked in the open position, meaning it was ready to fire (3). With a guide direction available to her from her magic glove, she began the trek down the street that she would much rather be miles away from.

As she walked, her eyes ranged back and forth around her, never dwelling on one object any longer than it took to identify it. One of the things she had learned from the 'real' military personnel on the Archangel (Kira, Tolle and Miriallia did not count) was that when searching an area, stare usually equates to die. The Crazy Cook had even gone so far as to call the phenomenon the 'Thousand Yard Stare Syndrome', meaning any injury or fatality sustained by an enemy up close or 'in your baffles' while you were busy looking into the distance and seeing nothing of importance. After a few minutes, she checked her glove and came to the conclusion that she had at least a mile and a half to go, given how little the tracing line had moved.

God, this gun is not light, Hikaru thinks crassly as she flexes her shoulders on a quick stop-and-reorient break. She also used her pause to check behind her to make sure nobody obvious was trying to follow her. The Thompson she carried was about as heavy as the assault rifles the Archangel had acquired on Twycross, and the assault rifles in question had better range, more ammo, better accuracy, and mounting points for optics, tactical shotguns or grenade launchers. Satisfied that nobody was following her obviously, she checked again and continued her walk deeper into what was quickly taking on the appearance of the prototypical urban hell.

The houses to each side were less than pleasant, with plenty of broken windows and even some that were boarded up. Few people were on the streets, even in broad daylight, and those that were seemed to be of the type of people that gave Hikaru the creeps even thinking about. After another half-kilometer of walking, she noticed less and less people on the streets, until she saw something that usually presaged a serious problem: someone looking behind her ducked inside her house with clear panic on her expression.

Hikaru used that moment to stop and check her glove for indication of where she needed to go. This time the guide line had moved to a different heading, but still mostly indicated to move in the western direction. As she checked she also took the time to check her surroundings, and she found that though she had not found any threats forward of her advance, there was a small collection behind her. And not one of them a lady, at that.

"Is there a reason why you're following me?" Hikaru asks politely when they stop after realizing that she was indeed observing them.

"Guess who's about to become our next camp whore?" the lead says as he brandishes what might be a baseball bat had baseball existed at some time in this world's history.

I know what the average guy thinks about someone like you, Hikaru. One word: Lolicon. If they push and you don't want it, kill 'em all and count the bodies. Nobody on this ship gives two shits about rapists or so-called 'humane rights'. Send 'em to hell and be damned to the consequences. On the face of it, Murdoch's advice only made some sense at that time, and that was really only in a detached way. Staring at the face of it, now, she knew exactly what he meant, and how to deal with it.

And still she hesitated to do anything except stare blankly at them for a moment. She quickly weighed options such as running or taking cover, but no such option gave her a decent chance of escape without being caught and subjected to things she really didn't want to think about, despite her aversion to killing things. Without an idea of what to do nonviolent, she quickly came to the conclusion it was either fight or surrender. The matter became all that more clear when their 'lead' pulled a belt knife and tested the sharpness of the blade with his thumb. A moment thereafter the whole enemy group began to close in on her, leaving little option.

The weapon came up and the notch sights centered over the lead's chest as she instinctively took the weapon off 'safe' and into 'semi'. As she was acting on training and instinct, Hikaru had enough time to realize the shock in his expression before she fired a pair of shots into his abdomen. The 220-grain AP slugs tore through him with little hesitation, tore through the guy behind him with tumbling effect, and kept going into the side of a structure nearly 300 meters behind. Immediately she traversed left, centered on another of the punks with a club for a weapon, shot, shot, two body shots that blew through the target and killed the guy behind as well. Traverse right to one that had a short sword and was trying to charge, shot, shot; one in the chest, one in the head, and he hit the ground skidding and flopping, clinically dead before the sound of his body hitting the deck was heard by anyone. She traversed left onto the nearest of the remaining standing, though his was the course of running away as quickly as his legs could take him and Hikaru did not believe in shooting someone in the back.

She walked up to the seven that she had laid out or killed, looked over the dead and wounded, and deemed them no more of a threat to her again. With practiced motion she pulled a new magazine from her pouches, reached up to the partial in her gun, ejected and pulled the partial, moved her hand aside two inches and rammed home the fresh magazine, and put the partial in her pouch, effectively flawlessly performing a reload with retention as she had been trained by the Cooks. Just like that, she was done with the defeated, two of which were just now starting to moaning or screaming.

Hikaru continued walking toward the guide line that was her destination, sparing only a glance back and a wince for what she had done. She knew she'd see the sight picture of her gun and the faces beyond it in her dreams to come, but it beat the alternative. After all, she had heard that rape caused nightmares, just as bad or worse than killing someone. Eight shots, seven downed enemies, Hikaru thinks with a physical sigh to that effect.

The words of the mechanic ring true, Magic Knight. Their intent was less than civil. Some would decry your actions, but those same people have little to no understanding of the sheer cruelty of life. Especially the cruelty to the survivors of such foul imprecations, Rayearth declares a bit coldly.

Hikaru nodded silently in acknowledgement of the truth; again her eyes ranged back and forth over the area, though it did not take her more than one sweep to see the Tonberry that was now standing in front of a structure about 400 meters in front of her, looking directly at her. There were others out and about, but though they were wary of her they did not flee immediately as they had before. Many were simply amazed that someone like her existed: a young gorgeous lady with flame-red armor and enough firepower to massacre street gangs by the dozen.

The Tonberry was less than pleased with the racket overall, but was rather satisfied that the local hooligans (who had been noisier longer than her SMG) were now dead or fled.

-x-x-x-

(16 December 987)

The visibility of the Archangel Team was what really cemented support for their proposals among the governments and mostly from the people. None of the Team hid anything, hid anywhere. The Helmswoman Mina had become one of the chief dignitaries to the Espers, her daughter training with the children of the Espers in magic just the same. Newman and Chandratta were foremost among the personnel in Doma seeing to the industries and mostly to the expansion of Doma's railways all the way to Figaro. Umi in Figaro was making immense leaps and bounds of industry and society possible and manageable for the citizens, with glowing praise from both town elders and the King himself.

The real PR work was happening in Vector, however. Natarle was proving the most adroit at organizing a decent government for the fledgling non-Imperial state and keeping relations with the other states or Espers balanced. Petty Officer Ryback and his Commando Team had organized and thoroughly trained a police force for Vector, keeping the peace and enforcing the just rule of law. Despite their focus on the Teleporters, the four pilots involved in the project had also managed to convert the electricity facilities to Geothermal power and power the whole city without the use of Magitek, among other technological feats. Murdoch and his Madmen, with copious help from the former Imperial Magitek Research staff, had secured their manufacturing systems and were now turning out two of the 15-ton cargo trucks per day; demand for the trucks was so high that a two-month backlog of production was waiting to be filled. The Engine Mechanics from the Archangel had moved quickly on what they sensed to be a boom market, securing the services of bounty hunters to begin harvesting Bombs and Grenades as the mechanics set up a proper refinery for extracting the 'essence of Bomb' that would quickly become one of the greatest fuel sources for the planet as they figured. The Tonberries even took up the task of managing restaurants as part-time work when not running the galley in the Archangel, catering to tourists who wanted to see the ship that had brought the Empire to its knees.

And Murrue had turned out to be one of the crowning jewels of visibility among the Archangel Team. Even as she ran an absolutely hectic schedule of building the functions of a government, bringing order to chaos in the power vacuum of the Empire's passing, and all the negotiations that had to be done to help stabilize relations between the various city-states and larger governments, she still managed time to get out and listen to the people. It was this, listening to the people and their concerns, that truly endeared the people of Vector to her and her crew. There were calls off and on to instill the Archangel Team as the ruling body of Vector, as much for their honor and popularity as for their policies and willingness to listen to the people. And a lot of people wanted Captain Murrue Ramius as the new Regent (or whatever title she took on for the task).

They all knew that the Archangel would not remain forever, the people knew the Archangel Team intended on leaving to return to their home someday, but they all knew that the Archangel would never leave them completely. The white warship had silenced an Empire bent on world domination, united two-thirds of the world and the Espers against a numerically superior foe and still won a resounding victory that would never be passed in the annals of history to come, or so the people believed. And, most telling of all, the Archangel Team had raised the Gods of old legend to consciousness without the apocalypse that was foretold in the same legend. Most every civilian on planet was convinced that the Archangel truly lived up to its namesake, after coming to understand what an Archangel really was: a bringer of hope, a soldier of honor, a denizen of light.

And then, there was the reality.

"This is pretty much the end of it, Captain," the Adjutant to Vector Affairs notes, handing off the last of her paperwork to the Captain. "Only thing outstanding is formal elections to the positions, which if I am understanding right will not be ready for at least another six months?"

"That is about the size of it," Murrue replies. Setting up a republic was not a simple task, and after having read everyone from John Locke to George Washington to Thomas Paine on the subject, she was still not convinced it was any easier than it had been even with a less-than-contentious civilian constituency. The United States, as one example, had a hellish fight to get their government going even within themselves, having to go through a crippled Confederacy before the democracy that they eventually settled on became reality. It all ended along with most of the rest of the world as they knew it, for when the fuel ran out every industrialized nation ground to a screeching halt. It was that event that brought the beginning of the Cosmic Era, with all its horrors and its wonders that Murrue still wanted to return to. "The work has begun on the systems to collect votes, but that won't be ready for weeks." Much as America, the voting would be handled by ballot card, which would be the simplest and most efficient system for now until the locals came up with higher-end electronics. The hold-up was in hiring and training persons to make sure the votes were counted right.

"If I may ask, when you leave and are back to being the Captain of the Archangel instead of 'the busiest one-armed technician' in Vector, will you have need for me at that time?" the Adjutant asks.

Murrue grimaces. "If there's one thing this insane odyssey has taught me, Keilona, anything I expect will never come close to truly estimating what we shall encounter. I can bet hard cash that sometime along the way I will have to summon you, but if you do want a position on the Archangel I can arrange it either by contract or as an unattached Esper," Murrue replies.

"I, er, still haven't decided that," the Adjutant replies. "I just don't know which way I want to go, remain here or follow the crew."

"You've got a lot of time to figure it out, don't worry about it right now," Murrue counters.

Keilona, one of the Seraphim Espers, nods in response to her summoner-employer's declaration. She knew there was time to work with, but one of the catchphrases of the Archangel was that 'time may be infinite, but our lifespans are not'. It was as much a sop to the relentless march of time and fate as it was motivation to get home, and it had taken weeks for Keilona to properly understand the principle behind fate. Seraphim were not strictly happy-go-lucky Espers, yet the concept of fate and the march of time was almost alien to their order. They lived their lives day to day, doing what they could and helping wherever they were needed, but other than that were not a forward-looking bunch by and large. Keilona was one of the exceptions, her capacity for analysis and planning was easily rival to that of the Coordinators, though in every other fashion (except looks) was no match to Athrun, Kira, Nicol, or Yzak. Her services had proved invaluable since she took upon herself the task of helping sort out the mess in Vector's new administration.

"Shall that be all, milady?" the Seraphim asks.

Murrue nods twice, thoughtfully. "Yeah, that's about it. Return home or wander for the day?"

"Return home, if you will?" she asks in response.

"Dismiss Seraphim," Murrue chants, and a moment later she was gone. "Some days I wish it was that easy for me," Murrue grumbles, then picks up her jacket and heads for the door.

Almost two years, Murrue thinks aloud as she passes the antechamber to Natarle's office. Helmswoman Mina was still on duty as the Commander's secretary, and in addition to her schoolwork Mina's twelve-year-old daughter Tami was also the courier for the 'Executives' as King Edgar frequently called them. A lot more creepy than Murrue expected, Tami came to attention and saluted properly as she passed the desk, to which she quickly returned the salute. "Still at it, Mina?" Murrue asks.

"Won't be long, Captain," Mina replies. "Natarle's inbox was pretty close to empty when I last checked in."

" 'Kay. Have a good night," Murrue says before moving on and further toward the exit from the Palace and toward the city of Vector.

The day was already dark when she exited the Imperial Capital at Vector, and with clear skies the stars and dual moons were out in full force and grandeur. The hazard of winter, even in more temperate climates, was that the day was still short. Even if she could wander around Vector in nothing more than her Archangel Team uniform, it was still dark. Even at 1900 at night, there was a lot of activity still going on in town, and even in the stilling night as the street lights and shop windows took over for the sun, Murrue received more than a few accolades from the people on the street. Otherwise, Vector could have passed for New York City (what was left of it) or Washington DC back home in the Atlantic Federation.

Eschewing the full dinner that she normally took, Murrue grabbed a meat roll and iced tea from a street vendor, paid her two gold for the combination, and was on her way to see what she could find new in town today. The street vendor in question was more than glad to have customers where he had set up shop, given that a palate of semi-fast food had become the preferred of the urbanites of Vector, restaurants that served fast but also served good, hearty meals. Ultra-fast foods like a meat roll were becoming the exception rather than the norm, though Murrue figured he would not be unemployed for a long time if at all given the quality of his serving.

As she moved around the town, heading slowly east by south, she heard much and saw a lot of activity, but more than that was the feeling. Her ability to read minds was still not on the level that Miriallia could do so, but she could still hear more than just the voices. Hundreds around her, and most of them were giving off an aura of serenity, the calmness of those who were in a comfortable position without volatility or overt threat to their being. It was a far cry from the first days after the invasion, where the terror and desire for vengeance was so great that Murrue would not move about outside without another person along with and a combat shotgun just in case. Today, the only thing she carried was her usual pistol, though she was giving serious thought to upgrading to the 1911 that the ship would take on several dozen sets of because they were available, cheap and very effective.

She did not initially realize it, but after a few blocks of walking and listening, she found herself in the high-class business sector of the town, where the real movers and shakers had their establishments and residencies. The people that Murrue and Natarle had to assure at least once a week that an action taken was not for the purpose of undercutting their business or their personal well-being. In this area, there was much in the way of the glint of gold, the smell of sweet oils, the flapping of expensive fabrics in the breeze as the merchants in the area began to tear down their stalls and storefronts for the day. A few shops held later hours, including the now-infamous brothel and stripclub, but it was not limited to that.

Murrue passed by one of the four jewelrs on the block and thought nothing of it, since said merchant was closing down for the day. Ten meters more, though, and she did take notice: "—And you really think that's going to work, commander?" The voice in question was unmistakably that of Kira. Rather than be obvious about it, Murrue stepped into the shadow of a buttress on an old temple's outside wall, and carefully looked back to the store in question.

"You know the rule, Kira. We make the impossible possible. I don't see anything too wrong with this," Mu declares in his usual nonchalant fashion.

"Commander, is this something impossible or insane? There's a big difference there, keep that in mind," Kira replies staunchly.

"How do you figure?" Mu asks in the same fashion as Kira's last.

"Commander, as I see it, one of two things is going to happen: Either she'll go for it, or she'll rip your head off and kick it down the hall. Granted, it is you, so I'm going to have to say 75-25 your favor, but a one-in-four chance of your skull being used as a substitute football is still not the best odds for someone having to clean up the mess."

"That's pretty harsh," Mu replies, sounding quite a bit hurt.

"I don't think 'harsh' has even begun for us, Commander, and we've already lost personnel in these close-to-three-years we've been wandering. Losing you to 'friendly fire' would not help the crew's morale, or any of us for that matter. Especially Murrue."

Murrue ducked back behind the buttress, and she could tell she was blushing. She had no clue who they were referring to, it could have been any one of the ladies on the ship, and for some reason it came to her mind that it was not her they were referring to.

"You're right, but someone has to do these things right, or all that will happen is we'll end up regretting it in the end. Or at least those of us who survive, that is."

"And I thought you made the impossible possible, Commander," Kira chides his (technically) superior officer. Murrue could tell from the voices that they were moving away from her now...

"Like you said, there is impossible, then there is insane..." and thereafter were they out of hearing range. She checked, the two of them were not in visible range any more, so she stepped out and continued walking.

If nothing else, she had learned that something monumental was likely to happen shortly. As she continued down the street, her mind wandered in dozens of tangents as to what it could be...

-x-x-x-

(Vignette: The Fate of True Warriors)

(Indeterminate Date and Time)

(Indeterminate Location and Dimension)

Kristen Redmond could not really recall having gone to sleep, but that is how it felt to her as she woke up. She knew she might have been knocked out during the battle, that was actually likely since she remembered her Mad Dog Omnimech losing its leg to one of those massive enemy machines with the over-powerful rail gun, maybe she had been knocked unconscious as her crippled Omnimech came down and struck the ground.

With a little effort she pushed herself off the ground and looked around. Everywhere in the distance she could see trees and campfires, two things that had been markedly absent in the canyon and plains that the Doma Regiments had gone head to head against the Imperials. She had remembered seeing something on the horizon, possibly the Espers, but there was no sign of them around here. The people being lit by the fires were not Doma's infantry, nor were they Imperial can-heads as she thought of them, lending her wonder where the hell she was and how to get back to her unit.

"Finally awake, kid?" a gruff guy asks from behind her as she was standing up.

Redmond looks to the guy in question, who fit the description of 'grizzled mercenary' to a tee. The massive beard and non-standard uniform, coupled with the combination of assault rifle and broadsword in sheath made him appear to be three mismatches for the price of one. "What happened? Redmond asks in a civil fashion. One thing she learned since trying to be assertive (sharp) with the Archangel crew was that a kind tone cost you nothing and got you a lot farther than hostility, veiled or open.

"Hard to say, lady," he replies. "Everyone ends up here for very different reasons in the end, but almost always for a good reason. Come, have a seat, Mechwarrior, the night is still young and tomorrow shall be a busy day."

Kristen takes the offered seat on a driftwood log drug up to a campfire. In the light around the fire, she could see five others, each with an interesting mode of dress and armament as far as she could tell.

The one immediately to her right also wore the cooling vest and garb of a Mechwarrior, but he had no 'mech and was instead carrying a Rorynex SMG of some type. The armpatch on his left arm was indistinguishable, the lines on it giving no proper form or recollection to her mind, though the symbol of the Blood Spirit was immediately below it, meaning he had been taken bondsmen from Clan Blood Spirit in years past. The way he held the Rorynex bespoke decades of practice with it, though he could not have been older than Kristen was.

Farther counterclockwise was a lady in a black jumpsuit, a mask pulled up over her forehead. Kristen immediately recognized her as a Ninja, a combination spy and assassin from Feudal Japan over a millennia past in Terran history. The two short swords she carried would likely be incredibly lethal in close quarters, and Kristen had little doubt on her early-twenties frame were hidden at least a half-dozen more weapons. That alone made her extremely dangerous.

In stark contrast to the Ninja, three down the row from her was a medieval Knight, armor and all. The glint of his armor in the firelight and growing moonlight was almost obscene on a battlefield that could naught but be replete with automatic firearms and armored units, making him little more than a target to a good shot. On the other hand, Kristen had to remind himself that the Magic Knights themselves suffered from a one-up on the subject: they had armor based on their school uniforms—a miniskirt and sailor top—which made them effectively targets under the wrong circumstances. Kristen could not help but think that the same fate would befall him as would anyone else in such armor.

Directly across from her rested a guy in a white robe with a rod that looked oddly like a Caduceus Staff. Other than the hard eyes of someone who had seen hard combat more than once in his life, Kristen almost thought he was unworthy to the battlefield...and then reminded herself that she also thought the Magic Knights were unworthy to the battlefield. She could guess by his garb and staff that he was some form of support wizard, likely a healer that kept the rest of the combat team from dying out due to injuries.

Left of center and across the fire sat another guy, this one more of the modern vintage, wearing a soldier's body armor and helmet, but his web harness and gear bespoke someone of an older vintage in combat training. The M-16 rifle was famous throughout the Clans as a historical weapon of the common infantryman, along with the infamous AK-47 or AKM rifles, which were its chief competition. His body armor had several gashes in it from what looked like sword strokes, which made Natarle wonder what the hell was really going on in this land.

The last person at the seating she had not prior checked was the most stunning of them all to Kristen. She was obviously Elemental of some fashion or another, being almost seven foot tall, but not of Clan eugenic at that. She wore blue body armor and a Fritz helmet, with a massive sword similar to that of the Strike Gundam's Schwert Gewehr slung across her back and easily reachable, but she also carried some kind of a light machine gun that fed from what looked like heavier-caliber 8mm or 9mm rifle rounds. Where Kristen thought Natalya was tough, she had little doubt that this lady could rip Natalya apart barehanded and enjoy the process. Added to the sword and MG was the usual soldier's compliment of equipment, grenades, extra ammo, a pistol, combat knife, and other devices. Most telling of all, the sword itself glowed faintly green even against the light and glare of the rising moon and the fires around the area; Kristen could guess that the sword itself was magicked, possibly quite heavily.

It was the Blood Spirit that broke the silence a moment thereafter. "Ah, a Jade Falcon taken bondsmen. I do not recognize the uniform or the insignia of your victors, though," he says in a gratingly malicious fashion.

"Archangel Team, a mercenary unit that came to be by jumping dimensions seemingly at random into the path of our oncoming righteous assault into the Inner Sphere. You?" she asks in counter.

"A group called the Illyaris. We made the mistake of assuming they were Inner Sphere. They were as far beyond the Clans as we were beyond the Successor States. I served as bondsman to them for a while, then ended up here," the former Blood Spirit officer replies.

"Where is here? And how do I return to the lines of the invasion I was part of?"

"There will be no going back," the grizzled one with the assault rifle and broadsword declares. "Mage, if you will?" and he nods to the guy in the white robes.

"Flames distort, show us that which transpired unto the battle referenced by way of Flame Illusory Vision," the Mage chants, pointing the end of his staff at the centroid of the fire. "Now, Jade Falcon, speak to us of your battle, and we shall see what happened with unclouded eyes," he says.

"I was part of the Northern Invasion against the Imperial forces on a planet the Archangel Team had seemingly randomly landed upon. The Mechwarriors had been assigned to the Doma invasion corridor, as we expected the most resistance from that direction, and as we advanced we encountered the retreating Imperials. A battle ensued, and as we were routing the enemy force they sprung a nasty assault upon us, massive machines with long-range magnetic cannons. We did what we could, but...but...what happened? I remember the Stormcrow went down, a slug went clean through it's gyro housing and the pilot ejected, then the Timber Wolf went down with a hit to the chest, then..." She needed not ask, she saw from the eyes of an infantryman watching her machine. The rail trail terminated in the leg of the Mad Dog, then two seconds later as the Omnimech was falling down the slug struck the cockpit and obliterated it completely, as well as a significant part of the top of the reactor housing. "That...is what happened?"

"That is the battle you speak of, Mechwarrior," the Knight declares. "The art of war you speak of is truly frightful, the sway of battle can change in moments in your lands, and for that I have only the greatest pity for your practitioners."

"Yet, if that is what happened, and I would clearly have been killed, then how am I here speaking to you?" Kristen asks, now very clearly confused. "I, by all rights of what you just showed me, should already be dead!"

"At least she does not question the validity of your magic," the Ninja declares to the Mage.

"That is the hazard of calling upon technologically-trained warriors for this detail," the Elemental lady declares. "Yet, I believe she has at least a cursory versing in the ways of the arcane, despite having been—and soon again to be—an Omnimech pilot."

"In time, she shall learn the ways of the arcane as well," the Mercenary declares. "To answer your question properly, you did die in that canyon, having been struck by that rail gun slug. The catch is, your unit is being tracked by parties well outside your influence, parties that have purpose for your deceased even after they have died. You are one of them."

"What mockery is this? Death is death, yet why am I alive?" Kristen asks, now getting slightly frustrated.

"You are alive because one of the Valkyrie brought you here," the Mercenary replies. A moment later he spit a wad of chewing tobacco into the fire, where it continued to sizzle for a moment and give off a very distinct aroma. "This is the field of Valhalla, Mechwarrior. You do know the old mythos of the Norse, correct?"

Stunned silence from Kristen for over a minute as she simply stared at the Mercenary. After a moment she smiled thinly. "So you say that, much as in the existence of the Magic Knights and the Archangel itself, that there are beings such as Gods in existence, that transcend the bounds between alternate realities, and that I have been inducted into the army of the Norse for fighting the final war?" Kristen asks, not entirely open to what even she said, but clearly reminding herself that part of the reason she was now in this mess was because of Gods—the Rune Gods of Cephiro.

"You speak true on the subject," the Elemental declares.

"Or, as some are wont to declare, this is now your cold, hard reality. Welcome to the Einherjar, Mechwarrior." From the Knight, it almost sounded of an eulogy in and of itself.

"It will be a few days before you get a new 'mech, but in that time you are going to be fighting for your life all day, and live or die you will be alive in the evening to feast, rest and repeat tomorrow morning. This is our fate, we were the masters of war in our lives prior, we shall be the masters of war come the days of Ragnarök," the Blood Spirit bondsman declared in a cheery voice. "Damaged weapons, machines of war, bodies, all are repaired and reloaded every day for us by the magicked lands we stand on. All you have to do is practice the killing and the support staff take care of the rest."

"Fair warning," the American soldier spoke; "You are about to get a crash course in why people say 'war is hell'. I've heard things about Clanner Mechwarriors, I just hope you're ready for it. Because you can do this long enough to have to kill the same poor schlub several times in the space of a few months."

"What? You keep track?" The Ninja asks.

"Well, hard not to when I keep killing the same Soviet puke time and time again. We've been trading kills for so long I lost count, all I know I usually get him three times of five, and sometimes we end up draw battle and have a drink of vodka after the day's done. Sometimes we end up on the same side, even. Had a couple of kids, girls, and a hot wife left behind in his reality because some Taliban sniper popped him in Afghanistan in '85. Helluva good guy, stuck on the wrong side of the iron curtain."

"What about you, Mechwarrior? What is your story?" the Mercenary asks.

"I was a Star Captain in the Jade Falcon Clan, commander of fifteen Omnimechs in battle. The Clan took a planet called Romulus, and I was assigned garrison detail after the main strike forces had withdrawn. There was a mercenary outfit on the planet called the Archangel Team, who were there by cosmic accident—they were crossing dimensions from their home to a planet called Cephiro, then to Dustball, a neighboring planet in my home dimension. When we captured their Dropship, they struck back hard and fast, absolutely massacring the garrison forces by the numbers. I was captured in that battle, served my time as a bondsman, and was reinstated to join my captors as was my duty. We crossed dimensions again, this time landing on an alternate Terra or similar, and became involved in the war there. The Archangel Team and two local kingdoms invaded the southern continent to be rid of a despotic, omnicidal Empire in the south, and that is how the battle that killed me came into play. We were pursuing them south through a canyon and thought we had their measure, yet they struck back with those armored walkers. They appear to have shredded the Omnimechs through and through, but if the continuing illusion is indication, it is they who fell to the Espers in the end."

"The Empire was utterly destroyed," a soldier behind her declares. "I was there, Mechwarrior, I was in Vector as the Espers came," he says as he sits down on the log between her and the Mercenary. Only then did she see the blue armor of an Imperial Commando on his person. "Our best, Magitek Knights and Commandos, no match for the weighted assault of the Espers and no match in tactics to those of Figaro and Doma. Fitting this is a fate for we; living the battle in our mortal existence, now condemned to live it forever until the final days of Existence. I hold no grudge, Mechwarrior, we received as we earned, after being here a week I now know where the Empire went wrong, listening to American civilians, UNSC Marines, English Knights, ComStar Precentors, Russian Infantry, Mages of every variety, even such far-flung as Elves and Nymphs, by the Gods how we went wrong." He bows his head, removes a flask from the hip of his armor, and takes a swig, then offers it to the Mercenary. After the Merc takes a slug, it continued around the ring.

"You are here for two reasons, Jade Falcon," the Elemental declares after she had her shot of drink. "You are here for your skill in battle, and you are here to correct the depredations of your past and use that wisdom to save many worlds in the battles to come. Look upon this as the ultimate glory, for being the best you shall now be the best forevermore, and maybe we can at least buy a partial victory in the battle to come."

"I'll drink to that," the Knight replies. "God help us all."

"God help us all," the American and the Blood Spirit replies in kind.

"I will do what I can," Kristen replies. "If this is the ultimate glory of battle, then perchance the Clans have it wrong after all," she declares as the illusion of the battle continues in the fire.

---

Author's Chapter Afterword:

200 REVIEWS! 20000 HITS! This is a definitive honor and a pleasure that I am reaching out to so many people with this story. Thank you all for the reads and reviews, people, I will definitely not give this story up until it is done and the odyssey of the Archangel is writ completed.

Damn this took way too long to get out! Yet I will not curse the fates that add weeks to these things, sometimes I just have no way to do writing when I run a tight schedule on 2 and a partial jobs and maintaining a house or two.

I'll admit, though, once I got toward the end it started flowing more freely than not, and especially the scene in Valhalla. I always wanted to show the modern, grizzled face of Valhalla, since the Norse are likely to be the most cosmopolitan of the old warrior tribes and respect or take up the newer forms of warfare. Always good to throw a sop to the fact that war evolves and the Valkyrie have to keep up or get left behind. There is reason for the Valkyrie being so progressive as well as old-school, but I will save that for another forum.

If you kept up with the datestamps at the head of each section, you'd know that this has taken over 9 months time in literary. If I kept it to 1-3 months a chapter, this section would take way the hell too many chapters before the next serious episode. And I cannot in good conscience do over 10 chapters in FFVI since both everyone and I want to get on with it! There is so much real estate for the Archangel to cover, and I want to do it all and then some! HARHARHAR! Really, though, only one more chapter remains before the first _really_ nasty surprise of the story. And I want it done before the end of the summer, which I swear shall be reality.

The Arms Race isn't through yet, and the Thompson is just the beginning of it. Can any of you say 'MG42'? Or how about 'AK-47'? Can I get 'M-16' or 'M-60'? If any of you have nominations for better, I want to hear them. Rest assured the Archangel is going to head out to the next stop with a full compliment of small arms and ammo, if a bit thin on other supplies.

And, contrary to what Hikaru thinks about the Tonberries, there is one more to go. I'm not going to say anything more about it, but any of you FFVI veterans should be able to guess at it: keep in mind that only regular Tonberries have been recruited thus far :)

And that pretty much covers it, people. Next up: the final modifications to the Teleporter Systems presage the chance to get home, but do they really get there, or does something go horridly wrong?

---

Review Replies: Oh man, I got a whole slew of reviews from readers, as well as a lot of good hard criticism from my new beta, Strata-Assassin. If you have the time and the will to read a completely unconventional but straight Gundam SEED fic, read her story Weapon's Waltz. It starts slow but it is well worth the read, of this you can rest assured. Even dovetails very nicely with the unmodified storyline of SEED :P

Etienne Of The West Wind: Ask and ye shall receive thy vengeance. Though I want to cover the unknown half of the world, I am going to save that for a side story to come, which will be adroitly set up in the next chapter. Think 'The Empire didn't act alone' combined with 'noisy neighbor loan-sharks'. Miri is not the only promotion, and there will be more in plenty of time to come, but Flay is also not through; look for Allster in the side story as well.

One-Village-Idiot: I apologize for the slow chapters, but they are necessity. Not everything can be the last desperate stand on the bloody battlefield, but by the same token that is one of my specialties :P By the Gods, I am looking forward to getting this off Terra and back on track. Stargate is not one I am heavily familiar with, but Star Wars is an old favorite. Of course, all destinations classified. CNC, maybe one of the first two sets of games, not likely the third games since I don't have them yet, and I am not putting up with EA's DRM-ware bullshit on RA3 so that is totally out of the question. Again, though, official destinations classified

COLINZBERTRAM: Thank you for the review. Gundam 00 is one that I will definitely look into when the DVDs come out and if I have the budget, being such a Gundam fan I have a mortal obligation to watch it. As a destination, though, keep in mind I go places that I have analyzed thoroughly, a lot of this is random but it is all calculated in the end.

Knives91: It will continue, definitely. The insanity must not end!

NHO, I still have not received a clear cut to that link. Matrix is a helluva thought, as is RA2; Yuri versus Miriallia sounds real hellish to me :P Bigger bombs may not be needed, and keep in mind the Positron cannons are technically antimatter weapons. You don't get more destructive than Antimatter per pound, with one exception native to my MMC and JW lines. As always, all future destinations and order are classified; and subject to random effects as well.

Akasui: Tina will get a lot more time in the side-story to come, as well as revelations and awakenings. Kira and Athrun are part and parcel of the research and dev of the Teleporters, but the Duel is badass enough as-is for now. He may come across some noteworthy upgrades at a later time, however :P The Summons still have not been completely sorted out, though, so stand by; ref above comments about Flay.

Strata-Assassin: MUCH THANK YOU FOR THE BETA!!! I didn't know I could screw up something like this in so many small ways :P Well, as I have explained before, I do not hate Flay, for evidence just read Dilemma of Flay Allster for a good non-hate look at her in a genuinely screwed-up situation. Or better yet, hold on that for when I get the Jokers Wild series up to date. The grand battles like that are not simple to coordinate, but they are immensely fun. Most of writing them is years of studying military history (as opposed to the liberal history taught in school) and a healthy dose of understanging how strategy is applied both in games and in real life. Don't worry about writing long reviews, do as long or as short as you feel appropriate, I like 'em all. Keei it coming, as shall I.

Gatomon41: If you are a Flay fan, then I suggest you hang around for the first Side Story to this work. Flay will get her due desserts, of this I swear. More to follow on that subject. Rest assured that while I do believe not all of life turns out right in the end (reality is far colder than that), this is one topic I have not finished with yet.

Gundam Chief: I have a huge plethora of work surrounding the Executors, as they even factor into the Jokers Wild series in a small but critical way. What you sent me in information has been most interesting and enlightening, though it does not match what I apply to my stories the ideas behind it are always helpful. Stay tuned, much more is to come.

Thank you all for the continued and very vocal support! I will finish this epic, of that I swear to you. Odysseus is about to get a run for his money!

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The Gripe Sheet: Any standing gripes have been dealt with and my Beta caught over 80 errors. Hopefully I didn't write a pink elephant in there somewhere...

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Footnotes:

(1): Mark-1 Eyeball is a quasi-military joke about using plain sight to find something.

(2): Mag Roader is an enemy that shows up fairly early in FF VI, in the character's escape from the Magitek Facility. It is not especially tough but it runs in packs and has some rudimentary magic attacks that give it fang.

(3): The Thompson Sub-machine gun fires from an open bolt, unlike most other weapons that fire from a closed bolt. Open Bolts are fairly common on SMG weapons, helps prevent round cookoffs that can lead to the weapon firing when not triggered, and an open-bolt mechanism is both cheaper and weighs less than a closed-bolt weapon.