"This machine is awesome!" Ysak muttered, cramming his head and one arm up inside the head assembly of the Duelist. He was back in Hawaii, at Alkire's house-bunker-thing. The mobiles suits were by far too large to fit into the hanger, so they had been scattered around the palm jungle nearby, covered with visual, radar and heat camouflage netting to mask their presence from enemy eyes. Of course, who the hell was going to come way out to this isolated peninsula was an unknown, but it was better to be safe than surrounded, as James had put it. Each pilot had spent their time since flying back from Orb making the slight little personal adjustments to their machines that would turn them from excellent to devastating.
Ysak for instance… he liked getting a good look at his opponents. The camera's that were the eyes of a mobile suit normally kept their resolution to a minimum, to maximize the number of targets that could be easily tracked. In reality, they could just display targets as boxes, but that was a little much… it was tough to believe a box was shooting at you. Ysak was turning the resolution up on his cameras so that he could better notice little details, like the width of a gun muzzle or even markings on armor that might indicate weak points. Crazy as it might sound, he'd made kill shots like that before, by targeting a scratched and repainted section of armor that was weaker than the surrounding plates.
Ysak was paying so much attention to the cameras, which could zoom in to a degree he had previously thought impossible, that he didn't hear the two pairs of feet walk up behind him. He had no idea Katie and Chanel were even in the forest until one of them… Katie probably… slipped her ice cold hands up under his shirt while he was standing next to slash inside the head of the prone Duelist. He jerked and slammed his head hard into the inside of the head assembly, making a dull "bong" sound and causing him to drop his adjustment tool out onto the ground outside. His sleeve was snagged on the lip of the armored skull and so it took him almost a minute and a rip in his shirt to fight his way out of the head.
Katie and Chanel were in hysterics, holding onto each other for dear life as they laughed. He glared at them, rubbing his sore head. "Yeah… that was reeaallly funny." He snorted. "You have nothing more productive to do?"
"Not really. We don't have a mobile suit to work on." Chanel replied.
"There is a god, thankfully." Ysak mumbled.
"What was that? I think somebody just made a smart comment." Katie said impishly. "I think this same somebody doesn't want the cool refreshing drink we brought him. Don't you agree, Chanel?"
"I don't know… that "bong" was worth a few smart ass comments, I think."
"What's this about a drink?" Ysak asked. He'd been so concentrated on his work he hadn't really felt the stifling heat and humidity. He was parched, come to think of it.
"I made three strawberry slushies. One for me. One for Katie. And one for an as yet unnamed person." Chanel replied.
"Don't beat around the bush. What do you want and for how long will I have to do it?"
"Perceptive as ever." Katie smirked.
"You two never come around except when you want something."
"Ooo… someone really is smarting. He's thinking with his bruise, not his mind. He seems to have forgotten about last night… who was doing the wanting then, hmm?" Chanel countered. Ysak didn't have a good answer for that one.
"You're coming swimming with us for at least the next two hours. You have to promise, and then we'll give you the drink."
"No thanks… I need to work on the Duelist. I'll just take a drink of water…" Ysak trailed off. His canteen was lying on a portable workbench nearby, tipped over and drained out onto the soft dirt. "Some people might regard this sort of thing as blackmail." He pointed out softly.
"Some people might, but you don't." Katie said with a smile. "You want the slushie, you're just making excuses because you don't want to go swimming. You do know how to swim, right?"
"You know I do. I'm a trained combat diver. But I really need to make this modification."
"Then make it. But you're not getting a drink until you promise to go swimming with us. We have all day. Its only ten am. We're not thirsty, so go right ahead and make your modification, we'll be right here." Chanel replied. She swung a cold thermos up and down, making a heavy shifting sound as the ice and fluid inside slushed around. Ysak gave her a glare as cold as the thermos, and then picked up the tool and crammed himself back into the head assembly. It was no use. Every couple of minutes Chanel would swish the slushie around, while Katie would take loud swigs from her own canteen of water and make loud comments about how refreshing a good swim would feel. Ysak could have spit in the eye of a man torturing him with red hot irons, but some things were not meant for humans to bear.
Ysak twisted the adjustment tool a few more times, setting his resolution to a level he could tolerate, even if it wasn't perfect. He then shimmied out of the head assembly without hitting himself this time. It had only been about ten minutes since the girls had shown up. It's a good thing they weren't around during the last war… I never would have been ready to sortie. Ysak thought sourly. "I do solemnly swear to go swimming with you two for a time not to exceed two hours." He intoned seriously. He paused a moment. "Gimme the damn drink."
"Guys always come around to the girl's point of view, eventually. You'd think they'd go easier on themselves and just agree right away." Katie commented.
"They wouldn't be guys if they did that." Chanel replied, tossing Ysak the thermos. He took a long gulp and shivered. Sweet, frosty and fruity, the fluid seemed to carve a path through the heat built up in his body. Maybe not as refreshing as a glass of pure ice water, but it was a long way from terrible.
"All right, let me go back and get my swimsuit and we can go." He said.
"Oh no you don't… we know you… you'd take a good twenty or thirty minutes to get ready, if you go back to Uncle Alkire's place…" Chanel said.
"You're fine as you are. There's no one around but us to see, anyway." Katie finished. Ysak looked at them both askance.
"You're not suggesting…?"
"Not in the slightest…" Katie said.
"We're insisting, actually." Chanel said, having the grace to blush.
Ysak looked left. The jungle was deserted. He looked right. Also deserted. He looked up, down and all around. Nobody else was around that he could detect. All the same he kept his voice to a barely audible whisper. His cheeks heated even as his voice cooled. "You want to go skin diving, in the jungle?"
"Skin diving in the ocean actually… the jungle streams all have yucky stuff in them, leeches and that sort of thing." Katie replied, not bothering to whisper.
"Keep your voice down!" Ysak hissed. "If Dearka heard about this he'd have candid photos already developed by the time we got out of the water."
"And?"
Ysak put his hands to his face. "It may not be a big deal to you two…" he hissed. "… but to me, that sort of thing is horribly embarrassing. I HATE being embarrassed. And that goes triple for being embarrassed by Dearka!"
"He doesn't do it out of spite." Chanel commented.
"I KNOW! That makes it worse! It's because he thinks he is trying to help me that it bugs me so much. If he was doing it to be mean I could just punch his lights out and that would be that. But he's genuinely trying to help me, misguided though his attempts are. I can't beat him into unconsciousness for trying to be a good friend."
"Poor Ysak… so confused." Katie said, both sarcastic and sympathetic.
"Just… shut up. Let's go get this over with."
"Ah… now that Ysak knows we'll be taking off our clothes he wants to get started… should have dangled that in front of him from the beginning." Chanel remarked.
"That isn't the reason."
"Sure it isn't. You're turning red." Katie observed.
"That isn't the ONLY reason." Ysak amended.
"Closer… but I still sense some falsehood." Chanel countered.
"Damn it, I am a male! So sue me!"
----------------------------------
"Need any more help?" Cagalli asked. Athrun took a moment to consider his reply. He was lying on his back, wedged up on a thick tree branch positioned under one of the thruster nozzles of the Righteous's wing flyer packs. The nozzle had been stuttering a bit on the flight from Orb… nothing major, perhaps a .5 percent drop in efficiency, but he'd felt it, even though he wasn't anywhere close to attuned to the machine yet. So he'd resolved to make the necessary adjustments when he got the chance. Maybe it wasn't something most pilots would even notice… but he wasn't most pilots. Everything had to be optimum for him to feel good about it… at least with regards to mobile suits. In the rest of life he was learning to accept a little imperfection, less he be driven crazy.
"Nah, I got it for now. Thanks for the lift, love."
"You just wanted me to put my hands around your waist. You didn't need any help getting up into that tree." Cagalli accused him.
"I can't exactly deny you that point. But why jump or climb when you can be lifted?"
"You're not all that light." Cagalli commented, rubbing one shoulder in an exaggerated motion.
"I'm not all that heavy either. What am I, like one hundred forty something pounds?"
"One hundred and fifty five, lardo."
"We can't all be anorexic."
"I'm not anorexic! I just… like moderation. In what I eat!"
"Good qualifying statement, love. I was about to fall out of the tree in shock at your apparent loss of your sense of reality there."
"So have you figured out what was wrong?" Cagalli said, changing the subject.
"Just a factory miscalculation, an extra .1 added to the wrong side of the thrust control algorithm. Nothing too strange to find on an experimental model of mobile suit with a bunch of experimental gear, like the Righteous. It's not something I would have noticed back when I had the Aegis… but now… well… the flight just felt off, just a tiny fraction. And when fighting guys like Frost, even a tiny fraction is too much."
"No argument there. So can you fix my machine too, once you are done?"
"Why, what's wrong with it?"
"I don't know. Maybe there isn't anything wrong. But if the factory made a miscalculation with your machine… maybe they messed up a little with mine too."
"Have you noticed anything that's not like it should be?"
"I have no clue. I'm not an ace mobile suit pilot like some people. I don't even know what the thrust control algorithm is, much less precisely how it affects flying, other than it controls thrust."
"By and large, if you haven't noticed anything wrong with how the Rubicon performs, then nothing needs to be fixed. Maybe there are some irregularities in the targeting displays, like Kira had. Maybe your thrusters are a little off, like mine are. Maybe your camera isn't adjusted to quite the visual acuity you want, like for Ysak. Or maybe your communication gear just stops working for about five minutes every three hours, regular as clockwork, which is Dearka and Miriallia's problem. However, if you haven't noticed anything detracting from your control and operation of the Rubicon, chances are, I don't need to fix it for you, because if I did then the fix might throw you off."
"So you are saying that because I'm not a good enough pilot to really notice the tiny little things that may be wrong, that they shouldn't be fixed because then that might throw me off?" Cagalli said, slightly incredulous.
"In a nutshell… yes. Not to be insulting, Cagalli, but compared to Kira, Ysak, Dearka and myself, you aren't much better than Alkire or one of the TEMPEST soldiers would be. For instance, if I fixed your targeting system to the level I have mine set on, or god forbid, the one Kira has put into the Liberty, you'd never be able to fire your weapons, because your machine would never give you target lock, because you aren't able to move the crosshairs that finely. You're a good pilot, a good shot and a good fighter, love, but you don't need the super special tweak job on your machine… at least not until you can start fighting like Kira did during the early stages of the last war."
"It'd probably be easier to grow wings and fly off under my power." Cagalli said sourly. "I've logged hundreds of hours on mobile suit simulators, and Kira started out doing better than I ever did. If it wasn't for the compensatory AI in the Strike Rouge I would have been blasted into scrap five minutes after I sortied into Jachin Due."
"There you are selling yourself short. You may not be an ace, but your no slouch either, love. You're good enough to beat anyone not in an elite squadron, rest assured." Athrun replied, reaching both hands into the torso sized thrust nozzle. He almost instantly found the problem. One of the inner sealant rings was a tiny bit loose. He drew a wrench from his belt and set to work levering at it. It was more a brute strength problem than anything requiring finesse. It was tough getting the right amount of torque while lying flat on his back on a tree limb suspended four meters in the air, but he managed slowly. "I'll take a look at the Rubicon if you really want me to, but unless I find a glaring problem I'm not going to fix anything."
"Erica Simmons built these… there's no way in hell that the term "glaring" could be applied in any negative way to them." Cagalli replied.
"That's likely true. She's a very talented engineer. Just goes to show, Coordinators don't have all the smart people."
"I knew that already. I mean, look at you…" Cagalli trailed off impishly.
"Oho… somebody's getting some lip. I think I oughta fix that before I do any work on your machine."
"Interesting euphemism. I hadn't thought of it that way before. Maybe I should go smear some motor oil on myself." Cagalli retorted wickedly. Athrun opened his mouth to reply, but was honestly stuck for a comeback to that. Instead of answering, he rolled to the side and dropped off the tree branch, somersaulting in midair to stick a near perfect landing in the jungle loam right next to Cagalli. Before she could even twitch, he picked her up in both arms and bounded off into the undergrowth. He gloried in the feel of her in his arms, the soft flesh, the well defined muscles, and the sweet blond hair blowing in the wind of his movement. She only weighed about one hundred or so pounds, maybe a little more… he'd never been around when she weighed herself and he was girl savvy enough to know not to inquire. In any case, it wasn't enough to tire him for the short distance he was going, a good part of his military training had focused on bringing out his physical potential, which was of course greater than that of a Natural's.
About a hundred meters into the jungle he found what he was looking for, a small glade of fern-like plants, with long, wide feathery leaves that made a sort of den or hollow underneath which all was shadowy soft grass. The perfect little hidey hole for a bit of recreation. There were bunches of them scattered along the jungle peninsula, Athrun had encountered several during his previous stay at Alkire's house. He hadn't specifically sited the Righteous's hiding place near one, but finding one nearby had been a happy accident. They were a great place to relax when he wanted to be alone, rarely though that was. They also made a great place to have a refreshing lunch break, sheltered from the glare of the sun and cooled by the shade from the heat of the day. He checked the make sure there were no animals sheltering in the glen by kicking a scrap of tree bark into it. When nothing hissed or yelped or ran out, he knew it was unoccupied.
He lowered Cagalli into the soft grass at the center of the glen. She looked around speculatively. "So this is where you've been going during your work breaks. I always stopped by and I could never find you."
"I'm with you ninety percent of the time, both when I'm awake and asleep. I do need some time by myself."
"I wasn't mad, I was just curious about where you could have disappeared to."
"Well, as you can no doubt see, here is where I've been. Neat, huh?"
"Reminds me of the tree fort at my house." Cagalli said with a smirk.
"Funny… reminds me of that too… but with less policemen and authority type figures around."
"I know what that means."
"It means something… besides the fact that we won't be thrown in jail if someone walks over here?"
"You're too pure, Athrun. It means we can be as loud as we want."
"Don't let Kira hear that… he'll have nightmares."
"Duh. I'm not an idiot. As far as he knows, we do it like churchgoers, all stiffness and politeness."
"Where do you get these analogies?"
"Shut up and get started, damn you."
"Yes ma'am. Your wish is my command."
"As it should be."
-----------------------------
Asmodeus stretched and yawned, twisting his neck from side to side to try and clear the crick caused by leaning over a computer screen for too long. He'd been combing the nets… all of them… for any tiny little scrap of information that would lead him to finding Vladimir, Jones and the rest of that little group of insurgents. Frustratingly, he hadn't found a damn thing. Jones had done an exemplarily job of covering his own tracks, damn the man to hell. There were traces, but they were nothing more than hints of tidbits of shreds of the evidence he needed to pin down exactly where the enemy was hiding out. So far as he could figure now, the enemy could have their lair in any one of a cornucopia of nations or locations, including Alaska, North Africa, Hawaii, Eastern Europe, the Midwest of the Atlantic Federation and Australia. It was too bad Jones and company had to die. If they could have been recruited, they would have made operatives good enough to make the fiction heroes look tame.
Asmodeus glanced at his computer clock. It was five pm. He had a dinner party to go to at six. He reluctantly shut down his portable workstation and disconnected from the corporate internet login port in the Senior Vice President's office of the Hawaii subsidiary branch of CWM. He wasn't going to get any more work done now and maybe after clearing his head at the party he would have a new perspective when he tried searching again later that night. Asmodeus got up and left the building, getting into the private limousine reserved for CWM executives that was stationed outside the building. A Hellhound operative was at the wheel of the armored car, and three more sat in the back, clad in dinner dress tuxedos. After a quick stop at his hotel to get changed into his white tux and pants, Asmodeus and his guards drove to the dock, where they boarded a hydrofoil for the ten minute boat ride to the Zunnichi private island.
The party was being hosted by the new Vice President of the Hawaiian subsidiary, to honor his soon to be announced wedding date. That his soon to be bride happened to be Vanai Zunnichi made it a must attend event for almost the entire senior staff of CWM, as well as a great many dignitaries from the Atlantic and European Federations. Notably absent would be anyone from the Orb Protectorate, the Kingdom of Scandinavia or any nation which was less than utterly devoted to the cause of Blue Cosmos. Asmodeus stepped off the hydrofoil onto the island's private dock. Already tied up there was Cervantes's luxury yacht, as well as smaller yachts and pleasure cruisers owned or rented by the various executives and dignitaries. Asmodeus walked briskly to the end of the dock, but instead of heading up the paved path to the mansion proper, he turned off left and walked across the beach, his four man escort detail following him as smoothly as machines.
In less than three minutes Asmodeus had located the security command center, cunningly concealed in a bunker hidden beneath a sand dune. The hatch was opened from the inside and Asmodeus and his guards slipped inside quickly. The security command center was a bunker in the military mode, made from solid steel reinforced with armor plates and thick gas proof doors. It had its own power generator and back up battery, a small armory, oxygen refreshers and food stores. It could survive as a self contained environment for a month at a time. However, tonight a full lockdown was not required. The command center was actually nearly deserted, being occupied only by a pair of bored Hellhound team members assigned to watch the array of cameras and monitoring sensors. Asmodeus walked over to a communications console and pushed a button.
"How is the night, Cyprus?" Asmodeus asked. There was a moments rustling of static before a calm, almost inflectionless voice came back across the encrypted radio channel.
"Outside, the night is quiet, sir. Mr. Zunnichi arrived two point three four eight hours ago and his security detail has the place locked down as tight as a bank vault." Cyprus Finch, Lieutenant in the EFSOU and Hellhound team alpha team leader replied. More commonly known… actually, legendary… as "The Lieutenant", both by the men under his command and the Special Forces community at large. Cyprus was all that a commando should be. Smart, fast, talented, skilled, practiced, diplomatic, aggressive, careful, intimidating, respected, feared… he had it all. He might not have excelled in any one aspect of the Special Forces codex, but he could do anything with superior proficiency. Demolitions, hand to hand, tactical fire, assaults, running battles, vehicle combat, knives, swords, guns, axes, fists… you name it, he was deadly at or with it. He was the best operative Asmodeus had ever seen or heard of. He even scared the Coordinators.
"And how secure is it?" Asmodeus asked.
"With my men and I in position… sir, nothing can get through our security. There is no safer place on or off this planet tonight. I promise. The young master's party will not be disturbed."
"The young master? You mean Sai Argyle?"
"He may not be a soldier, sir… but that does not prevent me or my team from having the highest of respect for him. He might just be a young man, but he's as impressive in his way as I am in mine. I wouldn't casually challenge him to a game of tactics."
"Surely you jest."
"Well… maybe tactics is going a bit far. Unless it was a seek and hide scenario. I've watched him demonstrate some of the prototypes he has helped CWM create. When those get on the market, my job will not become easier, let me be frank."
"You'll find a way. Nothing can stop the Lieutenant."
"Wish the young master well for me, sir. Team Alpha is behind him and the young mistress all the way, no matter what. And tell him that if he really wants to thank us, he'll leave the beer in an old packing crate outside the patio door, instead of out in the forest. That way Ramirez can pick it up on his early morning sweep, instead of having to search around for it near the old nests. Lieutenant out."
Asmodeus nodded to himself and then left the command center and headed to the main building, from whence he could hear the sounds of an upper class party in full swing. Asmodeus fancied he could spot movement in the forest or behind some of the sand dunes, but it was nothing more than a fancy he knew. With Team Alpha on the watch, nothing short of an armored regiment could get within shouting distance of the mansion, and his eyes were not keen enough by several decades to pick out the team members in their hiding places. That he was being watched he had no doubt, in fact several rifles were likely being trained on him or on his surrounding area anyway, right now. Asmodeus walked calmly and confidently to the front doors of the mansion and let himself in. Butlers and servants came rushing to take his coat and the coats of his bodyguards, but Asmodeus waved them away. He was only putting in a required appearance; he and his men wouldn't be here long enough to grow uncomfortably hot. Plus, without his jacket on he'd have to take off his pistol holster as well to avoid making guests uncomfortable, and then he'd be uncomfortable.
Asmodeus took a glass of white wine and made his way across the great dining room hall. He greeted the President of the Atlantic Federation and his wife, nodded to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, waved a brief acknowledgement to Captain David Icarus, captain in the EA space forces, and gave a few more subtle greetings to the executives and sponsors of Blue Cosmos present. Within a few minutes he had forged his way through the hangers on to the more select members of the group. Here were the lords of industry, the men who were rivals of Cervantes Zunnichi in the business world, men who owned vast pieces of the world economy. Produce magnates, refinery scions, resource barons, the moneyed aristocracy of the modern world. Each of these men and women had wealth enough to comfortably buy a small nation, with cash enough left over for a space colony or two. And while they may be rivals with Cervantes Zunnichi in the business world, many of them were at least dues paying members of Blue Cosmos, if not actual sponsors.
All of them agreed wholeheartedly that something lasting needed to be done about the "Coordinator Issue". Unchecked the PLANTS economies would eventually overwhelm their own corporations. In the weightless environment of space, industry inconceivable on Earth could become commonplace. And with the current public eye towards the future, the first nation… or company… to master solar or even interstellar travel would make a fortune so vast as to make the rest of money earned in all of history seem like a drop in a bucket. And plainly put, the Coordinators were a lot more likely to solve that problem first, being that they already lived full time in space and had decades of experience in managing long term terrestrial environments in the depths of space. How much of a technical and logistical leap was it from a space colony to a space Ark? Uncomfortably little, all agreed.
And so, these people, these giants of money, who would ordinarily not even give each other the time of day, were all gathered in one place, ostensibly to celebrate the marriage of the daughter of a man they all secretly hated. However, the real reason they were there was because Cervantes had promised to help them find a way to resolve the "Coordinator Issue", so that they could get back to the regular way of stabbing each other in the back for profit as quickly as possible. Cervantes was preaching to them like he had preached to the people of Orb, though with less volume… though not any less fervor. It was by far a more difficult speech. These people knew Cervantes. They knew he wasn't acting out of goodwill for them, that he was in fact by all chances trying to manipulate them into doing his bidding so that he would come out on top. In short, it was a tough crowd. But Cervantes had always excelled at talking even the staunchest of opponents into at least listening to what he had to say. And deep down inside, these people were worried and scared stiff. They were desperate for a strong leader, a good decision… a plan. And Cervantes was offering all three to them, assuming they would help bankroll Blue Cosmos… which they were already doing, in a very minor sense.
So Asmodeus listened with a keen ear as Cervantes slowly, painfully but surely sweet talked his rivals into sending him huge sums of money, or into providing materials or goods at a vastly discounted price to Blue Cosmos and CWM interests.