Disc

Phase 05: Creator

- - -

"Epiphanies. Are they the sign of a person's inner progression, or of regression? None of the old Masters ever claimed to have one. Interpet that how you will." –St. Hawatt McGlone, Historian of the Reign of the Masters

- - -

On the bridge of the Blood Grudge, Captain Mokra Parker surveyed the horrific damage the last battle had inflicted with pained fascination. If it were any other ship, we would be atoms drifting in space right now. If it were any other ship, I would order it scrapped the moment we arrived.

He had to stay there, to continue to bust the butts of the crewers they had assigned to repair duty, to keep them from idly looking up from their work every other second to see their home sweet home out the window.

It was primarily a transparent dome, sitting atop the behemoth of an asteroid Parker always thought was shaped like a pulled tooth. Inside the hemostatically sealed dome on the top, the environment of a modern-day city was replicated in complete detail, save for the fact that its sky was a starfield. Below the edges of the asteroid's smoothed top, hundreds of windows and hatches gave away the presence of a combination military base and shipyard that had been built right into the hard crust of the asteroid. It was Shyron's 'Exodus' asteroid colony, and even Parker could not help but feel relief at seeing it again.

Just then, they started getting static hails on a variety of frequencies, messages that were actually being relayed from the shieldless, but unscathed Imperator to the intact short-range receiver of Blood Grudge. Their own long range receiver was a black pile of melted slag, thanks to a parting shot from an Anno Domino Frigate. The same went for their neutron shield emitters, Valkyrie support bay, Peragus launchers, and about twenty other smaller parts- they were lucky the ship was still moving at all.

Still, he thought, he would rather be here than on the ill-fated Heaven's Gate. He wasn't entirely certain just how much his idol was hurt by the brutal death of Admiral Gentz Landon, only that he had waited for their surviving ships to escape the Solar System before leaving him in charge.

"This is Captain Parker of Blood Grudge, reporting a mission accomplished", he replied to the hails. "Please open us up a bay, and have repair crews ready- we had a hot farewell from the Solar Barrier."

"Acknowledged, captain." Just like that, a bay in the middle distance slid open invitingly, and Parker dared to breathe out again. Despite all the setbacks, all the ambushes and lives they had paid with, they had finally made it back with their cargo intact. Kyoto, Imperator, Cleaver, and of course, Blood Grudge, were the sole survivors of the eight ships assigned to Temeritus' command. One could only hope their prize was worth at least that much in the way of materiel.

All the same, he could no longer deny the most undignified feeling building up in his long legs. By retrieving these machines, we may have just signified the end of our long exile! Anno Domino will have no choice but to negotiate a truce! Parker knew he was jumping to a great number of conclusions, yet a part of him, the part not jaded by years spent in the Shyron Defense Force, could not wait for that day to come.

For the first time, he might yet see the Earth.

- - -

"-Looks a wee bit like Jun. Get 'im out of 'at suit."

"Will 'e be okay, uncle?"

"'ard to say. The state 'is ride's in, S'a miracle he's still breathing at all. Survivor from that last fight, probably, never seen a machine like it before."

"Looks sad, even with his eyes shut."

Hearing the strongly accented words filter through, Bryce stirred in the arms of the large man who was holding him, unconsciously pulling out of his grasp. He was definitely in a hangar by the look of it, but not the usual type. It was possessed of far more windows and a shorter bay door, which conformed to the rounded ceiling and floor corners, making the chamber more like the inside of a curved lead bullet.

Too, the people standing stock-still before him were certainly not maintenance people. The larger of the two was a pot-bellied man with dusty brown hair standing up on his head like a tall crown and a nasty-looking red scar running from his right eyebrow down to the bridge of his nose. The other one couldn't be a child of more than about ten years, and most certainly the man's niece if one was to go by their similar bone structures and maroon eyes.

Nestled in the child's small arms was a perfectly round orange sphere Bryce recognized at once. While DES had only recently jumped onto the production bandwagon, the number of civilian 'toy' Haros had been climbing exponentially ever since an engineer from the House of Orpheus had thought the tiny AIs up for both utility and companionship. They could be configured and equipped for nearly any small task, and assistance at larger ones.

Personally, Bryce had never cared to purchase a mechanic-type Haro to help with DES-appointed tasks unless he was certain he would be able to program away its tendency for obnoxious repetition of phrases whenever it became excited, as he had seen from Elya's chattery sky blue Haro. This one, at least for now, was dormant.

"Well, now", the man finally spoke up nervously when Bryce couldn't think of anything to say. "You're one tough guy, ain'sha to wake up from that thrashing so fast."

Only then was he able to place the accent. The dialect had originated from the lower-class neighborhoods of a very old country called Britain, first called Cockney. Owing to the fact that most of the men Master George Walther had picked to follow him came from this country and its biggest immediate neighbor, France, the speech of a member of the House of Walther often sounded something like a combination between the two accents. Suppose I should be grateful they don't speak in Nadsat. And judging from the shakes, this has to be…

He slowly removed his space helmet and tucked in under his arm, looking out one window nonchalantly to try and spot a star field while keeping up a steady line of patter in case the guy was going to pull a gun or something. "This is the Waltherian mining colony, isn't it? On the moon Charon?"

The man smirked briefly shooing his niece away. "Correct on both counts. I'm Gabriel Dellacroix, and that was my niece Lotta, and the Haro's name is Nix. Found you drifting on my shift out in the void. That contraption looks 'bout ready to fall apart, eh?"

All at once, the memories struck him harder than any gunshot could have. The raging battle he'd been blown clear out of, the battle where a Mobile Suit had killed his mother… Dropping the helmet, he fell to his knees and stiffly held back the tears that threatened to overwhelm him now.

He did that, but obviously couldn't keep despair from his face, as Gabe noticed immediately and bent down over him. "Easy there. You look awful. Must've been quite the scrap. We'll get some food int'ya. Oh, and don't worry if anyone gives you a hard time- some fellas here aren't very fond of Anno Domino pilots. Just look 'em back in the eye."

Now here, Bryce declared inside his head, is the height of embarrassment. He was a grown boy crying despite his best efforts not to, and this muscular guy he barely knew was carrying him over-the-shoulder out of the bay after trying to make him walk. He wanted to punch him in the face. Why couldn't he just leave him be? All he wanted to do was sit in that hangar until he died from grief. Was that really too much to ask?

Evidently so.

- - -

The room was dark, lit only by a single circular emplacement above its counterpart, a semicircular table ringed by seven chairs. The lack of light did nothing to alleviate the claustrophobia caused by a sudden lack of tremors. In here, Heim Temeritus, noted, one might believe that they weren't inside an asteroid at all. No exposed rock. This room looks like it belongs on a ship.

The light, not strong but cast to the farther corners of the circle, had been deliberately made that way. A stronger light than this would have blurred the perfectly imitated details of the six wire frame holograms seated in six of the chairs, and the one petite woman actually there. Jennala Olian might have been there for reasons, but the other Shyronian councilors obviously had more important things to attend to.

Yes, the dark thought intruded long before the recalcitrant Admiral could banish it. Important things like picking their noses and squabbling over political power. As bad as the old Earth governments supposedly were before the Masters took over. If only to save face rather than for Jennala, he covered both his disdain and nervousness by setting his lips in a motionless line, not daring to move it in either direction.

"Admiral Heim Temeritus of the Exodus defense fleet", one of the five male councilors spoke up once the two beige-suited guards had taken their places at the back. "I take it to mean your mission was successful?"

"I wouldn't be standing here otherwise", he replied stiffly, and got a light chuckle from a few of them. Like it or not, these five men and two women were his superiors, the top of the governing body Shyron had adopted in order to spite the House system they had abolished. They had the final say over all military matters- not something he could say experience with Anno Domino had gotten him used to. The Four Devas answered to no one.

"Two of the new machines captured", the visibly senior woman across from Jennala appraised the files they had no doubt received regardless of their location. "A partial success, but, if I recall correctly, intelligence informed us there were three machines. Were they in error, Admiral?"

For a moment, Temeritus risked a cagey glance at his primary rival and most vocal critic on the council; the squat, big-chinned man known as Councilor Pietro Nakura. Nakura was staying silent for now, merely watching and waiting for him to slip up. Did he put her up to this, forcing me to admit my failure before my successes? "Intel… Intelligence was correct, councilor. There were indeed three machines being ferried by the supply convoy en route to the Phobos shipyards. If you'd let me explain-"

"Please do", Nakura finally spoke up with an oddly merry tone unlike his usual blustery rattle. "Tell us how you failed to accomplish your mission and lost half the ships assigned to you when you had absolutely no opposition to worry about."

If you were here in the flesh right now, drunken upstart… Maybe he was just paranoid. Maybe not. Maybe they had deliberately found reasons not to be on the asteroid colony upon his return, didn't dare deal with him face-face. "It was not so simple. While there was no standing opposition when we first arrived, there was an infiltrator aboard one of the machines. He activated the machine right as our shuttles were upon it, and battled our ships."

"One machine?" The aged woman councilor who he'd analyzed before replied with polite incredulity. "Eight warships, and you ordered a retreat when confronted by one machine?"

"Calm yourself, Magda", black-haired councilor Jennala Olian finally spoke up casually, coming to Temeritus' defense like she always did. "We never received any specifics on exactly what these new weapons were like. We should not fault the Admiral for being cautious."

"Indeed", seconded Nakara with a small tip of his hat meant to make it look like he was on her side of the argument. "Rather, I am more curious as to the mention of shuttles in your mission. Being a military man myself, I know of common procedure for a hostile boarding operation. Is it not always safer to use the war cruisers themselves to secure a target ship of equal size one wishes to capture?"

Temeritus gnashed his teeth vigorously behind the skin of his mouth. This was not going to be good. "That boarding action never occurred, councilor. The three machines were adrift in space when we arrived, and our initial scan showed no lifesigns inside them."

Nakura could no longer conceal his smirk. "Of course. Perhaps Intelligence had lulled you into a false sense of security, so that you did not expect such an obvious trap. I'll assume then, that you destroyed the enemy machine before it could interfere with your operation?"

Tricky. Advancing the report along so I don't have time to explain that I was following the tactic the House of Peacecraft had planned with their agents before I killed them all. "It was slightly more complicated than that. Before long, a fourth machine, similar to the ones I'd been ordered to capture but larger, arrived, and began attacking my ships as well. That is how we lost the Counterstriker, honoured councilors."

They all seemed taken aback by that, even Jennala. He'd been equally as stunned- perhaps more so- after comprehending that a machine of such small stature could destroy a carrier fifty times its size with a single attack. He had harbored fears they might simply not believe him. "Very well", one of the older men with round glass specs and, oddly enough, a blue-dyed beard and sideburns, said. "After that, you wisely decided to cut our losses. What about the others?"

"I would think that obvious by the amount of wreckage this colony detected recently", Temeritus answered grimly. "Anno Domino valued these MS weapons quite a bit. They mobilized a decently-sized task force, headed by Admiral Landon, to block us. Both sides took losses, and although we were outnumbered worse than two to one, I can promise you that we inflicted far more damage upon them than they did on us. And Landon is now dead."

"Anno Domino can afford such losses", Nakura's grandmotherly female lackey now grumbled, as if the loss of one of the four Devas meant nothing. "We cannot. You were instructed to avoid provoking them. This is not a war."

Not yet, it isn't. Only a matter of time. Deep breaths now. "With all due respect, madam Councilor, we can't expect Anno Domino to take this brazen theft lying down. They only leave us be because we are so far away from the Earth, and ignoring them will not-"

"You overstep your bounds, Admiral", Nakura was overjoyed to point out. "We will decide when it is necessary to go to war with Anno Domino, if ever."

"As it is", bluebeard spoke up, clasping his stubby hands rather excitedly for his age. "We have captured two of the new weapons Daravon Engineering Systems was creating. Irrefutable evidence that Daravon is creating weapons without the consent of the majority of Earth's Houses. A major blow to their precious political stability even if we only had one machine! Therefore I would consider the Admiral's mission a success, albeit a costly one."

This was it, then. If he didn't bring it up before them now, any real work he accomplished with the new weapons would be illegal. "While we are on this subject, councilors. I would like to request permission to draft those two machines against Anno Domino for the time being."

Troubled looks were exchanged all around, and the blue-bearded Councilor spoke again, removing all prior traces of enthusiasm. "Would you care to outline that request in a bit more detail, Admiral?"

He knew it. He'd failed before he even got started. What his said now was wasted breath. "Yes, sir. I can now attest to the power of these 'Mobile Suit' weapons firsthand. They are the next step in the line of warfare our Valkyrie space-jets began... and it's a big step. All I need is to requisition a few engineers for a few days' metalwork, I already have some elite pilots in mind for these."

"Were you not listening, Admiral?" another male councilor responded abruptly, this one with a glass eye and hazelnut dreadlocks. "We have no desire to make war with the vastly superior forces of Anno Domino. Furthermore, placing those two machines in danger is the last thing we wish to do- if we were ever to lose both, a grand opportunity would be gone."

"I concur, Schpariel", Nakura spoke, completing the trinity arrayed against Temeritus. "The captured machines will be kept out of the ready hangars. Keep them well guarded in the center of the Exodus colony. Anno Domino may have infiltrators there that will be ordered to destroy the evidence."

"But… sir!"

"That will be enough, Admiral. This meeting is adjourned."

He waited until the holograms had all faded, Nakura's last of all, but still wasn't sure how Jennala would react to a completely honest display of his anger. The fools. These fools are throwing away the chance to use what may just be the greatest weapons of our time! They could turn the tide! I know they could!

Concerned, and now out of the sight of her peers, Jennala cradled the Admiral's shoulder and propped his cap back up. "I know it seems stupid, Heim", she whispered to him affectionately. "I'm against it, myself. My dad was drafted into the AD Legion Corps on a trumped-up charge a month or so before we left, so I don't like appeasing those bastards any more than you do."

"Then why?" he asked her helplessly. "Why forego this chance?"

She locked into his eyes now, shifting back into the 'politician mode' that had gotten her to this position of power, reminding Temeritus that she was no longer a young woman. "Because I'm born of the House of Shyron. War is... just not the way we're used to doing things. Culturally, backseat political maneuvering and legality- lawsuits- is always the way to go for us. We would much rather let Anno Domino fall apart from entropy than blast it apart with guns."

"I'm starting to get that same impression", the admiral replied sheepishly, looking back at the empty chairs of leaders born not on the battlefield, but in the debating room. "But I think you underestimate Anno Domino's grip on things; this alone won't shake it. That's why I'm going to train my chosen pilots to use those machines for when the time comes. I wasn't forbidden to do that."

Sitting up on the table, Jennala gave an amused chuckle. "Finding the loopholes in your orders, Heim? Maybe you're more like us than I thought."

He winced in mock pain to that. "Ouch. Seriously though, I have never been as impressed with a machine as I have with those suits. I don't think warfare will ever be the same again."

"Enough about warfare. You look tired. Perhaps a relaxing night at my place, instead of those crappy quarters you insist on sleeping in…?"

He laughed, easily seeing where this was going despite the fact that they were twelve years apart, and quickly assumed a badly overacted caricature of his own normally serious commander's voice. "I assure you, Miss Olian, the rumors that I sleep in my uniform are completely false."

"Excellent. Let's get it off then."

- - -

It wasn't long before Bryce was introduced to the entire Dellacroix family one by one, putting on as much natural courteousy as his grief would allow. Gabe's wife was Becca, a rather lean woman with tan hair and a modest limp Gabe had told him was the result of an accident out in the local asteroid fields. Even after that, she remained an explorer first and foremost.

It was the son, Jun Dellacroix, who had surprised him the most, however. While Jun's hair was both neater and a darker shade of red, in all other aspects he could have passed for a younger version of himself. He was also a talented hacker.

Even this surprise, however, was quickly pushed aside by the dull ache that had plagued him since arriving here. Once he was finally alone in a guest bedchamber, he closed the door tight before screaming his throat raw.

She's dead. She's dead because of a machine I designed! And now thousands more are going to be killed by machines I created. DAMN IT! DAMN IT TO HELL!

Once the pillows were shredded, he turned unnamable fury towards the walls, punching one straight on. It left no mark, but he now lacked the will to continue tearing up the room and collapsed on the bed. It's my fault… I'm the one who designed the Mobile Suits in the first place. Everything's so clear now; I've seen the destruction they cause firsthand, so different from what I imagined. I liked seeing them perform well, for God's sake!

Of course, that had been in the simulators, all the machine's targets were purely imaginary, theoretical. When the Heaven's Gate had been destroyed, however… it was as though he could feel those deaths with an unidentified sense. The barrier of naiveté he had woven over time along with the machines themselves was now smashed. By the same token, it would never again excuse him for creating killing machines.

Not that it ever excused me, he decided. Even knowing of the Masters and Anno Domino's true meaning, he had never treated organized Religion with too much credit- it was not God's judgment he sought to define, but his own. I may hate this. I may feel like curling up into a ball and dying here, but… as long as the DES Peregrine, Rana, and Hyrcanian Gundams continue to murder people- as long they exist, I cannot go into what lies beyond in peace, knowing better than anyone else what they can do. They could slaughter tens of thousands if Anno Domino isn't prepared.

Bryce looked up from cot, noticed that the artificial light cycle had dropped to its lowest point. He'd been lying on that bed for at least six hours, despairing while drifting between sleep and alertness at random, beating himself up inside.

There's only one course of action that can redeem this, he decided vehemently, watching the lights drop further and further, placing the bright fields of day past him. And it's not a joke. Then he stood up in the bed and stared out the window while trying to reorganize the unrecognizable mop his hair had become, and put the shattered remains of his glasses somewhere safe.

Could it work?

- - -

Troy pored over the design specs on his computer glumly, for once unable to force merriness into his expression or playfulness into a jab at Umil's standard statue impression. Or even make the jabs at all. Morale, he knew, was at an all-time low with their chief MIA, and most likely dead.

The door to DES team 18's personal design lab in Hong Kong whooshed open, and for once Elya's presence was not announced by her pet Haro. Even the little AI seemed affected, as if it was sensing the team's moods. "No word?", were the first words out of her mouth before she face downed straight into the room's single plush couch.

"No word", he concurred brokenly. "They've only got scattered reports from the survivors of the battle, and they say Admiral Landon is dead. We know who to blame, this time." He quickly ducked into a corner to hide whatever undesirable emotions might force their way onto his face at the reference to Temeritus. "I've got the official contract from Bryce's dad in person. Seemed pretty shaken, but he said we should get started right away."

"Troy", she groaned from her spot imbedded in the couch. "The way I feel right now, I don't think I could design a paper bag. Leave it for tomorrow."

Objectively, he gestured to the screen before him. "R & D already sent us a few scratch designs. I picked one we haven't done before."

"Fuck Troy, I said leave it! I really don't feel like designing another MS from the ground up right now!" She did not have to add 'not after our friend died in vain over them'.

Sagging for a moment, he cast a glance to Umil, who was playing the middleman between them, conveying his attitude through stance rather than words. On one hand, he seemed to imply, the task set before them was their job, even if DES did not have fixed shifts. On the other, any work done now would only serve to remind them of their chief designer.

We have to at least try, he thought, for the moment agreeing with Umil's normally utilitarian outlook… and feeling more than a bit thrown by just how much more this seemed to be hurting Elya rather than him. Did their own past together mean nothing at all? "Fine. Fine, then. Umil and I will do the outlining today, you can sit out. You only have to do one thing."

"What?"

"Get your face out of that couch. You have to name it."

While she did indeed extract her head and chest from the couch, Elya looked no better than before. Tears and dirt still stained her face. "Why?"

He sighed in exasperation, trying with all his might to rouse her by any means. "Am I the smart one now? All of us already chose a name, remember? I chose Hyrcanian, Umil chose Rana, and Bryce chose Peregrine. Now it's your turn. It's all I ask."

"I don't care. You choose."

"Well…"

"Oh, fine. Lazy Boy."

It took Troy a moment to figure she was not entirely referring to him or Umil. "Simply beautiful, Elly, that name's really going to strike fear into Shyron military. I can see it now: 'Oh my GOD, it's the Lazy Boy MS! Watch out, it's going to sit on us and watch TV!' "

"Whatever."

By the Masters, she is in a state. Didn't even giggle, and Umil did! "Come on, El. You know that's not how it works. Do you think he would like seeing you this way?"

"If he was here, I'd ask him."

Okayyyy… so much for the subtle approach. Dropping any pretense at civility, he slammed both arms on the keypad just to draw attention, then rushed up to her color-drained face with a passionate flame of anger that was not entirely simulated. "Look, I won't pretend this doesn't hurt me too. But we barely knew the guy, really. We were together for what, the last two years of it?"

"Three years."

"Right. And most of that time, he spent working in private or cracking lame jokes whenever someone tried to get him to open up to us. Not nearly as long or well as we knew-"

The speed with which she rose to her feet made both boys back off momentarily. "If you think for one second I am going to just sit here and take-"

A sharp trilling interrupted what could have been their third ever falling-out. Momentarily forgetting notions of grief and wrath, Elya turned and unzipped her pouch to produce her sky-blue Haro, which had both of the 'wings' atop it's spherical form raised alertly.

"Private communication from H-C329", she read aloud the video screen on the back, then frowned, forcing the wings closed and placing it on the floor. "Only a few people know my address. I wonder who…"

"Harooo!"

The blue AI's flexible wings, normally used both for hopping and to indicate when it had something to say or deliver to its owner, popped right back up in front of her surprised face. It then made a small leap down from her lap, and onto the input socket of the DES computer Troy had been glazing over designs on.

Then their late chief designer flickered into a faint existence on the flat screen just above the Haro. Without being prompted, Umil moved to turn the lights down so they could all make out more details. Bryce was not wearing his glasses or the DES jumpsuit he'd left them wearing. Instead, torn street clothes that offered no clues as to where he'd gotten them clad his tensed body mass. His background was likewise generic- a wall of corrugated metal and rivets.

"This message is intended only for DES Design and Production crew number 18", he spoke a tad solemnly. "That is, Umil Granq, Elya Proctor, and Troy Haliburton. I've sent it via a Communications Haro because I know that Anno Domino- and my father- monitor Daravon public channels closely."

None of them could manage any words yet, but Troy was the first to realize that their computer lab had two decent curved windows along its walls. Without a word, he gestured at Umil to move the couch before one and blocked the other by leaning against it.

"I thought I should tell you", Bryce was continuing, "that while I'm obviously still alive, my objectives have changed with new information. I won't force my new goals on you, I only ask that you listen and decide for yourselves what to do."

"Is he saying what I think he's saying?", Umil asked incredulously. "Do you think he's… switched sides on us?"

"Only bastards like Temeritus would do that", Troy quickly headed him off. "Just listen."

"Recent events have led me to understand that I've been living a naïve lie for many years", Bryce said, once again looking pensive. "Until now, I never really understood just how nasty these machines we've made are. Only after I saw them in action; worse than nukes. So before I can move on to anything else, I have to undo my past sins. I'm determined now, to make it so that no army or nation ever controls a Mobile Suit. They're too dangerous in the wrong hands, and the hands of nations can never be entirely trusted."

He paused for a moment, glancing slightly above whatever he was using for a camera and nodding. "So before I go, I ask that you do me one final favor. This message contains a computer virus a friend of mine created. It will have wiped out all of the data on my personal computer by the time you hear this. I ask that you destroy both of the portable disks I saved data on the MS to as two backups. I put the first one in my 2nd desk drawer down, and Elya, you know I gave the second one to you. Without that, it will take years to design and build a new one even if you decide to help them."

Recovering from the shock, Troy slid back into his swivel chair and tried looking at the designs they had been looking through before. At the very first keystroke, he balked at a red-lined 'Warning: This data has been corrupted and will be removed to safeguard the company mainframe' tag, followed by a blank menu.

"As for me, I'm going to destroy every Mobile Suit we've made, plus the big white one, and any others that are out there. I'll do it, even if you don't do as I ask, even if it takes the rest of my life." Then, as if removing a massive weight from his chest, he slid into a playful smile. "Troy. I know you're upset about breaking up the best comedy team in Daravon, but I've found a different calling- Destroy All Gundams Melee starts now. Peace out. Don't forget about me, because I certainly won't forget about any of you."

- - -