Disc

Extra Warning: This Chapter has a scene some may find disturbing for its brutality.

Phase 08: Infiltration

- - -

For the tenth time in as many days, the dark ebony coverings slid upwards into their housings, piercing Bianca Tanner's eyes with the pale glow of moonlight.

She groaned softly to herself. She no longer welcomed the day. Not after what she had experienced.

What she now considered to be Anno Domino's darkest secret was a nearly foolproof system of control. As she had found out, the great majority of Anno Domino's black-suited ground soldiers were hardened criminals cowed into obedience by the threat of pain. Either a remote held by an officer, or a dull gray military Haro was the trigger to their torment, fed the signal via a large satellite array right here in the lunar base.

She'd seen it personally- rows upon rows of satellite dishes outside the base, each one for a different regiment of 200. The control was more refined than that, however. On the third day, she'd learned the hard way that the trigger could target units or entire regiments as well as individuals. Peer pressure from soldiers who didn't want to get zapped because of their teammates' disobedience was the second half of the trap.

If given half a chance, the men she'd been working with would cheerily slaughter their tormentors with the weapons they had been given. After ten days, Bianca could not say she had not felt a bit of that desire pushing against her training as well, if only to repay them for the indignities of an unwilling soldier in an army she hated more than ever.

Far worse for her than for the men here of course, was the imposed shaving of all head hair. The bespectacled barber placed in charge of it seemed oddly sympathetic towards someone losing so much of it, but she still cried out to him every time a big piece was cut, making him take it very slowly. Even now, each gust of cool air blowing on exposed scalp made her feel naked and vulnerable.

Then there was the suit. Black as night. Hard. Corrugated. Devoid of a nameplate. Form-fitting to an extent, but still the smallest size they had in stock by necessity. The best one could say was that it did its job- the hard bumps were part of a mesh that could stop most bullets and bleed off the heat of a small laser beam. It was also impossible to sleep comfortably when lying down in it. Cots were provided, but most of the bases' garrison wisely opted to sleep sitting or standing, said it was good for the spine.

Now that the thrill of her temporary victory had worn off, there was the issue of her 'peers'. While it was true that the pain seemed to frighten them more than it did her, this was also a double-edged sword. Pressure from the unit and several strange looks from some of the ex-crooks made it clear most did not think too highly of their newest recruit.

Not that she ever wanted to be popular among people like these. The victory, have to hold onto the victory… and get moving to this morning's exercises before someone forces me.

The practice range lay divided into a dozen elongated shooting galleries, each projecting featureless red targets against a thick concrete backstop. The room was wisely devoid of windows, and, despite its lack of décor, always provided an oddly satisfying experience. She had to take what she could get.

They had forced Bianca into an army, but they still couldn't get her to fire a real gun, even in practice. That was her sole victory, and she thanked whatever part of growing up in Peacecraft was accountable for it. In her opinion, seeing the disgusting Admiral Gisborne steam openly at her resistance on the sixth day had been totally worth the head-splitting pain that was his revenge. Resisting the commands hurt, sure. There was an approximate limit to how much her body could take in a given day. She exercised that allowance every chance she got- like shopping back home, there was always a limit to skirt around.

Today, after flippantly frustrating the local officer in the firing range, she saw what would happen if one was to overspend that allowance. The man in question certainly didn't just go broke.

Pushing through the modest crowd in the exercise room, she saw Gisbourne's familiar shape stooping over a relatively elderly guy who's nameplate read Olian, whom she recalled as being one of the nicer ones among the unit. She couldn't find out what his offense to the Admiral was, but Olian thrashed and gasped all the same, lacking the energy to scream. Bunched up alongside her, the others were transfixed, for once unified in their horror at seeing the old man shaking, then wailing progressively louder, seeming to expand his magnitude with the tremors that shook his stunted frame.

Then his skull implants overloaded, and she looked away along with half those present to avoid seeing the result. She was all the way back in her sleep-hole before allowing tears of anguish to surface for the first time in many days. Barbaric bastards. I've got to get out of here, somehow…

- - -

That the ventilation ducts filtering air throughout the Exodus colony's base were too small for a human to fit through was one part of a wealth of information that Chameleon recorded with its small pinpoint eyes, hiding within those same ducts. Nothing yet. Harooo.

As its owner had privately guessed, security was not even close to the standards set by Shyron's enemies. While it was true that there were bored-looking guards in tan uniforms stationed at each entry and exit to the main chamber, the few cameras there were obvious and easily avoidable. So unlike the records the tiny AI held of an Anno Domino base, which was constantly patrolled by both its 'rehabilitated' soldiers and dull-gray military Haros acting as mobile cameras, reprogrammed, utterly devoid of any of the bouncy cheeriness common to the line.

Not that Chameleon could consider itself common anymore, either. The young man it knew only as User Daravon had spent several nights in a row carefully hotwiring and editing its programming in secret. While it did still possess memories of it's base template, it also conformed to the new intelligence it had been given. That other persona was far too noisy for its assigned task. Hiding in the vents, Chameleon did not make a sound, passively recording the names of personnel as they passed by.

Then came one it had not seen outside of the training lounge or lunchroom. A female pilot, deceptively slight of appearance for one of her profession, with sandy brown hair narrowing into a ponytail halfway down her back, which dangled limply as she walked. Identify: Shyron Flight Officer Fehn Bickham. An elite pilot, chosen for something the base computer had tried to disguise as a Valkyrie exercise, but was far too prevalent in her schedule to be merely that.

Along with a reduction in conspicuous displays of camaraderie, Owner Daravon had given the rainbow-tinted Haro a bit more in the way of imagination and deductive prowess than its template program. It waited a handful of seconds, then calculated an 89.5 percent chance that Fehn Bickham was one of the pilots learning to use the Mobile Suits. With a slight movement of the wings, it bounced back into the depths of the vent to make its way to the city level.

This information, it was certain User Daravon would wish to hear firsthand.

- - -

"Shall we trade?"

"You first."

Satisfied with the reversal, Xain Temeritus bowed, then aimed both hands for his uncle's face. While unprepared for such a crude move, Heim managed to roll out of the way and flip back to his feet before the follow-up. Xain's next kick met air, and the one after that two dusty forearms gripping it tightly, then flipping it so that the youth fell to the mat.

"So", the Admiral said, helping him up. "How is the new machine coming along, the one Professor Verne gave to us?"

Xain looked as though he wasn't sure if he wanted to try a strike at Heim's ribcage or not, then decided against it. "A bit twitchy. But it's a lot more like my usual than Hyrcanian… yes, I think this one will work out better in the long run."

"Good. One too many changes, and I was afraid the word would spread farther than it has to."

Pausing and kneeling to try and examine the balls of his feet, he sounded surprisingly interested. "What about our erstwhile 'donor', Admiral? I'd heard we would be having more defectors recently thanks to the evidence, but… do you trust him?"

The older man's gaze immediately darkened. "Only far as I could throw him, to use a tired cliché."

Amused, Xain shrugged casually. "You threw me two meters across this very room a month ago."

"Yes, but you know what I mean. Data on his activities before leaving Earth is thin. Suspiciously thin. Intelligence was at least smart enough to bug his quarters, even if that hasn't turned up anything yet. All we found installed on his pet Haro was Star Viper 4 and... Tetris."

"Heh. It's not as though he would spend lots of time out smelling the flowers, sir. Old guy pretty much keeps to himself in the lounge and mess."

Temeritus laughed. " 'Old guy'? The records say he's 30, only nine years older than you. What does that make me, I wonder?"

His nephew backed off, for once at an embarrassed loss. In fact, Temeritus realized just then that Xain had no idea of his true age, and silently motioned for him to take a guess grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Er …Forty-ish?"

He snorted. "Try again. I wasn't an Admiral when I was twenty, my nephew. That takes time and effort and pure luck, no matter how skilled you are. For the record, I'm 51 and counting."

"B-but your hair…"

As if only noticing it now, he now idly toyed with his 'do, trying to use his hands for a poor-man's comb. "It used to be much longer. What is that old phrase used by Daravon and Aznabilian artists? Oh yes, a 'bishounen'. A 'pretty' man. Such young men cannot easily enforce authority, however."

Feeling a warm light shining through the window and off his own blond hair, bleaching it nearly white, Xain nodded slowly, understandingly. "I'll keep that in mind. In any case, my arms are getting cramped. Are you going or not?"

Temeritus nodded back somberly. "If there is one thing I know you dislike, it is hearing old fools prattle."

Xain seemed extremely surprised by this, but still managed to block the older man's opening salvo and spinning foot sweep, at the end of it barely dodging a rising kick with the other leg that was, like Xain's earlier grapple, not in any classified book of the fighting arts.

"I-I don't think you're a fool, Admiral. Just the opposite."

Temeritus faced him with mirth, but still had one palm outstretched and pulled taut to fend off a surprise attack. "Am I? Humbleness is a rare virtue indeed, dear nephew. There are times when I might say yes. Times when I regret the decision that launched me down this path." Another short, frenzied exchange later, he continued speaking as if nothing had happened, even though his left hand was throbbing. "More often now, than before. The Council no longer trusts me, a non-Shyronian."

"If I were to want for old fools", Xain reassured him in a tone sounded incredibly sincere compared to his usual self-appreciation. "They are the ones to which I'd speak." He did not have to mention just how certain he was that none of the folk in question exercised their minds and bodies like this every week.

His uncle smiled in appreciation, and showed it by giving Xain moments of what he always wanted out of these sessions- brutal hand-to-hand combat exercise with nothing held back. "Not many would agree with us. And rightly so."

With a doubly solemn look coming onto his face, he deliberately pushed his limbs free of their entanglement, wrenching them to clear the cramps but keeping the youth's focus on him. "Xain. I figure I've been blabbing on because, like with Captain Parker, I no longer trust myself to make unilateral choices. To be blunt: How would you like to have an aunt? An aunt who was also a Shyron Councilor?"

If non-combat knockdowns counted, Xain was sure he'd chalk up yet another one for his uncle. He stared back, wide-eyed, trying to make sense of the man's words. "You don't mean… you... with Councilor Olian?"

Eyes closed, the man nodded in a trance of mental pleasure. "Tommorow will be our tenth correspondence. Despite our notable age differences, she remains to this day the only Councilor I can truly understand. But more than that: she knows me; perhaps better than I know myself. We've known one another since 20 years ago, during the exile, when she was only a wide-eyed little adolescent ensign aboard Blood Grudge… and now, it seems the student has risen above the teacher. She is both beautiful and wise. And she is interested in me."

The greatest military mind in history for an uncle… and now the smartest politician in all Shyron as well? "You do realize that most will view this as a transparent play for political power. It's practically the only reason our people ever get married." He said this both out of honest disgust, and a certain measure of despair for his own prospects, considering his career.

"I don't give a damn what they think", Temeritus told him. "All I care about is your future, Jennala's company… and just maybe, building a brand new life to replace the one on Earth that I discarded to sate my beliefs."

To sate your beliefs…?

For once, Xain was not eager to hurry into the closing exercises before the afternoon's end. He had too much to think about.

- - -

"Maximum range in 5 seconds, Chameleon. Here goes... 3… 2… 1…!"

"Hadooooo!"

Bryce's head snapped up, and instantly went to the business of aiming for each simulated target in the valley. These ones were tanks- some of the last kinds ever created before Shyron's grand exile. Unlike their technological ancestors, the model M140-2 'Bishop' bore a very smooth, rounded chassis over its narrow treads, which ended in a single, fully rotatable turret at it's top, while a blister of bronze armor at the back hid the actual pilot's seat. As a whole, the unusual chassis made the tanks look a bit like malevolent saltshakers.

Of course, that was only his forcedly whimsical interpretation. Even in simulators, he'd never actually seen the caramel-colored Bishops in action, until now.

Neither human nor AI wasted any time- as a score of the tanks broke over the ridge, the plasma buster arm erupted it beneath them, upsetting two off their grips while the rest retained their balance. Before he could get the Vulcan gun in the other arm in line though, one tank snapped off a shot that messily blew the weapon from his grip, giving the rest of its column time to advance down the rocky trail.

Okay, if that's the way you want to play it…

Closing both wings about the body as protection from shells, he surged forward into the greatest number of them with beam daggers drawn. While the ultraviolet weapons had been of little use in either of the real battles he'd fought with the Peregrine MS, their true strength was expressed when used against big, slow moving targets like capital ships.

And, of course, any kind of ground tank. He downed another two, stabbing them both through the gun slit before the others managed to back out of the zone of fire. Moving far too fast from them to keep up, the suit's engines flared out to help it catch another Bishop flat-footed with the daggers, maneuvering to keep the wings between it and the majority of the survivors.

He was halfway turned towards that group when a new idea struck him. There was one survivor left on 'his' side, that was, the side not guarded by the Peregrine's wings. Using the empty hand that had once held the Vulcan cannon, he ripped the Bishop from the gravel it lay poised on, then flung it out as he turned.

Success. Four shells that would have hit him square on instead blasted the flying tank into a fireball. Before much longer, the entire simulated enemy force was in similar shape. Chameleon let out an enthusiastic warble, conceding defeat.

It's getting hard, Bryce noted soberly, to not be too pleased with myself. Have to remember that I'm not training to deal with ground-pounders like these, but the deadliest Mobile Suit ever created. Unlike these ones, the Alpha has a beam weapon to clip my wings. Even if the simulators had data on it, no AI is the equal of the Alpha's pilot.

Easier to think about the battles outside a cockpit, where the obstacles did not seem so insurmountable. Chameleon, after some reprogramming, had done very well indeed. Besides managing to bring him biographical details on two of the pilots commissioned for using the Mobile Suits, it had brought him details on where to purchase closed circuit panels and wiring without attracting suspicion. While 'Professor Verne' had been under too much observation to do anything but scope out the scale and make of the colony, the tiny Haro had set up several of the steps to the final objective.

Which was not to say that his work had been entirely unfruitful either. Over time, he had come to get the real message that Exodus, out of necessity, was better provisioned than any other colony he'd been to. He'd seen hospitals, banks, and even a visible prison among this macrocosm of a city. Have to remember that everyone here was exiled from Earth 20 years ago. Anyone younger than that has likely never laid eyes upon my home outside of recordings. Frightening, in a way.

"Okay. Enough daydreaming, back to work. Chameleon, pick me out a random vehicle design from the archives, and put a dozen of them in their most advantageous environment."

For once without any high-pitched squealing, it obliged, and suddenly he and Peregrine were plopped down in the middle of a desert, its sand a strangely raw orange from the heat. He didn't have to wait long to see six unfamiliar flying machines clear the horizon, and six more pounce from behind a large dune.

Without flinching or thinking, he brought out the flank shoulder launchers and opened up on the first line. The missile trails were about halfway across the distance when they, along with all of the machines, simply stopped moving. A moment later, utter blackness.

Scowling, Bryce rose out of the simulator in annoyance, immediately picking the cause as someone stepping on the fibre-optics connecting the pod's electronics to the wall- he had, after all, experienced the trick many times before, usually Troy trying to get him to stop and eat instead of work.

In fact, the young man standing on the cable now actually looked a bit like him. Both were notably handsome athletic youths of similar age. What little separated them included hair color- dirty blond instead of Troy's healthy tan, and the expression and body language beneath his black-beige House of Shyron flight suit. This person might have looked a bit like his best friend, but he imagined their personalities were as far apart as could be.

Almost remembering his vocal alteration too late, he frowned up the newcomer. "May I ask why the hell you just did that?"

The boy's expression didn't change from it's own displeasure. Instead he leaned forward onto the frame of the pod on one arm. "Just curious as to what you've been doing in there the past week or so."

"Running simulations", the leaner boy answered blandly, and Chameleon propped up on his shoulder as if confirming it. "Plans for the development of new Mobile Suits."

"Oh, really? And is there a reason why all of these new designs look like the Peregrine Gundam?"

Cripes. Should have known they'd have someone monitoring my sim data directly. Seen this guy before now, maybe he's the one they picked to follow me... Now you're staring off into space. Think of something! "No, for that… I was training to use the Peregrine in combat."

Although Bryce had a feeling that the blond-haired boy already knew that truth, the way his narrow eyes darkened in their sockets actually made him shuffle out of the pod a bit. "That is supposed to be my role, 'professor'."

Feeling trapped, he now swung up over the frame while thinking of a response. "Of course. My creations are to be piloted by the elite, top-scoring Valkyrie pilots in Shyron, are they not? Why should I not be among them, since I know them better than anyone else?"

By this time, the vocal argument had gathered a small crowd of interest around the space, mostly off-duty pilots including Fehn Bickham. Most of them had decent pilot's reflexes, but none of them could have reacted in time to stop the delicately poised arm that flew towards Chameleon in a razor-quick palm strike, knocking the rainbow Haro four meters to bang heavily against a wall.

At this point, Bryce noted hazily, alternately infuriated and shocked over the depths of that geyser of fury, that he had grown so attached to his little pet. Were we in a schoolyard, our audience would be shouting 'Fight! Fight! Fight!' ad nauseum. "That's coming out of your salary, child."

Equally angered now, or possibly moreso, Xain Cartwright-Temeritus advanced another step. "Don't you EVER call me child again, Professor, or I'll do that to your other two balls."

"Ah. My apologies… infant." Actually, you're about the same age I am, but younger than who I'm supposed to be. Advantage.

As for the crowd, enthusiasm was finally breaking through military training- a few 'oooohs' from the boys before Xain fixed them with a violent stare as well. "The Peregrine is MINE, old man. It was promised to ME."

"We'll see about that", he shot back, now eyeing Chameleon's motionless form to try and eyeball the damage inflicted. I'll be lucky if it even works at all, after something like that. Heartless brute! "Now I recognize you- the Admiral's nephew, Xain Cartwright-Temeritus. Maybe its time you learned that blood ties and violence are not a guarantee of success."

"And maybe it's time you learned", Xain replied, practically spitting into his impassive face, "the difference between knowledge and pure skill." Surprising more people than just Bryce, he switched gears to a proud, mean smile, patting the metal of the simulator pod affectionately. "We'll settle this like gentlemen- as the Admiral would want. It's the only way you'll get to keep all of your blood inside of you."

With just a few hand motions, he then convinced a nearby rookie pilot to operate the main computer in the lounge, altering its view screen to display the familiar design of the Peregrine Mobile Suit, shortly followed by a white-lined table of two columns and four rows. Bryce watched this occur detachedly, getting the first ominous hints of what was to come as the pilot steadily typed in both Xain Temeritus (his rival noted the omission of the Cartwright surname) and Professor Nirel Verne in the top row.

"Three rounds, professor", Xain announced aggressively, loud enough for everyone in the lounge to hear. "Three rounds, best two out of three. We'll both use the Peregrine Mobile Suit in each contest. Winner gets to pilot the suit. Are you game?"

Yeah. Really. God. Good thing I know how to be freaking STEALTHY and INCONSPICOUS. Like twenty people are watching this! Yet… something else in the Daravon's heart would not let him back down now, no matter how much it risked his cover. Not with his Haro dead on the floor. Not with the stakes involved.

Time to do something else really dumb. He raised his hand and prepared to resist having it crushed by the stronger youth. "You have a deal, infant. I'll take anything you can dish out."

- - -

"Round One", Xain had explained confidently after lunch to an appreciative audience now pushing forty pilots and crewers, much to Bryce's dismay. "Targets. Both of us will go through the exact same simulation of the Battle of Cambodia from the Master wars. Everything is fair game, with point values awarded for proportionately major kills. Higher score- alias, my score, wins."

"We will see", Bryce managed to respond sharply, still trying to maintain the pretense of being not only a legal adult, but an ego-ridden weapons scientist as he peered into the darkness of the vacant simulator pod. "I suppose the run ends when we're destroyed?"

"No, you get points for creative crashing and the size of your mangled corpse. Of course your run ends when you die… dumbass. I'll be going first, you can watch me on the main screen, maybe get an idea of just whom you're dealing with here."

The outlook was not good. Even worse, in fact, than Bryce had initially figured. Whatever words one could say about Shyron's top ace (Bryce could think of a few unsuitable for print), he knew his stuff, and he knew how to use a Mobile Suit.

Cambodia, as he had figured from the historical accounts of it, was a target-rich forest and lake environment riddled with entrenched LRAMs, tanks, choppers, bombers, troops, APCs, and what seemed to his eye like thousands of stray missiles flying everywhere and aimed at no one. Yet Temeritus' nephew took to it like a fish to water, strafing each nearby column with the handheld Vulcan and Buster Arm, racking up dozens of kills from the ground vehicles alone. The wings seemed to always be between him and fatal fire, soaking up enough shots to recharge Peregrine's generator from scratch if the shots had been of the plasma variety.

Of particular note, one point where even Bryce accidentally whistled, was when Xain impaled a defensive bunker with a tree ripped from the woods, at the same time using the weight to spring up over the lip of the ridge, dodging two missiles and lining up a shot at the personal vehicle of distinguished Master Charaxes Aznable. Shortly after that, the attrition of anti-aircraft fire from the choppers finally took its toll and grounded the Peregrine, but the damage was done. Xain's final score clocked in at 19 total kills, plus 5 bonus points for nailing Master Aznable's personal armored carrier.

"Not my best", he commented wryly to onlookers as he stepped from the pod. "But let's see how the Professor does it, shall we?"

Trying his best not to look back at Xain's taunting, he now climbed into the adjacent simulator, closing the hatch before breathing out. Okay. Remember the weaponry. Plasma Buster Arm, Beam Daggers, Vulcan Cannon, Launchers, and the wings. I notice he didn't use the Beam Daggers much- that's where I'll start.

He opened his eyes to find an unfamiliar land spread before him. No vehicles visible yet, but one could literally feel the ridiculous amount of gunfire going on nearby, if not by sound.

Maybe go for Aznable's carrier first like Xain did, vaping everything nearby. That would be… where?

None of the systems or screens held any answers- he was alone and directionless and bitterly swore to install Tri-Dimensional HUD radars on the Mobile Suits the next chance he got.

Finally, after several agonizing minutes of pacing through thick smatterings of trees, the enemy force erupted into being from a nearby hillside- two tanks and a small encampment protecting a huge turret that could not possibly be for him- it was far too large, angling up from the ground at a steep angle. The first tank fried before it even realized what was happening… but that movement had taken him right out into the clearing of the hillside, letting its partner get a shell off before meeting the same fate.

That brief strike, and the subsequent destruction of the local APC and turret, got the opposition moving; before long, countless whirling rotors could be heard from the lake to the east, letting fly with their explosive payloads before they even cleared the clouds of murky fog above it. Before Bryce could drop the beam daggers and bring out a long-range weapon, several shell impacts rocked him in his seat. He fired the shoulder launchers rapidly into the fog cloud, not sure if he'd hit anything or not, now plagued by the camouflaged choppers' loud barrages against the dubious protection of his wings.

Damn it. This hill only exposes me, and the Aznable simulation will have heard the word by now. Both the launchers clicked empty and, seeing no other choice, he leapt from the hill as if a madman fleeing a phage of mosquitoes, and took flight before hitting the dirty water below.

Now he was among them, equally muffled and concealed by the fog bank. He scored three of the flying machines with the Vulcan before their 'commander' got wise; he felt, rather than heard, at least six separate missile locks from all around him. Duh! Of course they wouldn't nestle together. By staying separate, they cover a larger area of the lake, and that makes it harder to concentrate fire against a single target in this cloud!

Two of the missiles slammed harmlessly into the wings, while four others intersected on Peregrine's chest before it's pilot could react. He felt something penetrate, caught a glimpse of scarlet fire erupting on the left shoulder, of dark water rushing up towards the main screen before everything went black as eternal oblivion once again.

- - -