It was raining…again. The boy stared out of the broken window the grey streaks that hammered the ground outside. The colony's weather system had been activated the day Odin had died, and ever since then had gone completely haywire. The boy had never been on any colony long enough to observe a functional weather system, but he was fairly certain it wasn't supposed to be ninety one day and snowing the next. Fortunately, they had managed to get it somewhat under control. Now most days were calm, but occasionally a rain shower would pop up and cause havoc with the colony's drainage system.

He'd been living here for the past few days, thinking on what Odin had told him. It was a small apartment, previously occupied. The boy assumed that the person who had lived here died in the battle. When he'd arrived, there were all the signs of someone leaving in a hurry. Initially he'd hidden in the closet, using it only as a refuge to get out of the freezing rain. But as it became apparent that whoever had lived here wasn't coming back, he'd come out and arranged things as he liked… If throwing away the mounds of fast food delivery boxes could be considered arranging. Then he'd cleaned the counters, mopped and vacuumed the floors, spent a day or two figuring out how to fix the leaky faucet in the bathroom and now was completely out of things to do.

It wasn't that he was bored exactly, which he was, but that he wasn't sure what to do. Even after he'd decided to go to the base instead of continuing with Odin, he'd been doing something. Mostly training and preparing. He could probably go back and pick up where he left off, only he wasn't sure what he was training for any more. Fighting for the colonies seemed to be a good idea, because Odin had given his life to do it...but the boy had never been certain why he was defending the colonies in the first place. He could just as easily be fighting for earth. Why had he changed his mind? The boy was sure it wasn't just because Odin had been tired of following orders. Perhaps it was because Odin was from the colonies. Unfortunately, that answer left the boy even more lost then he was before. He supposed he was technically from the colonies as he'd been born on L-1, but he'd never really had a home anywhere. What did it matter if the Alliance took over anyway? He just didn't understand.

With a heavy sigh, the boy turned from the window and looked around vainly for something to do. Everything was gleaming, the bed was made and wrinkle free and the carpet had been vacuumed so many times it was looking a little worn. Sighing again he wandered over to the refrigerator which he knew was empty even before he opened the door. He would have to do something about food. What, though, he wasn't quite sure. Stealing was always an option, but with that there was a risk he could get caught. Not that anyone here would suspect him of anything, but he'd rather keep out of someone's filing system for a while. Perhaps he should see if the community center down the street was still going to have that free dinner. They'd been advertising it for a week, putting up little sheets of pink paper on every light pole within a ten block radius. At the bottom it had stated that it would go on barring unusual weather.

As the rain didn't seem to be turning into a hail of frogs any time soon, the boy pulled on his shoes and climbed out the window to the fire escape. Using the front door could easily alert someone else in the apartment building that he was staying there. As young as he looked, he would be asked endless questions, which he really didn't really feel like coming up with answers for. The rain tapered off as he reached the bottom. Instead of kicking out the ladder, he jumped the six or so feet, only stumbling a little when he hit the ground. He had definitely improved. The first time he'd tried he'd landed flat on his butt.

Unconsciously shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, he started down the cracked and sometimes entirely missing sidewalk. This colony was still recovering from the battle and the odd weather wasn't helping matters any. The boy turned his gaze to the scarred buildings towering around him. He wondered if they would give up now. Probably not. People were stubborn that way…and rebels seemed to be more then others…even though there didn't seem to be a point to what they did.

The community center was only two blocks from the apartment. It was a small, one level wooden structure that had been patchily repaired between the weather spurts. Artificial twilight was coming on and the taped windows gleamed with a welcoming light. Suddenly the door opened. The boy paused mid-step, instinctively searching for a threat. There seemed nothing threatening about the middle aged man who stood there. He didn't even seem to notice the boy, but leaned out of the door frame and stuck his hand, palm up in the air.

"It finally stopped raining," he called over his shoulder.

"For good, I hope, said another voice. The man stepped back as fat old woman stepped past him, clutched her coat around her and waddled off down the street. The man poked his head around the doorframe once more.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Mahaffey!" he called, then, seemingly at random, his eyes fell on the boy and he started slightly. Then he smiled.

"Hello there. I haven't seen you around. Are you here for the feast?"

The boy nodded.

"Well come on in," the man said with a large gesture. The boy felt a little uncomfortable sidling past him to get inside. Suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder; the boy jumped and just about grabbed his gun before forcibly stopping himself. The hand jerked away and when he turned, saw the man holding up both hands and giving him a truly apologetic look.

"I'm sorry. I was just leading you inside. I have two sons of my own so I sort of acted on instinct."

The boy forced himself to relax, but kept a wary on the man anyway.

"Can I take your jacket?" the man asked. It was an actual question and the man waited for an answer before making a move.

"No," the boy said, hoping the man wouldn't insist or ask why. He merely smiled and inclined his head.

"Follow me, then."

The man led him across the spacious room that looked like a cross between a living room and a gym. As they neared the door on the other end, food smells drifted into the boy's nose. His stomach grumbled in spite of himself. All he'd had lately were pieces of bologna and a few withered celery stalks. The man paused before the door, resting his hand on the knob.

"You can call me Mr. Eton, by the way. Who should I introduce you as?"

"Don't," the boy said, ready to turn around and go back to the apartment if the man pressed the matter. Again, it didn't take long for the man to acquiesce. With another small nod, he pushed the door open and let the boy follow him in. The dining room reminded him of the one in the orphanage. It was a relatively small room, but rows of cafeteria tables filled it one corner to the other, four wide and five long. The far side of the room was occupied by elevated platform, too low to really be called a stage. A large trestle table sat on it, nearly sagging with the weight of food. Most of the tables were filled and the people at them were too occupied with each other to take much notice of him. A man sitting near the end noticed though and grinned broadly.

"Who you got there?" the man asked.

"Just an old acquaintance, Bart," Eton said, waving the matter away. The other man laughed and turned his attention to something a lady sitting beside him was saying.

"Well as you can see, the food is just up there. Once you're done, you're welcome to sit with me." Eton winked cheerfully. "Less questions that way." The boy nodded, deciding to take him up on his offer. It would probably easier to take the food back to the apartment, but it was nice here. He enjoyed the light and the warmth. He couldn't risk using either of them at the apartment. The boy went to the table and piled as much food as possible on his plate. Once done, he looked at it critically. Was it conspicuous for an eight-year-old to eat so much? Or was this not enough? Odin would know… The boy thought back on the time they had spent together, trying to remember the amounts he'd eaten before. Unable to even hazard a guess, the boy shrugged the concern off. It wouldn't do to try too hard to blend in. Anyway, if everyone ate the same amount there wouldn't be any fat people.

This decided, he looked around for Eton and found him sitting at a table nearest to the platform and far right. The man caught his glance and waved invitingly. The boy hesitated a moment. The table was almost full of people and people meant questions…but…Eton had managed to sidestep one, so maybe it would be all right.

The table turned out to have food as well. Not only were there three baskets of bread, but a bowl of oranges and two pitchers of liquid, one that looked like milk the other was a strange blue color that looked alarmingly like coolant. Eton took a little plastic cup from the stack at the far end of the table, poured some milk into it and set it in front of the boy. Suddenly the man smacked himself in the forehead.

"Oops. Sorry. Fathering again. Did you want milk?"

The boy shrugged, indicating he really didn't care one way or the other and took a sip. A woman sitting across from the boy laughed lightly.

"You'd father old Mr. Chin if you had half the chance," she said.

"Well, I would if I weren't afraid old Mr. Chin wouldn't blow my head off as soon as I stepped through the door," Eton said lightly, taking a roll and breaking it in half. Even though he had spoken of his sons, and children usually meant a wife of some kind, the man didn't seem to have either. The boy shrugged off the thought. Curious as he was, it didn't really matter.

"So, what's your name, hon?" the woman asked warmly. Eton once again came to the rescue.

"The young gentleman has declined to give it as it would undoubtedly reveal his secret identity."

"Oh, you," the woman laughed, slapping at his hand. "You're such a tease."

"That may be, my lady. But laughter is, as they say, the best medicine."

The idle chatter continued and the boy was grateful to be left out of it. The more he listened, the more he found he appreciated Eton. Liked was maybe too strong a word. But he was intelligent and friendly and reminded the boy all to well of another compassionate adult that had been fond of children. Suddenly he felt the presence of someone looming over his shoulder and tensed. He twisted his head back at saw it was the jovial man, Bart, who had greeted them when he'd walked in. This time though, the man didn't seem to notice him nor did he look the least bit jovial. Instead he leaned close to Eton's ear. The boy's keen hearing picked up the whisper without any difficulty.

"The men want to have a talk."

"Bart…" Eton said with a sigh. "This really isn't the time for-"

"You don't understand. Some of 'em are talking about quitting and hiding out on one of the smaller colonies. If you don't talk them out of it now, we won't have legs to stand on."

"All right, Bart, all right. Just let me finish my chicken."

The other man nodded and walked away. Eton stared pensively down at the remains of his meal for a moment, then stood up without taking another bite and made his way to the platform. From the moment his foot tapped on the wooden stage, the boy knew he was important. The room was suddenly filled with such silence it was almost loud. Eton raised his hands, before he could speak, a woman's voice rose up from the back.

"We know what you're going to say, but you can just forget it. We lost too many good men today."

"Seven, Amy. We lost seven out of eighty." He spoke coolly and calmly and the boy was impressed.

"You speak as if only the unit matters, not the people in it!"

"You know I don't feel that way."

"It sure doesn't seem like it."

"Ah belt up," said a man from another corner. "Two of those people were Jacob and Turner in case you forgot. And I see you still have your family."

"Amy, Miles, please," Eton said, face noticeably paler but his eyes were like steel. "The point is, we managed to do some damage to them. We even started winning before they got the circuits back on line. This battle may be hard, but it isn't impossible."

"But how long do we keep on losing?" said someone else. "How much more can sacrifice before we have nothing left?"

"But there's so much more to gain. If we manage to win freedom for this colony, think of how it would affect the rest of the cluster. People would have hope. They would realize the Alliance isn't unbeatable."

"What do I care about what happens to L-3?" said Amy. "L-2 is still starving and miserable. I had to move here just so I could support my family.

"L-5 isn't in much better shape, woman," snapped an old man in the back, presumably Mr. Chin.

"Don't you dare use that tone-" the woman started.

"Mr. Chin was just being blunt, Amy. You know how he is," Eton said. The woman looked as if she were about to argue, but then slumped back, defeated.

"It's just…how is L-3 being free help my family?"

"Because the effect won't be limited to L-3. The other colonies will follow suit once they see a strong and united cluster. Maybe we can even get the Winners to see that it isn't impossible. Once the rebellion has that kind of backing, the Alliance will be sent back to earth in no time."

"It's not just about money," the boy said, standing on his stool to be able to look Eton straight in the face. "It's about training and organization. That's why the army works much more efficiently."

"That may be," Eton said with a tired but sincere smile. "But we're still obligated to give it a try."

"Why?" the boy asked. An indignant yell erupted from the other side of the room.

"Here!" Miles yelled. "Just what are you meaning by that, you little-"

"It's a legitimate question," Eton cut in.

"But you can't just-"

"Thank you, Miles. I appreciate your support," Eton said in a tone that had sit down written all over it. The man reluctantly obeyed. Eton turned his full attention back to the boy, looking quite serious and not at all patronizing. The boy slipped the man into his 'respected' category.

"You were saying?" the man said.

"Why?" the boy repeated patiently. "What does it matter if the Alliance takes over or not? Why fight?"

"Because we must. Because these are our homes…and not just L-3, but all the colonies."

"But aren't they your homes no matter who is governing?"

"Yes. But it's rather like a leopard trying to take over a lion pride. They may have the same form but they'll never understand it… And that didn't answer your question, did it?" Eton said with a small laugh. "Fine. Maybe it doesn't make sense. Maybe, in the grand scheme of things, this is all one pointless exercise. We fight because our hearts tell us to fight. Because we have to be true to ourselves and follow our true feelings, no matter how hard the road becomes."

Now that made perfect sense. Finally an adult who could communicate. Well, if they were going to fight, he supposed he would too. Like Odin had said, they needed people like them. People who were both efficient and organized. So he would fight for Odin and Miss Celia…and all the people they loved. And, following Eton's reasoning, the colonies were the boy's home as well. All of them. It was right to fight for your home.

The boy nodded to show that he was satisfied with the man's answer and sat back down. He had found what he was looking for, so it was time to check that disk Howell had given him. Sneaking off now would cause too much attention. But as soon as this little dinner was over, he would go to the library. It was only four blocks away and should have terminal access.

The library, which on the outside seemed to have suffered little from the fighting, but inside was a complete mess. Books and loose pages cluttered the floor. Colored bits of wiring poked out of paneled walls where people had ripped away the security devices. The terminals, though, remained. The boy supposed that made sense. There wasn't much use for them with the colonies networking system still messed up and trying to transport one off colony with the shuttles as unreliable as they were at the moment wasn't worth the effort.

After a search to find the library's power circuit in order to turn the terminal on, the boy settled himself on the chair in front of the monitor, scowling slightly as his feet dangled in the air, not even close to connecting with the floor. He hated being short. Shoving the complaint to the side, he booted the terminal up, and glanced at the disk Howell had given him. It was, what Howell had termed, a stealth disk. Which meant he would be able to look at its contents until a specific condition was met, like a time limit or the end of a program, and then the disk would not only erase itself but the entire hard drive.

He turned the disk through his fingers contemplatively. This was pretty sensitive information. Which meant that they wouldn't just let him walk away with the knowledge of it without having some sort of security. The boy checked his senses carefully one by one, as Odin had always taught him. If there was anyone here, they were hiding exceptionally well. For a moment, the boy thought of doing a more thorough search, but quickly dismissed the thought. As long as he made it clear he was fighting for the colonies, they wouldn't be a threat.

That in mind, he popped the disk into the drive. There was a lengthy moment while the old terminal worked to process the information, and then, a picture popped up, glaringly white in the darkness of the room. Before the boy could quite figure out what he was looking at, the picture changed. It was the same object, but at a different angle. The boy cocked his head. It seemed to be the schematics of some sort of mobile suit. Although he had very little experience with mobile suit technology, this was definitely not a Leo.

The pictures continued to change. The pace was slow enough for him to understand what he was looking at, but not so slow as to give him any time to study it. It didn't take long for the boy to realize that this was unlike any mobile suit he'd ever heard of. If he understood these designs right, this unit would be far more powerful then anything out there. The image of the beam canon abruptly blacked out and the boy found himself staring at a dark screen. By his knee, the terminal whirred and clicked distressingly loud as it tried to upload this new information. Suddenly Howell's face appeared in the monitor. The boy blinked, only mildly taken aback. The scientist was wearing his manic grin and seemed to be staring straight at him. This was just part of the recording though. Not even Howell could have patched a communication down here with the state of the linkup on this colony.

"I think you've had enough time to get the gist," said the scientist. "That, kodomo, is a little something we call Wing. I designed the color scheme myself-" The man's smile wavered a bit. "Although you can't really get a full appreciation of it with these blueprints." The scientist sighed heavily, then almost immediately brightened again. "But that's neither here nor there. Your mission if you choose to accept it is to fight for the colonies. As they say, kodomo, check yes or no."

Something which looked like notebook paper flashed up on the screen, repeating the mission statement in a childlike scrawl. Below it was one box marked yes. The other no. The boy rolled his eyes. Howell had such a weird sense of humor. He clicked on the yes box.

"Mission accepted," he said to the benefit of the supposed hidden assassin. Howell's face reappeared again.

"Good boy. I knew you had it in you. You'll meet your contact next Tuesday at fourteen hundred, you'll know the street." Howell winked and turned from the screen, then quickly turned back, slapping his hands on the desk. "Oh, and this disk is going to self-detonate in ten seconds so I'd start running if I were you."

The boy was halfway down the library steps when the small bomb went off. He was well clear of the blast and turned to see fire belching out the open door. An alarm went off overhead and suddenly rain thundered down around him, cold and almost painful. The boy hunched into his jacket and began the long walk back to the apartment. On one hand, it felt good to have a mission again. On the other, he was a little concerned.

The problem was Howell. He appreciated the man, he really did. The blond scientist was one of the few adults who actually treated the boy like he was one of them. Howell's problem was that he tended to treat the boy on the same level as a scientist as well. Howell expected him to know obscure facts and notice strange patterns in totally unfamiliar machinery. While the boy may have been advanced for his age, he wasn't that advanced. It wasn't only Howell claiming the boy would 'know' the street, but it was the nature of the mission as well. The boy wasn't sure what he was going to be doing. Was Howell aware just how little the boy knew about mobile suits?

The boy narrowed his eyes. On the other hand...Howell might have been vague on purpose. This could be some sort of test to see how fit the boy really was for this job. Well, he would prove his worth. As Odin used to say, when there's only one option left, make sure it's succeeding.

---

The boy walked calmly down the street. He kept his features relaxed but his mind was alert for anything. This was a bad part of town. As he was only wearing a tank top and shorts, he doubted he would be targeted, but it was always wise to stay alert. The clothes were significant in that they were the only ones he had left. What little else he'd had, he'd sold to the pawn shop to buy some food. There wasn't much left to it now. If he ate carefully, he might be able to stretch his food supply another few days, but that was about it. Hopefully he would meet his contact today. If not--

He didn't even want to think about it. It would mean he'd be trapped on this colony indefinitely. Once again he would have to rely on someone to take care of him until they deemed him old enough to help in the rebellion… If the rebels hadn't wiped themselves out by then.

It didn't take long until he came across the street he hoped was the right one. The boy paused for a moment, staring at the stained grey sign bearing the street's name. G. Hane Road. Probably named after Geoffrey Hane, the founder of this colony. When the boy found this road the other day, the name Hane had struck him. Without knowing how, the boy was fairly certain that the word hane was Japanese for feather. A feather was part of a wing. Howell had often commented on how he'd studied on L-1 where the majority of the population was Japanese. This street seemed just the kind of thing Howell like if he were trying to be clever. The boy shook his head and started down the road which was really nothing more then an alley. Scientists had a strange sense of humor. Come to think of it, so had Odin. Maybe it was an adult…thing.

Slowing his pace a bit, the boy looked around carefully. Noticing every shadowed door, every window, every smaller even more cramped alley that branched out from this one. At first there was nothing and he tensed, thinking he'd guessed wrong, but then a flicker of movement caught his eye. The boy approached slowly and saw an old man, slumped against the wall. This was definitely his contact. He looked to strange to be anything else.

"You've got good eyes," the old man said, silver devices on his eyes glinting slightly as he turned his head to look up at the boy. "Want to pilot a Gundam?"

"Sure," the boy said. So he was going to pilot.

"A shuttle departs in two hours. There's a reserved seat for DJ junior."

"Hn," the boy said to confirm that he'd understood. Then he started to walk away.

"Hey wait!" the man said. The boy paused, looking over his shoulder. "Aren't you going to help an old man up?"

"You're just a hologram," he said, continuing on his way to the spaceport. Behind him there was a quiet chuckle and a muttered:

"This should be interesting." Then a quiet blip as the holographic program ended. The boy didn't even know where he was going, but that was all right. He finally had a purpose…and Odin was proud.

---

Author's Note: Ummm…nothing to say. .

Disclaimer: . . . -shrugs-

Night (ME WANT TILDE) Mare