Part 6

Relena nodded to the pilot as she stepped into her personal shuttle. The craft was outfitted to carry twenty people – two rows of padded seats lined the main body – but today, only she would be using it.

"Ready, Miss Relena?" asked the pilot. His voice was smooth, young, but his face was obscured behind a bulky flight helmet.

"Yes," she replied. "Take us up, Mr Chellan."

He flipped switches across the bank of consoles in front of him, and Relena felt a rattle go through the shuttle's hull as its engines powered up. "What destination?" he asked. "One of the Colonies?"

She shook her head. "No. Take us up towards the fleet in orbit. Broadcast peaceful hails once we approach within sensor range."

He twisted in his seat. She couldn't see his expression beneath his helmet, but his voice showed his incredulity. "What? Miss Relena, are you sure? We could be shot down before we even see them."

"That's a risk I have to take," she said softly. "The war brewing will destroy all that we have worked so hard to build. I cannot allow that to happen. Take us up, Mr Chellan. I have to speak to whoever is commanding that fleet."

He turned back to the controls, his gestures reluctant as he began preparing the shuttle for lift-off. Relena sat down carefully in one of the chairs, looking contemplatively out of the small rectangular window. She would get only one chance to avert this war, and she had to take it, whatever the consequences. The life of one person was nothing compared to the damage this war would wreak upon humanity.

"Lift-off in thirty seconds, Miss Relena," the pilot said over the intercomm. "Be sure to strap in. Turbulence will be heavy in the first minutes."

She buckled the seat's straps around her. Her eyes were locked to the window. Her course was set. But what about the others? What about the Gundam pilots, the catalysts of the Earth's current situation? Where were they?

Heero…

Was he, even now, heading towards the enemy fleet, intent upon destroying it alone? Such a suicidal course of action was one she could easily ascribe to Heero, but somehow, she knew that he would not do it. Somehow, she knew that he had changed, deep down.

"Lift-off in five," announced the pilot. "Four. Three. Two. One. Zero."

She gripped the cushioned arms of her chair as the shuttle rocked. Its thrusters ignited with a roar that she heard even through the hull's automatic sound dampers, and she saw the broad runway disappear rapidly behind the shuttle. She fought off the queasiness that always came with takeoff, concentrating instead on the way the ground seemed to tilt from within the shuttle as its artificial gravity generator kicked in, keeping her firmly in her seat despite the shuttle's now-vertical ascension.

Her course was set, but what of the others?

"Zechs?"

Milliardo struggled to consciousness, and winced at the bright, blurred light that assailed his eyes. "I'm… not… Zechs…" he croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper.

Quatre leaned over him, the blond-haired pilot's face filling his vision. "What was that?" Quatre said. "Zechs, you've been injured. You took a direct hit from that monstrosity's weapon."

Milliardo pushed Quatre weakly out of the way, and managed to sit up. His vision swam for a moment, and then returned. It was still slightly blurred. The room around him was light grey, with bright strip lighting. Beds lined the floor, and medical apparatus dotted the walls. "Where am I?" he asked faintly.

"Take it easy," replied Quatre. "We're in the Peacemillion. We've retreated well away from the new fleet."

"We're headed towards the Lunar Base." The newcomer's voice was cold and hard, matter of fact, without compassion. It was a voice that Milliardo knew well.

"Heero," he said. His voice was starting to return to him now. He could almost talk properly. "I should have known."

Heero walked over to him. "Epyon was hit pretty badly. It's a wonder you got away alive."

"Epyon…" said Milliardo. "How much damage?"

"Its left side is completely ruined. The heat lash is destroyed, as well as its left arm and leg. The cockpit was opened to hard vacuum, and a lot of the more delicate systems were wrecked. The sensors are burned out. Most of the manoeuvring thrusters are gone. The mechanics are working on it, but it's going to be a while before Epyon goes anywhere."

Milliardo swung his legs out over the side of the bed, wincing as his head throbbed painfully. "You… saved me."

"We couldn't just leave you to die out there!" said Quatre. "I don't know why you were with White Fang, but that doesn't make you my enemy."

"Zechs… Milliardo," said Heero. "Did Epyon tell you anything in the fight? Anything about the enemy?"

Miliardo shook his head. "Nothing. The ZERO system knows nothing about these newcomers."

Quatre glanced over at Heero. "Is Wufei okay?"

"Yes. Altron is being repaired now, and the space modifications to Trowa's Heavyarms are being fitted. If we fight these new ships, we'll need to be ready."

Milliardo nearly stayed silent, but the Gundam pilots were his enemy by circumstance only. They were honourable fighters. They deserved to know. "You can't win," he said.

"Wing Zero and the others can take out that ship," Heero said.

Milliardo grimaced. "That ship, yes. But there are more of them. They should be entering orbit now. You can't beat all of them. An attack in space now, when they are all gathered together, would be pointless."

"We don't have to get close," Heero said. "Wing Zero's twin buster cannon can take them out from a distance."

"No it can't," said Milliardo. "They have shielding powerful enough to take the fire of nearly eighty Virgo's for however long that battle was, without flickering. That buster cannon might be able to take down their shields after a few shots, but by then the other ships will have killed you."

The door slid open with a hiss. "Well aren't you cheery?" said a voice.

Duo stepped forwards through the door, flipping his long braid over his shoulder and lifting a tray of coffee mugs. "Drinks, anyone?"

Quatre took one and sipped the piping hot coffee. "Thanks," he said. Heero and Milliardo refused.

"Wufei just woke up," said Duo. "He's pretty shaken by the pounding he took from the Libra, but he's ready to get them back as soon as Altron's repaired."

"That's great!" said Quatre.

"He can't go by himself," Heero said quietly. "If we attack, we have to attack together."

Milliardo closed his eyes, and slid off the bed and onto his feet. They couldn't beat this new fleet by themselves, but if they didn't want to listen, then he wasn't going to waste his breath. "I need to get to the Libra," he said.

"Are you joking?" exclaimed Duo. "Epyon's nearly destroyed, you've just come round, and all you can think of is getting back to your damn battleship? Come on, man!"

"I don't have time to waste here," Milliardo replied, and walked over to the door, trying not to show the nausea he felt. "Give me a shuttle, and I'll go."

"You aren't going."

Milliardo looked round. Heero was standing by the bed, staring at him. A large pistol was aimed unwaveringly at his forehead. "If what you say is even half true, then a fractured attack cannot defeat this fleet. If we let you go now, then Libra will be destroyed in isolation, and then the Earth will be unprotected."

Milliardo walked to the door, ignoring Heero's gun. "Then so be it. Shoot me if you must."

Heero's finger must have tightened on the trigger, because Quatre leapt forwards from behind him, arms spread, blocking Heero's shot. "No!" the blond man shouted. "Heero, we didn't save him just so you could shoot him now!"

Milliardo glanced back over his shoulder at Quatre. "Let him. If I die, I die. It doesn't matter where." He swept out of the room. Heero didn't shoot.

The corridor outside the medical bay – if that was where he had been – was blank, featureless. There were no directions, but he needed none. This had been his ship, before. Before… what? What had changed?

Everything…

His steps echoed loudly as he walked, a sharp, steady click-click on the metal deck. He had to get to the Libra, but not for the reasons that Heero had suspected. Without his guidance, Quinze would have the White Fang use the newly-completed Libra to attack the newcomers. That would be the end of the White Fang, he knew. Even the Libra, powerful as it was, could barely stand up to just that ship that he had fought. An entire fleet of them would be unstoppable.

He slowed, then stopped as he reached a slightly open door. He looked inside. Lucrezia Noin sat at a desk, staring blankly at a computer monitor. Her hair – a purple so dark it was almost black – was ragged, untidy. She was slumped low, as if exhausted. He stepped inside, and she turned.

"Zechs!" she said, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Noin, I am Zechs Marquise no longer. Now, I am Milliardo Peacecraft," he said softly.

"I thought you were gone!" she said. "When that beam hit you, I thought- I thought that you were dead-"

"Zechs Marquise is dead," he said. "Along with the Sanc Kingdom. You no longer owe me anything, Lucrezia."

She nodded, and he was surprised to see tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "I know… I just wish… I wish that I could…"

"I know," said Milliardo. He walked over to her. "I have to leave this ship. Come with me one last time."

She looked up at him. "You're- you're leaving? Why?"

"I have to get to the Libra before it attacks."

"Then it is true. You are with the White Fang. Why, Milliardo? What do they offer you?"

He closed his eyes. "A purpose," he said quietly. "Everything in my life has lost its meaning. I fight, but I have nothing to fight for."

She sighed softly. "All right, Milliardo. I'll come with you. When do we leave?"

"Now," he said, and walked from the room. Her Taurus would be in the hangar. That was where he needed to be.

Silas entered the bridge. A dull roar filled huge chamber, the intermixed sounds of hundreds of crewmembers and servitors working, laced with the grinding and whirring of cogitators and machines. Incense filled the bridge, grey smoke curling upwards from a group of Techpriests as they administered to the Machine Spirits of the ship.

He walked up the central walkway, and approached the Captain from behind. He stopped a half-dozen paces from the tall woman, and coughed discretely, standing to attention. It was not required – he was, technically speaking, above her in the overall fleet chain of command – but while he was on her ship, it was best to offer courtesy.

She turned. The left side of her face was obscured by a twisting, pitted scar that ran from her bottom lip to above her ear. Her left eye was a piercing red augmetic. "Princeps."

"Captain," replied Silas. "You summoned me?"

"I did," she said. "A small craft has been detected on long-range scanners. It left the atmosphere of AM-PDA-004 approximately twenty standard minutes ago, and is headed directly towards the fleet. As the closest vessel, we have been ordered to intercept and capture or destroy the craft."

"Capture or destroy?" asked Silas. It was unusual for a captain of a mere transport to be given any leeway in orders.

"We are to use our best discretion. If the craft is armed, it is to be destroyed. If not, or if it is only lightly armed, then it is to be captured, and the crew interrogated."

"Why are you informing me of this?"

"Because I was instructed to. You are to participate in any interrogation as senior-ranking personnel aboard. And you are to oversee any weapons activity that may arise."

Silas nodded. "Very well. How long until the craft approaches within engagement range?"

"Ensign Veritas!"

Down in the crew pit below the raised command pulpit, a dark-haired man raised his head. A seemingly innumerable series of wires twisted and scrabbled against each other with his movement – augmetic links to the Honourblade's sensors. He had no legs, and was interfaced directly with his station at the waist. He face was half-covered with jacks and interface ports, and his right arm was a snakelike link-cable.

"ETA of enemy craft!"

His voice, when it emerged, was harsh and mechanical, the grating of artificial vocal chords. "Twenty-eight point six three nine standard Terran minutes, Captain."

"There is your answer, Princeps."

"I will be in the main hold if you need me," said Silas. He turned and walked from the bridge. He had to be completely calm and collected for an interrogation. Mors Mortis always helped him to calm down.