Story 10 / Collection 5: The distance between us

You are my gravity.

She should have known.

She should have seen it coming.

The moment they gave her the Dominion, she should have realised what their intentions were.

The instant she received her transfer orders in Alaska, she should have suspected the plans of the upper echelons.

Maybe she did, subconsciously, but just kept refusing to trust her instincts until the cold, hard truth was laid out bare in front of her.

But the way that blond man in his crisp blue suit said those cursed words casually and expectantly made Natarle feel like she had walked right into a trap.

"We're going after the Archangel."

Was it not enough that they tried to destroy that ship once already?

The period of time when she returned home briefly—after leaving Alaska and before coming to the Lunar Base—was the absolute rock bottom she had ever felt in her twenty odd years of life. To think that they were lost to her forever, and even now, the only thing she could remember from those few days—now blended into a blurriness that left a singular impression on her—was the anguish of trying to process it all; of how unfair it was that she was alive and they were dead.

When the news finally came and she heard the ship was in fact safe but had gone rogue, she felt only relief. And that was when she realised the seed of mistrust growing in her mind.

Till this day, she still was not able to reconcile what went down during Operation Spitbreak with her beliefs and faith in the Atlantic Federation.

How could they even come up with a plan as atrocious as such?

She kept reminding herself she had sworn her loyalty, and this was war. She kept telling herself how she had always known she had to harden her heart and to do what was necessary and required of her as a soldier. She bided by those beliefs; it served her well and got her this far. But what they did at JOSH-A had blindsided her, and before she was able to sort through all the conflicting thoughts and emotions that were confusing her, they wasted no time pushing this cruel responsibility into her hands.

For the first time, she had no clue nor point of reference for what she was supposed to do.

They gave her everything—the newest ship in the whole Space Force, a special promotion to a position that matched its prestige, the latest mobile suits and competent pilots, a fully stocked arsenal and priority treatment for their every need.

Yet she felt a weightlessness—unbalancing her, unmooring her—and it was petrifying.

The last time she was in space did not feel like this. The lack of gravitational pull made her body lightweight and sent her floating aimlessly at times, but she felt grounded and secure nonetheless.

Because the last time she had him.

He gave her strength. He gave her sanctuary.

He was her gravity; without him, everything felt disorienting.

His absence was particularly glaring as she walked the halls of the Dominion, with everything that surrounded her looking exactly the same as in the Archangel—every room, every hallway, every corner—everywhere she turned, she felt like she would see him emerge in the space next to her any moment.

Except he would never come.

She was alone. Being on this damned ship, tasked with her accursed mission; this was when she needed him the most. And yet here she was, setting off to hunt him down.

But there was no other way forward.

What could she do? Ask them to surrender? Disarm them and drag them back? She thought of hundreds of possibilities. Every thought was a dead end.

Perhaps this was all it was going to be.

A dead end.

A corner she pushed herself into.

It was all her own doing.

She chose him, but she also chose to serve.

She was a soldier. And so she would soldier on.

When she finally said those dreaded words, it was as though someone took her voice and said them in her place.

"Target, first ship of the Archangel-class, the Archangel."

Side story: The chasm

Survive.

That was the single goal on Arnold's mind ever since they escaped from Alaska.

When they announced the names of the three people to be transferred, he could not shake off the feeling that something was not right, as if the Atlantic Federation was moving their valuable assets off the Archangel.

His premonitions turned out to be accurate in an unbelievably wicked way.

He still had trouble believing it; that the Federation would disown their state-of-the-art warship so unceremoniously, as though it was just a piece of trash to burn.

Or were their intentions more malicious than that?

The top brass had initially disagreed with the development of the Archangel and G series. He started wondering about the likeliness that they had intended to get rid of them all along.

If that was the case, then it was probable they would be coming after them.

That only meant one thing—he had to stay alive above all else.

He had a promise to keep.

To be fair, he was given the option of taking the easy way out, and just walk away from all of this—walk away from the Archangel, walk away from the war. But that was not him. That was not the man she chose.

She did not choose a man who would abandon his post in face of danger.

She did not choose a man who would leave people who trusted him to fend for themselves.

He had to carry on, as much as it meant defying the Federation. What more did he owe his homeland anyway, when it had rewarded his loyalty with betrayal? Better to ask her for forgiveness for being a traitor than a coward.

And what was this sick joke the universe was playing on them, like they were being used to gratify its penchant for distasteful melodrama? To have them separated first by distance, then by allegiance, branding him a traitor for refusing to accept death as an order, and tore open this gaping, unbridgeable chasm between them that destroyed every possible path he could take back to her.

Fine. If this was how things absolutely had to be—if he was made a deserter; if he could never go back home—so be it. But he could not let this be the end. Even if he had to crawl, he would find his way back to her, wherever it may be.

He made a promise that he held above all else, one that gave her—and only her—the right to judge him for his actions.

If she wanted him back, he would always be hers to claim. If she no longer wanted anything to do with him, she would have to tell him herself.

But he needed to know.

And for that, he needed to survive.

[Prompt title 3: 無重力気分 / Zero gravity feeling]

Author's note

I'm sorry if this chapter feels like a filler. (It sort of is.) Or maybe treat it more like an interlude?