"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves."
- William Shakespeare
Chapter XI: Across the Stars
Jahannam Station
Jahannam Prime
August 1, GC 379
Another day, another glorious victory in the making for the Zeon Empire. At least that was what Dozle used to love claiming – or in his ever personable case, bellowing - at the beginning of each waking day; as far as Garma and the rest of the Zabi family's immediate generation had been concerned, it might as well had been a catchphrase. Not that they were particularly fond of it; Sasro and Kycilia had routinely claimed their desire to have Dozle re-engineered without vocal cords, while Gihren had once confided his desire to petition then-Emperor Zorin for an Imperial decree that permanently banned Dozle from using that phrase, if not speaking outright. Even Galina, of all of them, had, in her own words, admitted that Dozle was not the most imaginative of their race; Garma could still remember their collective shock over that exclamation, which, considering the source, might as well have been the ultimate insult. Dozle's haphazard attempts to change her opinion after that had only emphasized the fact that much more.
Despite its dubious origin, Garma couldn't help but feel his brother's proclamation to be most appropriate in the immediate circumstances. Much to his subconscious cringing, the first set of words came to his mind upon awakening that morning at 0600 galactic time. As this had occurred several times before, he again wondered, as well as outright feared, that Dozle had rubbed off on him more than he would have liked, such that Garma, for all of the engineering that had been placed into his own unique set of genetics, was beginning to adopt his fourth eldest sibling's habits and clichés naturally. The mere possibility was enough to instill dread within the young Zabi momentarily, a kind of dread that was only surpassed - and by a great margin - by what he used to feel within his father's presence.
However, he didn't dwell on it once he gained full consciousness; the new day had much to do, and he couldn't waste time contemplating his brother's boorishness and its strange effects on him. Rising from his bed, the young admiral wasted little time going about his usual routine, specifically moving away from sleeping into his bathroom for a light, warm shower. Once that was completed – though it had taken longer than he had originally wished – the young Zeon then proceeded back toward a nearby closet, where a line of uniforms awaited him. It didn't take long for him to choose one, and then he began to slip into it while deliberately ignoring the Admiral rank pins on the shoulders. Sometimes, it felt like things stared at him in the face whenever he gazed over their golden surfaces.
Garma absentmindedly activated the nearby vidscreen as he went about the latter task, now tuned to an anonymous news channel broadcasting the war. Or at least, the broadcasting on whatever the Imperial propaganda ministry – Garma had long forgotten their official designation – allowed it to. For obvious reasons, it offered very little intelligence, at least compared to the resources Garma could usually gleam due to his rank and surname. Still, it allowed him to hear exactly what those he led into battle were able to listen to. And sometimes, the broadcasts were rather amusing, though not for the reasons their originators would have liked.
"…that regardless of enemy resistance, Imperial forces continue to move throughout the Orb Union. Commenting on the recent advances upon Hyuga and Ise, Rear Admiral Twanning stated that it will not be long before both systems are conquered and that by the end of the year, the banner of Zeon will surely wave over the Orb homeworld…"
Garma sniffed bitterly as he began to pull on his uniform. He knew what that lingo meant: the Orb Front was now stalling out if it hadn't already. It seemed to be happening more and more lately; first, the invasion of Sanc had been halted early on, then all the hindrances Earth was throwing at them, and now Orb was in the process of beating back their march. What's next? Will the advance on Freeden break down as well? Tekkadan managing to wrestle back their capital from Vingolf? Or perhaps that strange White Doll statue on Soleil will turn out to be some ultra-powerful superweapon that the Sollies will use to defeat all of them.
As if things haven't bogged down enough. Garma thought with no small measure of frustration. Indeed, it seemed that the closer Zeon came to conquering the galaxy, the more the galaxy put up in resistance. Not that he had believed the galaxy would be brought under the Empire's dominion without a worthwhile fight, but he never thought their lowborn adversaries would prove so difficult, at least not at this stage. Only the highborn of Zeon should have retained the will to fight by this point in the war; in contrast, the lowborn were long supposed to have lost theirs and either be relegated to a token defense or groveling at his eldest brother's feet for peaceful subjugation. Instead, they were fighting just as well, for better or worse, as they had from the onset, while their determination to resist the will of Zeon remained as strong as ever. And that was before advancements such as Project V came into play.
"…while Orb forces in the Hoshido Sector maintain their desperate defense against the might of the Imperial Sixth Fleet. The detachment commander was unavailable for comment…"
Despite all of his brothers' assurances, Garma could see that the war would not end anytime soon. He had already been aware of how truly thinned the Space Attack Force had become from the onset; too thin, in Garma's opinion, for the superior might of the highborn and the greater performance of the Zaku to make up for. For all that had been conquered, there was still so much more of the galaxy out there to subjugate, infinite worlds and stars to soothe and bring into the Empire. Infinite worlds and stars, whereas Zeon's chosen were, as superior as they were, quite finite by comparison. Sometimes, Garma wondered just how far their dominion could truly extend, how far the might of Zeon could reach before it was inevitably forced to retract, unlike a human arm.
What he was listening to now was a fine reflection of that problem. The Orb Union was one of the primary Inner Powers, whose political influence and military might were on par with the Earth Federation and the Sanc Kingdom; its conquest, subjugation, and destruction were necessary and vital to Zeon's dominance over the galaxy. This meant that, unless the present forces could regain the initiative, strategic-level measures would have to be taken. Measures that would have to be implemented by High Command, if not Dozle or Gihren themselves.
The most obvious would, of course, be reinforcements, which were subsequently the most difficult. Fresh soldiers, mobile suits, and capital ships didn't just spontaneously enter existence, so where would these new additions be brought in from? The traditional route would take months to implement, as troops would need to be trained and weapons to be constructed, while rotating forces from other fronts would require less time and effort but would leave those other fronts with fewer space units. Of course, there was always bringing in allied forces from Cosmo Babylonia or Zanscare, but that alone had its own complications, not least of which was the Space Attack Force being supplemented by lowborn troops. As essential as it was to have allies, a lowborn remained a lowborn to the average Zeon.
"…as the presence of Freeden forces within the Rosette Sector continues to be reported..."
The whole line of thought was enough to make Garma cringe. Yet again, he wished he had retained his original rank and post, but not for his usual reasons; rather, it was the perspective he yearned for now. Even with its galactic scale, the war had been so simple when his perspective had been whatever his Zaku's mono-eye fell upon. He hadn't worried about the whole conflict then, just his small part: to kill whatever enemy he came across and further his Empire's reach. Concepts such as strategy, logistics, and the overall direction of the war had been for others of higher rank - namely Dozle - to consider and decide upon, whereas Garma and those he commanded were to achieve the actual victory. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less.
Now, however, as he was forced to remind himself for the millionth time, he was no longer a simple mobile suit pilot, nor even a simple ace, but commander of the Imperial Second Fleet. As a result, his concerns were no longer limited to any standalone battlefield but to the war, the 'big picture' as it was commonly referred to. And that meant having to consider all variables and elements, including how what was happening in Orb could potentially change the entire direction of the war. Despite the obvious distance, it could also affect his forces and whatever areas of operation he was responsible for.
I never wanted this. As the strain at last set in, Garma thought, making him close his eyes to keep the emotions back. Unlike some of his siblings and his father, leadership had never appealed to him. However, he could not deny the empowerment one felt in holding influence over others - something he had experienced as a mobile suit squadron leader - the weight of that power was too much for him to bear. He could not live with himself knowing that not only his life, or even the lives of his immediate subordinates, but the whole of Zeon was on his shoulders. Why that knowledge was so attractive to the likes of his father, or all others who held aspirations toward the throne for that matter, was beyond him; all it had ever done to him was bring him pain and a sense of inadequacy.
As if he had become something he had never been meant to be…
"…that, despite these developments, His Imperial Majesty has stated he could not be more pleased with the overall progress of the war, once again commending the valiant efforts of Zeon's chosen warriors as they march toward the Galactic Core…"
Suddenly feeling himself return to the present, Garma's eyes snapped open. After a few moments of blinking, a flat smile crept across his lips before he shook his head, forcing the thoughts back. Whatever the universe had wished for him to be, there was one thing that Garma knew he was above all else: a Zabi. As his eldest brother had explained to him, it was the Zabi family's duty to lead Zeon in these darkest times and ensure their race gained their rightful rulership over the galaxy. Not because they were the best of their race – despite whatever their father had thought when he had still been breathing – but because no one else was capable. Many coveted the throne, but, again, as Gihren had put it, only their family could envision their race's future, a splendid future that even the Daikuns, in all their wisdom, had failed to see.
Such a future required all of them to lead, to command. Yes, Gihren had the throne, and Dozle had already been a high-ranking officer within the Space Attack Force, but it wasn't enough; each of them had been called upon in their race's desperate hour. Even Galina, the youngest and the most passive of all had chosen to serve the citizenry back home in whatever capacity she could.
Thus resolved with his place in the universe for the time being, Garma finally zipped up his collar, completing his violet and gold uniform once and for all. He may have been a child wearing an adult's uniform, but that didn't matter; once again, he was a Zabi, above all others. As such, he had to bite back his discomforts and do his part, not only so that Zeon could finally reign supreme over the galaxy but also to bring about the end of the war and the golden age that Gihren had long foreseen. He also ensured the future for himself, Icelina, and their soon-to-be-born child.
With that in mind, Admiral Garma Zabi disengaged the video screen and left his quarters for his office at Jahannam Station. For now, he had a long day and a hunt to prepare for.
Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Warp
"That's…incredible," Fraw blinked as she considered what her newest friend and fellow medical enthusiast had just explained. "I didn't know you could do that with an osteo regenerator."
"Not many do," At least not outside of Zeon. Sayla replied with a knowing expression. "It's a delicate process, but quite possible once you understand the fundamentals."
Fraw nodded as she continued to envision the procedure. "And there would be no irregularities whatsoever?"
Sayla cast a wry smile. "Only if it's done correctly," she sagely answered before taking another sip of her coffee. "As I said, it's a delicate process. Not something for a first-year medical student to attempt."
Fraw matched that smile with one of her own. She knew she was being challenged. "Then it's a good thing I'm well past that stage of my medical career," she said. "I was barely ten when I took my first physiology course."
Sayla nodded in acknowledgment. I wasn't even that old, she thought to herself, a minor feeling of nostalgia emerging from deep within. Technically, she hadn't been in official attendance, but her father had pulled some strings so that she could sit in on a few courses at Zumberg University. That had been a long time ago, well before the events of GC 364, of course—ancient history compared to the present.
It had been a few days since the last battle and the following resupply from the Medea. Since that point, the Ark Royal had been well on her way toward the Azure Nebula via warp without so much as a hint of Zeon's pursuit being apparent. There seemed to be nothing but open space between the fleetcarrier and the nebula. Thus, as it had been in the days following the Battle of Juno, the days aboard the Ark Royal had become largely uneventful, with the crew either going about their respective duties or enjoying their leisure time in whatever manner they could afford and nothing else occurring beyond. Only the general knowledge of their being pursued kept the Ark Royal from truly being at peace, as did their continued preparations toward the next inevitable battle. Otherwise, short of the newsfeeds they continued to receive from ENN, the war might as well have been a distant affair as far as most of the crew was concerned.
For her part, Sayla had also chosen to enjoy this relative and ultimately short-lived moment of calm. Yes, Casval was still out there, and they still had much between them to sort out, and there was also Garma, who, as Commander Law had so aptly stated, was "just begging" to follow his father and second eldest sibling into the afterlife. However, as much as Sayla wanted to see both issues resolved, she was not in a position to do so at this time, and dwelling on either (especially Casval) would have simply been counterproductive. As such, the exiled Zeon princess decided to hold off on either of them until the next battle – likely too soon anyway – and go about her duties and leisure time like everyone else.
Thus, when she wasn't eating, sleeping, attending to her duties, or otherwise spending some personal leisure time, she was likely doing one of three things: instructing Amuro on being a Newtype, having a casual, normally medically inclined conversation with Fraw or generally putting up with the antics of her fellow Shrikes. She had the first scheduled at least once a day, in which she and Amuro would meet, usually in the observation deck, to discuss matters of their kind and generally mentor Amuro with his power and position in the universe. Though progress remained slow, Amuro gradually came out of his shell and was definitively coming to terms with his power and being at a steady rate. Along the way, Sayla also listened and learned from her charge, though his understanding and expertise generally remained around the technological. Not that it wasn't worthwhile knowledge to possess, of course; for all his flaws, Amuro Ray was a dictionary definition technophile. Sayla would have been a fool to discount his expertise, especially when it could be applied to her agendas.
The third occurred far more frequently, in which, despite her somewhat solitary nature, Sayla was forced to spend more time with her squadmates in the interest of camaraderie. Not that she had any real issue with the other members of the 105th, or the rest of the 13th Carrier Assault Group for that matter, but their rowdiness, banter, and crudeness could be trying for her at times. Yes, upon joining the Federal Forces, she had resigned herself to serving with non-Zeon - and Earthnoids at that – but that didn't make the situation any easier. As good and well-meaning as her comrades were and as invaluable as they were toward defeating Zeon and ending the Zabis once and for all, they were all unaugmented commoners. In contrast, she was the heir of a dynasty that had extended over centuries. As a result, except for Commander Law and Amuro, she only engaged with her fellow pilots when and as long as necessary and no more.
That left the second, effectively the middle ground of the two. Once more, outside Amuro and Commander Law, the young doctor now seated in front of her was the only one she could effectively socialize with and the only one who shared her interests in medicine. It helped that she was quite competent on the subject; even for a non-Zeon, Sayla had to admit that Doctor Bow was phenomenally intelligent in the various fields of healing, such that, had it not been for her humble beginnings and the War, she could have easily seen Fraw working in a major hospital on Earth or another major galactic population center. In many ways, she was envious; that had been her dream once upon a time.
That thought immediately brought up Casval's words to her during their last encounter, his urging her to abandon the war and her part in their vengeance for the life and profession she had originally desired. Sayla quickly forced back that particular memory before returning to the conversation. "Yes, you are no novice. That has long been made apparent," Sayla acknowledged. "Though I fear you will learn much before this war ends."
Fraw nodded solemnly at that. "All too likely," she said with a small frown. "And I'll probably learn even more in the next one. Assuming I stay in the military, of course."
"Indeed," Sayla gave another nod. "There are many constants in the universe, but War appears to be one of the more frequent."
Fraw arched an eyebrow at that. "Who said that?" she asked. "Benjamin Franklin?"
Sayla suppressed a snicker at those names. In truth, the originator of that quote had been a Zeon philosopher and a distant ancestor of hers, but there was no way Fraw would have known that. Especially since, as far as she and the rest of the ship knew, Sayla Mass hailed from Earth with the rest of them. "I'm afraid the originator of that quote escapes me," she said. "But no, I do not believe it to be Franklin. As far as I understand, the only constants he ever listed were Death and Taxes."
The doctor smirked a little at that. "Not that those are far from War themselves," she commented dryly. "Practically every war in history can be linked to money somehow."
The Gundam piloted mused over that. "Some, but not all," she said knowingly. "I highly doubt wealth and plunder matter to Gihren as much as conquest and subjugation."
A tinge of solemnness appeared on Fraw's face at that. "I can imagine," she said, looking down somewhat. "It was the same for my ancestors once upon a time."
It didn't take much for Sayla to understand the reference, though it did surprise her. It must have been enough to reach her face as Fraw chuckled at her expression. "You shouldn't look so shocked," she scolded. "After all, it's not like 'Fraw' is a Tekkadan name."
Sayla blinked back in surprise. "Forgive me," she spoke quickly. "I had thought…"
"That I was some Middle Rim colonist with no clear familial lineage? 'Fraid not," Fraw replied sweetly, all too amused at how she put one on the Valkyrie of Riah of all people. "Truth be told, Antillia was an Earth colony that broke away sometime before the Galactic Century was established. My ancestors were among the original colonists, but before that and the Federation's emergence, they were proud sons and daughters of Deutschland."
Sayla inwardly cringed at the usage of that term; though Fraw hadn't meant it that way, it was still too close to one of Gihren's more infamous lines for her liking. That being said, she managed to keep that cringe off her face, though she allowed some discomfort to show through as she asked the inevitable question. "Were they…?"
Again, letting out a small chuckle, if only to show she wasn't offended, Fraw shook her head. "No, they weren't Nazis, though they fought for the Fatherland in all three World Wars," she explained.
"Wehrmacht?" Sayla inquired.
Again, Fraw nodded. "And Kaiserheer and Bundeswehr," she said before allowing a flat smile to her lips. "Though you wouldn't know it now, we Bows have a rich military history."
"Intriguing," Sayla couldn't help but exclaim. As proclaimed, she had not inclined that the one before her was of warrior descent. Though after a moment of consideration, she supposed she should have expected it when Fraw revealed her Earthnoid origins; after all, if there was one pre-Federal Earth state that had much in common with Zeon and its history of war and conflict, it was Germany.
At that, the doctor looked toward the opposite woman with curiosity. "What about you?" she asked. "Have any ancestors that served with Napoleon or the Resistance?"
This time, it took Sayla a little longer to realize what Fraw was referring to and recall the Mass family's Earthen roots. Once she did this and recalled some additional information she had learned from Commander Law, she came up with a convincing tale.
"I don't know about Sa Majeste Imperiale or La Resistance," she replied in a mock Old Earth French accent, or at least the best she could manage. "But I believe one of my ancestors served in the Third War..."
She then smirked. "As a fighter pilot off the Charles de Gaulle."
"Heh," Fraw laughed, seeing the irony as she took another drink. "Very fitting."
Even without her Newtype powers, Sayla could sense a commonality there. "And you?" she posited. "Are there any military doctors within the Bow family tree?"
Naturally, Fraw was all too eager to answer. "Kapitanleutnant Maria Bow, CMO, frigate Rheinland-Pfalz," she replied. "Awarded the Ehrenkreuz der Bundeswehr für Tapferkeit for actions during the Third Battle of the Atlantic."
"A frigate?" Sayla questioned in an attempt at minor humor. "As opposed to a carrier?"
Fraw blinked at that. "Germany never had aircraft carriers," she explained, a little surprised that the ace, as well versed in military and historical matters as she was, did not know that simple fact. "Not even under Hitler."
"Oh," Sayla exclaimed, feigning minor embarrassment as though she had momentarily forgotten that detail. She resolved herself to review certain parts of Earth's pre-Federation history and culture with Commander Law again; it wouldn't do well for a proud French-descended Terran, whose completely legitimate Earthen lineage extended to the Anno Domini era, to appear ignorant of her homeworld's history. No matter how seemingly insignificant the fact.
Sayla then readopted a bemused expression. "Well then, that would mean you're the first of your family to serve on one," she pointed out, raising her drink cup. "Though you have yet to earn a Medal of Honor for yourself."
Fraw returned a bemused grin of her own. "All in due time," she answered back. "It isn't like the war will end anytime soon."
Then, reflecting Sayla's act, Fraw raised her cup. "Prost."
"Santé," Sayla replied as both pilot and doctor took their respective drink.
"That's it, big A!" Sleggar called out as his charge continued his struggle to lift the barbell that much further. "You got in you! You can do this!"
Profusely struggling below the Commander, it was all Amuro could do to force his arms up that much more until he officially completed the twentieth lift of his third set. By now, he could feel his vision blurring toward a seeming readout and his teeth grinding together into a paste as Sleggar's voice grew much more distant in the background. The ringing in his ears only emphasized his physical plight as he forced the barbell that much further from his body, millimeter by millimeter.
"You got this! You got this!" Sleggar shouted that much more as the barbell rose fractionally higher and higher. "Just a little more…!"
A little more, and this thing will touch the ceiling! Amuro would have yelled back had he not been so concentrated on pushing the oversized iron bar as far from his chest as it could go without his heart exploding in the process. He still couldn't believe he was being forced to do this.
Eventually, however, his arms reached their maximum extent, holding the barbell firmly in the air.
"Twenty!" Sleggar promptly called before helping the younger pilot lower the barbell back onto the rack. "I have to say I'm impressed, son! You went after that like you've been pumping iron your whole life!"
"Glad to know I left an impression, sir," Amuro replied dryly as he sat up and sipped his water.
Sleggar nodded. "That you have, Lieutenant," he said before he reached back and disengaged the barbell's weight generators. As he did this, his eyes again fell on the number in the indicator display. Ignoring the feeling in his gut, he watched as that number faded. "You sure this is the first time you've ever exercised?"
Amuro glared at the Commander over that. "Do I look like an Olympic athlete to you, sir?" he quipped back.
"I dunno, Lieutenant," Karen, who had just finished lifting her weights, entered. "You're pretty built for a tech nerd."
Sleggar could very much agree with that. Though Amuro wasn't a hulk by any stretch of the imagination, he had muscle tone to himself. Far more, in fact, than some of the other people in the weight room. "Yeah, you don't look like the kind of guy who lives in his parents' basement."
Amuro shrugged. "I eat my vegetables," he dryly answered before splashing water on his face. "Other than that, I'm no different from any other human being out there."
More than a few furtive glances passed around the weight room over that one. Sleggar quickly spoke back up. "With respect, Lieutenant, I can name a few Zeeks who would say otherwise," Sleggar said. "Or at least, they would say otherwise if they weren't busy being dead."
"Which is okay because there's more than enough on this ship to speak for them," Sanders said after lowering his own weights. "I mean, normal human beings don't earn labels like the White Devil…"
"Does that have to be brought up?" Amuro responded. Even now, that title brought nothing but annoyance and frustration to him.
"...nor invent such groundbreaking technology like the Kamaria Circuit," Eledore, who was busy practicing bicep curls, quipped amid his exercises. "On that note, I'm still waiting on my guitar."
"Nor blow up space colony-sized superweapons with a single beam rifle shot," Kiki also pointed out as she helped Michel with his bench presses.
"Nor fight bad guys with names like 'Char Aznable' or 'Garma Zabi,'" Michel managed to mouth as he lifted and lowered the barbell. As much as he was taken for a runt by those outside the 13th Carrier Assault Group, he had considerable strength. "Much less survive against them."
"Hell," Nigel bemusedly added, having just finished his own set of shoulder presses. "They also don't become test pilots for top-secret weapons programs."
Amuro could feel the aggravation threaten to overtake him now. "Is there a point to all this?"
Sleggar stepped back in on that one. "The point is, Lieutenant, you are not a normal human being," he stated, nearly reaching out to pat the young ace on the shoulder but then pulling back when he remembered his haphephobia. "But that's good because nobody likes 'normal' human beings."
"Damn straight," Karen quipped from her side, earning a short cheer from the other weight room occupants. "Normalcy is overrated, especially in our line of work."
"It's also a quick way to get killed," Sanders added on as well.
"On the other hand," Kai, who was spotting for Hayato, considered thoughtfully. "Normal people do make such wonderful dupes…"
"And as such," Sleggar spoke again, regaining his explanation. "You should take pride in the things that make you abnormal, up to and including being the White Devil that the Zeeks piss themselves over."
The Commander then gave a wink to his young charge. "Which, from what I understand, is the same White Devil the ladies are lining up from Earth to Adelaide for."
Despite the obvious insinuation and the hooting from some of those listening in, Amuro only appeared disinterested, if not outright annoyed. "If you say so, sir," he said as he took another drink.
The other pilots and Ark Royal crew members were quick to exclaim their collective disappointment, mostly through shakes of the head and verbal responses, as they returned to exercising. For his part, Sleggar could only close his eyes and purse his lips.
Right, I forgot. he bitterly reminded himself. This kid's ideal woman is a Haro with lipstick.
Minutely shaking his head, Sleggar decided to focus back on the present. "Alright then, break's over," he stated, quickly snapping the water bottle out of the Lieutenant's hands just as the latter had pulled it up to take another swig.
Then, ignoring Amuro's responding glare and silent protest, the Commander nodded toward another set of equipment. "Legs next."
It was a simple enough setting. A large yard to an equally large manor, adorned in grass, flowers, shrubbery, and centuries-old stone, with children running and playing as adults stood by and watched. Though it was clear from the dress code and the general behavior that the party was a somewhat formal occasion, the children remained children all the same, with some – mostly the boys – moving about the grass and shrubbery in search of objects of interest while others – mostly the girls – retained to a small picnic blanket and reenacted tea time. Amongst the latter, a pair of young girls, clearly twins, stood out most prominently; clothed in matching blue dresses and possessing their father's black hair alongside their mother's green eyes, it was clear from the camera focus that these two were the center of the party, especially as they both directed the apparent tea ceremony with the other children. Only once did they turn to the camera, each giving off brilliant smiles before returning to the smaller party at hand, passing out plastic cups and plates of "tea" and "crumpets" to the other children.
From there, the camera panned to the adults, who stood by or lounged on chairs on the nearby patio. The adults were far more subdued in conversation and refined in activity than the children. In contrast, the children made do with empty tea cups and plates; the adults indulged in glasses filled with brandy and Scotch whisky, cigars, smoking pipes, and various finger foods. Some of them were also dressed more formally than others, though the wearers were all very much relaxed and at ease around each other; after all, their families had been related in business and blood for generations. Generations that extended back to an age well before the Galactic Century's and the Federation's founding.
And then there she was. Standing in the middle of the patio, conversing with a relatively short, rotund man in a business suit with the all too familiar "AE" pin on its collar, stood a young woman with short blonde hair, dazzling emerald green eyes and a smile that, in complete spite of his taciturn nature, still caused his heart to beat that much faster. Upon the camera's approach, said woman turned to face it, bringing about the full power of her smile. A warm smile, followed by equally warm words, that ran in complete contrast to her eyes. Though she was subtle enough that the others around her could not pick up on her true emotions, he could more than read up on the feelings her eyes betrayed that her smile and words did not. The sense of longing for his closeness, for his touch, besides the sorrow she felt at the distance between him and her. As well as him and his daughters.
Inwardly forcing back the tears – even now, they threatened to well up from within - Bright continued to watch the video file on his desk monitor with many emotions. Like everything else, the video had come with the Medea resupply, though in standard fashion of the war, it had been recorded well before. Had it not been for the Ark Royal's top secret mission, he would have received it within hours, if not minutes, through GalacNet from its origination. One of the conditions of the Antillia trip had been strict communication silence. As a result, it was only some months later that he could view his daughter's third birthday party.
Eventually, the party moved to its next phase, with the adults and children gathering at their respective tables. Once more, the twins, Margaret and Cordelia, were at the center – the party was for them, after all – sitting side by side at the head of the children's table. In contrast, the head chair of the adult table remained empty –that was meant to be his chair – Emary purposely sat on its right side while his parents, Edmund and Marian, were directly across. Seemingly noticing her emotional state, Emary's uncle Melvin, the man with the AE pin, sat beside her, his hand placed over hers as he did. That was enough for her to bite back her tears – which, like his own in the present, were trying to force their way out – as dinner was brought out. Bright could almost smell the Sunday roast through the monitor screen…
That feeling of nostalgia abruptly ended with the sound of the door buzzer. Frowning, Bright paused the video. "Come," he called out.
Upon that command, Mirai promptly entered. "We are approximately ninety-six hours out from the Azure Nebula, sir," she reported. "Engineering reports that the last engine damages have been addressed and that the warp drive will hold until our arrival."
Bright nodded as he took that information in. "And the other damages we sustained?"
"Damage control is still addressing them, but those too should be resolved by the time we reach our destination," Mirai reported. "Along that line, I've ordered insulation checks on all areas of the ship and the mobile suits. They, too, should be complete by the time we arrive."
"Good," Bright acknowledged approvingly. "And the crew?"
Mirai frowned, knowing what he meant. "Morale remains high, and discipline is holding, but…" she hesitated momentarily. "Questions are still being asked as to why we're no longer heading for home."
The captain smirked at that. "As they rightfully should," he said. "I know I would be asking them in their place."
The executive officer pursed her lips in response. As stipulated by the written word of Admiral Revil himself, Operation Odessa was to remain a non-subject at all times; of the entirety of the Ark Royal and her crew, only she, the captain, and Sleggar would remain privy to its very existence. As a result, the rest of the crew were only entitled to their new course through enemy space, which, without the final objective of Odessa to explain its necessity, did indeed appear as an act of utter madness. "Any ideas on how they should be answered?"
"The same as they have been: we have our orders from High Command, and we will obey them," Bright said simply. "Beyond that, we can only hope and pray for vindication in the end."
"Right," Mirai replied doubtfully. "And that Odessa doesn't blow up in our collective faces."
Again, Bright smirked. "You doubt the wisdom of COMSPAF, Commander?"
"Why not?" Mirai shot back smartly. "With all due respect to you and Admiral Revil, sir, half of the Federation holds such doubts simply because he placed you in command of this ship right after Arcturus."
"Don't remind me," Bright retorted. As much as he knew his XO meant it as a jest, he sometimes had doubts about that.
After a moment of consideration over his words, the captain adopted a more serious expression. "I can't say I'm completely assured," he answered. "But I will say this: Odessa is our best bet. And for it to work, the Ark Royal must do her part in keeping Zeon and her allies on edge."
"Even if it means journeying deeper into the lion's den," Mirai concluded.
"And with a crew that's none the wiser toward it," Bright added with a conclusive nod. Even without looking directly at his exec, he could tell she was no more convinced of it than he was. "Is there anything else?"
It took Mirai a brief moment to recall. "Just one more thing, sir," she answered somewhat hesitantly. "ENN is reporting that Gliese 317 is presently under assault."
Bright closed his eyes at that. Gliese 317 was barely fifty light years away from the Sol; not as close as Arcturus had been, but still close enough for discomfort. The captain didn't want to imagine what the enemy could do with a foothold there. "Zeon?"
Mirai shook her head. "Vingolf," she replied. "Believed to be forces of their First Fleet."
"McGillis Fareed," Bright nodded, recalling that force's commander. "Any idea who's winning?"
"Not at this time," Mirai shook her head. "ENN claims our side is holding the line, but…"
"That could mean anything," Bright sighed as he leaned back into his chair, again considering. "Well, either way, that's someone else's problem. Not that we need any more on our end."
"Agreed," Mirai replied promptly, knowing it was about time for her to leave. "I'll update you as the reports come along."
"I'd appreciate that, Commander," Bright acknowledged with another nod. "Dismissed."
"Sir," Mirai responded, taking her cue. After giving off one more salute, the commander turned and exited the way she came, leaving Bright alone in his office once more.
Letting off another sigh, Bright could only shake his head at it all. If it wasn't happening to him and his ship, it was always happening in some other corner of the galaxy. His only solace was that, as he had plainly stated, it wasn't his problem. Or one of them, anyway.
Deciding to waste no further thought, he returned to the video and pressed the play command. From there, he returned to watching his family - the main reason he was fighting and enduring as he was now - celebrate his children's third birthday from home far, far away…
Jahannam Station
Jahannam Prime
"What do you mean we still haven't found her!?" Garma nearly bellowed in the style of his elder brother.
Despite being all older than their superior by a fair margin, the various officers gathered within the meeting area visibly quailed at the Admiral's apparent fury. All except for one, of course, who was standing off to the side, somewhat away from the others. The latter was quite bemused at the visible hesitance that those around him displayed.
"I'm afraid it's just as it is, Admiral," one of the officers, whose name Char had long forgotten, managed to reply without stammering. "We have been unable to locate the Ark Royal since you engaged with her."
Garma resisted the urge to pinch his brow. "How is that even possible?" he glowered. "She doesn't possess a Mirage Colloid!"
"Yes, sir," the sub-commander concurred, visibly trying not to tremble under the young Zabi's glare. "But she has eluded our scout ships and sensor nets all the same…"
As expected. Char thought, resisting the urge to smirk. He had to hand it to the Ark Royal's captain; they seemed to have a knack for throwing off pursuers, even with a ship of that size. No wonder she had operated for so long after Arcturus without Zeon or any of the other Outer Powers identifying her.
"Our best estimate is that she has long since completed her resupply and has likely returned to warp," the sub-commander surmised. "We assume that she has resumed course for Federation space, though there is no way of verifying that."
"She could very easily have received new orders with her resupply," another offered helpfully. "Considering her cargo, it's just as likely that she is still set for Earth."
Exhaling, Garma stared down at the floor monitor, which displayed a full map of the Second Fleet's operating theater. Garma knew his prey was out there, somewhere in that immediate space; no matter how advanced the Lexington-class' warp drive was, there was no way she could have moved beyond in the allotted time. Unfortunately, that was still much space to cover, and even if Garma had directed the whole of his fleet toward hunting her down, she would still likely find holes within his patrols and sensor outposts. He needed to narrow the search but didn't know where to start.
Fortunately, he knew someone who did. "Commander Aznable," Garma called out to his friend directly. "You fought this particular Trojan Horse twice before. What do you think?"
Even without his Newtype senses, Char could feel the ire rise throughout the room as the various Second Fleet commanders glared him down, dismayed that their Admiral and Prince had chosen him for advice. He did well not to smirk at them all. "I do not know the identity of the Ark Royal's present captain," he said. "But I have found him or her to be as innovative a tactician as he or she is skilled."
One of the others, who wore the rank tabs of a Rear Admiral, opened his mouth to snap, but Char spoke before he could utter a word. "That being said, there is a certain element of predictability here," he explained. "Unless at warp or otherwise forced to, the Ark Royal never operates in open space. At least not while under active pursuit."
He then tapped his wristcom, causing the floor map to zoom in on System X-145. The ire around the room only spiked that much more; it was unthinkable for an outsider to have direct access to the monitor and the meeting at large. Once more, Char resisted smirking and concentrated on his explanation.
"After escaping Antillia, the Ark Royal fled to this system, an uncharted, undesignated star system," he explained. "And took shelter within its asteroid belt precisely to throw off my task force."
"As well as deployed her mobile suits to ambush when you followed her in," one of the others quipped, much to the visible bemusement of the others. They all knew what had taken place at X-145.
Char ignored the attempted sting as much as he had the ire and continued. "Under this hypothesis, we can narrow the Ark Royal's expected course and eventual location," he explained. "When out of warp, she will likely utilize some form of hazardous space, like the prior asteroid field, as cover from sensors and pursuit craft. This hazardous space will likely be well away from known space lanes and areas of civilization, within uncharted territory if possible."
Garma nodded, seeing exactly what Char was alluding to. "Beyond asteroids, what other forms of hazardous space would the Ark Royal likely sail through?"
"In my experience, anything short of a supernova," Char replied, smoothly and knowingly. "Within a nebula, in the proximity of a dying star, through the center of a broken moon…" he listed off. "The Thirteenth Trojan Horse is as daring as she is cunning."
It was only then that he smirked. "And it's that precise element that makes her predictable."
Garma nodded again, this time approvingly. He then looked over at one of the other sub-commanders. "Can we estimate her present heading?"
Though hesitant, the sub-commander nodded. "A rough estimate at best, sir," he acknowledged. "But quite possible."
"Good," Garma replied, exhilarating at how the pieces came together. "We'll start with her heading before the engagement," he explained to his subordinates. "Based on Commander Aznable's analysis, we will work in all areas of space that offer sensory inhibition, physical obstruction, or both."
He then smirked at Char. "Everything short of an in-process supernova."
Upon the return nod, Garma went on. "I want every possible course and heading compiled and on my desk within the next twenty-four hours."
"And the present patrols and sensor sweeps, Admiral?" another inquired.
Despite being interrupted, Garma understood the point. "They will remain in place," he answered. "This Feddie just may end up tripping over himself yet."
Cue the sycophantic laughter, with only Char refraining. More precisely, he was the only one who could refrain from causing offense.
"Dismissed," Garma commanded, causing the company to disburse and return to their duties. Char, the only remaining, moved up to Garma as their last departed. Only then did Garma allow himself to relax. "Just another day at the office."
"In the middle of a war, no less," Char replied bemusedly. "For what it's worth, I think you did pretty well, and I imagine Grand Admiral Dozle and Admiral Kycilia would think so, too."
Garma eyed Char carefully. "And my eldest brother?"
Char frowned on that one. "I'm afraid I lack the wisdom to understand His Majesty's thoughts," he replied honestly enough. "But I imagine he is not a man to be impressed so easily."
The young Zabi laughed at that. "Indeed, he isn't," he acknowledged before looking back at the map. "But at the same time, even he has yet to hunt down a Trojan Horse himself."
He then smiled. "Perhaps we should retain a piece of her hull," he considered. "So that we can both present it to him as a gift from the battlefront."
Char mirrored that smile. "I appreciate your willingness to share the credit."
"What are friends for?" Garma answered with a shrug. "And if it gets you elevated to this damned rank as well, then so much the better."
The Red Comet just barely resisted the urge to grimace at that. "I'm afraid I'm not the type for higher command," he said, doing well not to imagine himself with that amount of responsibility.
"I know, that's why I'm hoping for it," Garma replied slyly. "So you can at last see how the other half lives. And endures."
"Heh," Char let out toward the jab. "As you say, Admiral."
Ignoring his friend's deliberate emphasis on the last word, Garma checked his chronometer. Again, he nodded in approval as he read the displayed time. "Come, we have about an hour before the governor-general's engagement."
He then looked one more time at the space area where they had previously intercepted the Ark Royal. "And Emperor knows a drink or two would make her that much easier to track…"
Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Warp
With every bit of effort against his screaming, anguished body, Amuro managed to force himself down the corridor, one step at a time, until at last reaching the observation deck. His breathing was heavy, and it felt like every muscle and fiber in his body was strained, but only through sheer willpower had he made it to his destination all the same. Soon enough, the doors shifted open, allowing him entry and a more breathtaking view of the stars. And though it took him a moment to gather himself back up, he entered all the same.
Leaning against the back wall, arms folded and eyes closed, Sayla waited as her charge moved past the doorway and into their usual meeting area. She could almost feel, even without her power, the sheer exhaustion radiating off his form like heat, complimented by the heaviness of each footfall and breath of air as he moved to her side. Commander Law had been quite thorough with him during their workout session; a little too exhaustive, evidently enough. She wondered if there was a purpose to that beyond making Amuro physically fitter.
We can schedule this for another time if you'd like. She offered, wondering if Amuro was going to pass out on her. Perhaps it would be best if Fraw examined you…
I'm fine. Amuro responded as he placed himself against the wall beside her, closing his eyes against the strain as he stabilized his breathing. And I'm already here.
A smirk folded over Sayla's lips. So you are.
With that, Sayla lifted herself off the wall and moved through the deck. Opening his eyes as well, Amuro watched her move, gradually making her way toward the viewport. Even now, after all the occasions they had met, there was just something about her that he couldn't pinpoint. Something that made him feel…different inside, in a way that he was neither used to nor comfortable with. And yet…
Tell me, Amuro Ray. she began, gesturing toward the flashing stars. What do you see?
Blinking, Amuro looked toward the viewport, trying to see what she was referring to with his eyes and his Newtype senses. Warp. he exclaimed. Stars speeding by as the ship continues to move faster than light…
No. She shook her head as if the answer were completely obvious. What do you see?
At that, Amuro watched as the room suddenly darkened around him, as if it had faded out of existence. Moments later, light returned, but now he and Sayla were in a different place: within space itself, surrounded by starlight as if they were standing within the cosmos.
Amuro understood, taking a few steps forward and extending his power. I see,… he said as he looked around him, basking in the sheer radiance of it, gradually feeling his earlier tension drain away. Infinity.
Sayla nodded in approval, taking note of that choice word. Had this been weeks ago, Amuro's answer would have been quite different and far less imaginative. Yes, it is infinite, she agreed—an existence that knows no end, no boundary.
She then took a step forward to stand by Amuro again. Long ago, when our kind first began to emerge into humanity's greater perception, many scientists and researchers from various worlds attempted to identify the source of our power.
Interest swelled within Amuro, prompting Sayla to continue. The original theory was that we used a larger percentage of our brains than most others. When that was disproven, it was claimed that our gift came from a unique set of genetics, yet this, too, was never established as fact.
Her smirk returned. And, of course, some claimed God or the Devil gave us power. So that we may either lead humanity to paradise or make it suffer for its transgressions.
A similar bland expression crossed Amuro's face. That seems to be a common theme these days.
Sayla laughed a little at the notion. It's a common theme throughout human history. No matter what planet or civilization, humans will always explain things beyond their understanding as divinely originated.
Nodding, Amuro decided to ask the unspoken question. So then… he began. What is the origin of our power?
Sayla smiled again, this time solemnly. I cannot answer that even if I do not know. It is an answer that has remained elusive to the present day, as no scientific breakthrough has ever been made.
She glanced out at the stars once more. Some have even wondered if we possess a "source." Perhaps our power has always been similar to God, the Devil, or the Universe itself.
Amuro considered that. And yet… he said. Everything else about us is quite finite.
Sayla nodded in acknowledgment. To a degree, yes.
Though he wondered about that as well, Amuro pressed on. What do you believe is the answer?
The blonde woman looked out to the stars once more. I believe that the answer lies not in science but in philosophy.
Amuro arched an eyebrow at that. He hadn't expected that, much to the other Newtype's amusement.
Just over a century ago, the prince of a certain world, also among our kind, put forward a theory. Sayla explained that rather than being an offshoot of humanity, this "new type" of human being was, in fact, the next stage of human evolution.
Now, holding Amuro's complete interest, Sayla continued. Specifically, he theorized that, as humanity leaves its various homeworlds and journeys into amongst the stars, the openness of the void will cause them to reach a new state of being. One is not confined to the flesh and blood but rather capable of transcending the physical plain altogether and potentially reaching a new level of existence.
Her smile was only emboldened. To reach infinity, as it were.
Amuro was quite intrigued. He hadn't considered his gift to be a prospect of evolution, nor even a biological mutation; rather, he had always believed it to be a curse placed upon him by an ever-vindictive god or universe. However, hearing it from the one before him, he couldn't help but feel it was something along that line.
Still, he considered it a little more. If that were the truth, wouldn't all humans become Newtypes as soon as they entered space?
With a notable tinge of sadness, Sayla shook her head. Unfortunately, not all humans can reach the infinite. she answered solemnly. Just as not all birds can fly or all fish able to swim.
Amuro didn't know what to think of that. What will happen to those "old types" then?
Though somewhat hesitant, as she didn't know how he would react to that truth, Sayla answered regardless. What happens to all species that are incapable of further evolution.
For his part, Amuro himself wasn't sure what to think of that, despite his shock at the realization. I… see… he managed to murmur regardless.
Sayla shook her head at that. I admit it is a sad truth. But all the same, it is something even we have no control over.
His expression folding into a frown, Amuro nodded just as solemnly. For a time, he wondered if he wanted to learn more; as much as he tried to listen to Sayla and master his power, he was now even more uncertain about what to think about it. It was no longer a burden to him, that much was certain, but the idea of being a "new type" of human that would evolve and surpass those around him, who were destined to die out, didn't sit well with him. As much as he had known himself to be different, he never thought of himself as beyond human, and the indication that he was separate from even Fraw, herself many things to him but not one who shared his "gift," made him feel uneasy.
Even so, he had come this far, and it was clear that Sayla had more to teach him about himself and what he represented. And though she would have honored his request, he felt she would have been disappointed as though he were squandering his potential.
As such, he resolved to continue, regardless of whatever similar answers were given to his questions. To stop here, he resolved, would only serve to hinder him. Show me more.
Smile returning, Sayla nodded and then looked forward. A moment later, the stars illuminated into a great collective light, bathing the two Newtypes in their embrace. After that, darkness once more settled in…
"And here's the pitch…!" the announcer called out as the ball flew, the batter instantly swatting it into the air. The camera shifted to an overhead view, where the ball flew across the field. "Guerrovich hits it deep! It's going…! Going…! Going…! And it's GONE!"
"GODDAMMIT!" Sanders shouted as he smashed his fist against his chair amidst the cheering of some pilots around him. "What the hell do you think you're throwing out there!? A football!?"
"Tough luck, Sanders," Karen stated smugly, feeling that the outcome of their little bet was well underway. "You should know better than to bet on a team with a dinky name like the 'Martian Tripods.'"
Sanders fixed a glare on his fellow team lead. "We Martians take pride in our Fighting Machines, thank you," he shot back. "At least the name means something badass."
"Right, a bunch of three-legged proto-tanks whose pilots get done in by bacteria," Karen said. "Compare and contrast to the Proximan Centaurs. At least they're named after a great warrior race…"
"More like a cheap pun," Eledore muttered as he continued to watch himself. For once, he hadn't taken any bets, as he had yet to get off the losing streak he had endured since Antillia.
A responding glare from Karen made him realize that she had overheard him. "Not that they're a bad team or anything," he added carefully, nearly stammering. "But if you want a baseball team with a badass name, try the Neptunian Krakens…"
Sanders and several others laughed at that. "Sure, nothing like a team named after tonight's show."
"I dunno. I thought Kraken was a cool name, too," Michel commented beside her. "I mean, at least they have a better name than Earth's team…"
"Yeah," Karen answered with a bland face. "The Earth Giants. What genius came up with that?"
"The citizens of New York, actually," Shiro commented, causing everyone to recall that he was a Giants fan. "Well before World War III and the Federation."
This caused a collective of shrugs to take place. "Better than the Earth Cubs, I suppose," Karen added, then turned back to the game, only to watch as the latest batter made a foul. "Watch where you're aiming jackass!" she shouted.
"Heh heh, looks like my luck is changing already!" Sanders laughed again.
Shiro then looked over the batter, unrecognition coming over him. "Who's this Hernandez guy anyway?" he inquired, perturbed. "I don't remember him being in the Centaurs."
"Newbie," Eledore explained rather dourly. "One of the replacements brought in from the minors."
Another sinking feeling set in as they remembered exactly what was happening around the galaxy at this time. Much like in Earth's ancient Second World War, sports stars were routinely being drafted and thus routinely replaced with former minor league players who somehow evaded military service.
"Well, whatever," Shiro replied, shrugging himself this time. "He'll become an adequate ballplayer in due time."
"Yeah," Michel grumbled to himself. "While we're still out here being targets for the Zeeks."
The temperature seemed to drop even more at that. "Michel…" Kiki started.
Unfortunately, that was enough for the young pilot to snap. "What the hell are we doing out here?" he called out. "We were supposed to be going home after Antillia!"
The others took in stride, knowing exactly how their fellow pilot felt. "Fortunes of war, kid," Sanders replied evenly. "Sometimes the brass gives us orders we don't understand, but we're duty-bound to follow regardless."
"But a charge into enemy territory without support ships?" Michel looked like he was barely keeping himself from breaking down. "After all we've been through already?"
Shiro patted the younger pilot on the shoulder. "Just as Sanders said, Michel," he replied, allowing her bitterness of the order to come through. "Sometimes, ours simply is not to reason why."
His superior's hand was on his shoulder, and seeing that the others felt the same way calmed the younger pilot somewhat. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. "It's just…"
He closed his eyes. "I was going to propose to B.B. when we got back…" he said. "And now…!"
"I know," Shiro said sympathetically, squeezing him before letting go. "And you will."
Though claiming that anyone would survive the war was a military taboo, as the alternative remained far more likely, Shiro thought it for the best here. From there, he looked toward the rest. "If nothing else, Commander Law knows what's going on. And he wouldn't send us out if he believed our lives would be wasted."
That made Kiki look up in another realization. "Speaking of Commander Law," she inquired. "Where is he now? I thought he was going to watch the game too."
Shiro shrugged. "Said he had to meet Captain Noa over something," he said. "He'll join us soon enough."
"Will you please be quiet, sir?" one of the pilots from Gauntlet Squadron called out. "We're going to miss the inning…"
Then, the ball was hit again, this time by a batter for the Tripods. Further cheering emerged from the pilot's lounge as the game continued.
"This…This can't be right…" Bright let out in near shock, a certain element of uncertainty welling up from inside as he read over the datapad in his hand. "Are you sure the weight room monitor wasn't malfunctioning?"
"Believe me, I checked it over three times, along with every piece of equipment he touched," Sleggar answered, sharing the same uncertainty as the Ark Royal's captain. "That readout is legitimate."
Hearing that, Bright shook his head as he tossed the datapad, which read "EXERCISE DATA—AUG 1 379 - LTJG AMURO RAY" at the top, onto his desk. As its title stipulated, the datapad held a full readout of Amuro Ray's earlier workout session, complete with exercises, equipment, weight, and sets utilized in a bracketed graph.
Even now, when he looked at those numbers, Sleggar felt something inside him darkly stir. "We have a real Superman on our hands, Bright."
The captain found himself in reluctant agreement. "Must be. This is beyond even what the average Zeon could do."
He looked back toward his CAG with clear perturbance. "Why wasn't this ever documented in his FITREPs?"
"I have my theories on how," Sleggar replied, remembering Sayla's spinal implant. "As to why, however, I have a sneaky suspicion that this wasn't supposed to be widely known. Which can only mean one thing…"
"Project V," Bright nodded grimly, clasping his hands under his chin in thought and frustration. "It doesn't just apply to the Gundams."
He then recalled something more. "Do we have anything on the other two pilots?"
Sleggar's expression indicated he knew he would be asked that. "Yes, but they're a dead end, no pun intended," he answered, tapping his wristcom. "Things make even less sense with them."
A second later, the records of the previous Unit Beta and Unit Gamma test pilots appeared in holographic projections. "It's rather spooky."
Bright didn't need to read the actual records to see what Sleggar meant; the faces on the screen told him enough. Compared to Amuro, both of the deceased were what one would have expected for Project V participants: middle-aged veterans who had piloted both Guntanks and Guncannons in their time and held much in the way of combat experience. The kind of pilots that had been selected for their skill and expertise in the way of mobile suits in general, not because they possessed some special power or ability.
Which, as Bright agreed, made much less sense. As well as made them spookier. "Why do I get the feeling these two weren't Newtypes?"
"My thoughts exactly," Sleggar stated, bringing his hand to his chin in consideration. "On the one hand, it could pass as a legitimate setup. One Newtype pilot to test the Gundams' control system, and two veteran Oldtype pilots to evaluate the Gundams themselves…"
"But on the other?" Bright inquired.
"On the other," Sleggar answered. "It's doubtful Lieutenant Ray is the only Newtype in the Federation, much less the Federation at large," he stated. "Surely Command would have known of other such pilots in their muster, all of whom would have possessed more experience than Amuro."
He continued. "Instead of going at it with one novice Newtype and two veteran Oldtypes, why not three of a kind?" Sleggar pointed out. "And even if they were bent on Tem Ray's son taking part in the project, why not add two experienced Newtypes beside him?"
"For the same reason, Command handed Unit Beta and Unit Gamma over to you and Lieutenant Mass so easily," Bright answered, knowing they both had come to the same conclusion. "These two were just fill-ins. Either make Project V appear as conventional research and development or act as placeholders until more suitable pilots could be determined."
The captain then looked back at the datapad. "Lieutenant Ray was the only one who was truly part of Project V," he stated. "And not because of paternal connection."
Bright then closed his eyes, briefly pausing to settle it all in. Before asking another question, he didn't want to know the answer. "How much of this does the Lieutenant know?"
Again, Sleggar felt uncertainty nag at him. "I don't think he knows anything, Bright," he answered, not bothering to hide his disturbance. "Whatever Project V's true aim is, they kept it secret from him."
He then nodded at the datapad. " I don't think he's even aware of his strength."
Bright nodded once more, taking everything in. The more he learned of the Earth Federation's modern-day equivalent to the ancient Manhattan Project, the deeper and darker it all became. When he first heard of it, it was simply a development program for a new mobile suit to replace the Guncannon potentially. Now, as Sleggar had claimed it once before, it was black magic. Something sinister, something evil. Something that humanity was never meant to dabble in, much less utilize.
"What do you want to do about this, Bright?" Sleggar inquired this time.
Bright let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. "What can we do, Sleggar?" he answered. "Project V or not, we need Lieutenant Ray if we survive to Odessa."
"I'm not talking about Amuro," Sleggar clarified, looking his friend dead on. "I'm talking about Project V itself, if and when we gain the opportunity."
He picked the datapad up from the captain's desk. "This isn't simply a new kind of nuclear device or colony laser," he stated in complete seriousness. "This is a weapon that humanity has absolutely no understanding or control over, something that could do irreparable damage to the galaxy itself."
He went on. "Nobody - Earth, Zeon, Sanc, Orb, whatever - should have this," he said with finality. "Because, as I've witnessed, it's going to be misused, and it's going to have consequences."
After replacing the datapad on the desk, Sleggar fixed his friend and commanding officer with a hard gaze. "So I ask you once more, Commander," he said. What do you want to do about this?"
Bright knew what his initial reply would have been: no matter how sinister Project V was, it wasn't his place to do anything. He was a soldier, not a revolutionary. His was to follow the orders of his superiors, not to correct any wrongs on the part of the Federation. Anything else was above his pay grade.
However, he knew that neither Sleggar nor himself would accept it. Like it or not, he knew and therefore could not look away; to do so would be as the CAG had stated. It didn't matter if Project V was meant to give the Federation an advantage over Zeon and its other enemies or not; the fact remained it was a dangerous, potentially uncontrollable weapon that could spell disaster for all. And until proper countermeasures within the Federation or elsewhere could be devised, it was likely that the two of them – if only because they knew – were in any position to do something about it. Whether now or in the future.
Sighing in reluctant acceptance, Bright gave his answer. "For now, our enemies are Zeon and the other Outer Powers," he answered. "As such, we'll continue onto Odessa as ordered."
"But?" Sleggar inquired.
"But," Bright continued. "Assuming we survive long enough to return to Earth, we'll go at it traditionally," he explained. "First and foremost, we need to learn as much as possible about Project V. Not just its composition and results, but its purpose…"
"Because there's no way it was made just to fight Zeon," Sleggar concluded.
"Exactly," Bright nodded. "Once we've gained the necessary information, we'll be able to develop a proper course of action."
"Agreed," Sleggar acknowledged, visibly satisfied. It wasn't much, but it was all they could do for now, especially when they had more pressing concerns in the present.
He then turned around to leave. "In the meantime, I'll continue to look over our latest wunderkind," he said before pausing with another thought. "How many others do you want to know about this?"
For a moment, Bright wondered what could have possessed the Commander to ask such an obvious question. And then he remembered. "Neither of us know how she would react," he answered. "For the moment, it's best to leave her out of it."
This time, it was Sleggar's turn to nod reluctantly. As much as he didn't want to keep Mirai out of the loop, what he and Bright had discussed could turn into insurrection. Besides, it wasn't the first time he had kept a secret from her, though that didn't make him feel any better.
"Very well," he replied, only then making his exit.
Governor's Estate
Bieutar, Jahannam Prime
The evening had since descended upon Jahannam, and the governor's gala was in full revolution. Though much of the planet remained in ruins from the initial conquest and the local populace had yet to be completely alleviated – lesser pockets of resistance were always a chore to mop up for any occupational force – the party went on regardless of concern, the local aristocracy (collaborators) mingling with the various Imperial officials and officers within a well-adorned estate that had originally belonged to Jahannam's local rulership, but now had transitioned to an Imperial governor-general. As Zeon originated classical tune after tune played out from the nearby orchestra and the dancers continued their waltz in front, figures of equally various forms and backgrounds spoke amongst themselves on multiple topics, from the war effort to more standard-line political and cultural gossip. All while, at the far end of the ballroom, a large and authoritative portrait of Emperor Gihren watched over all.
"So I hear His Imperial Majesty may be visiting our dear world," one of the attending quislings, whose name Garma had already forgotten, spoke up with interest. "Once the war has ended, of course."
Flashing a flat smile to cover his disgust, Garma expertly took a sip of his wine – thankfully, Zeon originated as well – before answering. "I've heard nothing of this," he replied diplomatically enough. "But then, I'm afraid His Majesty seldom shares his plans with me."
The quisling let out a small chuckle at that, as did the toady – a literal description Garma felt, as his form did seem to hint at amphibian genetics - beside him. "Well, regardless," he spoke hintingly. "His appearance here would do our world quite the honor."
Garma merely retained his smile, again to force back his nausea. "I'm sure it would," he replied without a trace of irony before looking over.
Moving silently and anonymously, such that Garma couldn't help but feel envious, the Red Comet through the crowd to the bar area. If anyone noticed the masked ace move through their midst, crimson uniform and all, however, none spoke up, instead acting as though he were just another anonymous partygoer. Upon approaching the bar counter, he removed his helmet, allowing his golden blonde hair to be seen by the galaxy at large, before signaling the bartender over.
"Excuse me," Garma told the pair, moving away before either could reply. He didn't so much as bother to look back.
Moving through the room – and ignoring the glances from the other guests, namely the local female attendees – he came up to the bar beside his friend, exchanging his now empty wine glass for a harder substance. "Lowborn scum," he let out as he took a swig. "If there's one thing I agree with the Earthnoids on, it's how to deal with traitors. Even the 'necessary' ones."
Char chuckled at this. "I don't think you'll win any favors with a public hanging, Garma."
"I don't know. I'm sure the local populace would love to see these vermin dangle," Garma replied, appearing actually to give it some thought. "They might even make a holiday in my honor over it."
Char shrugged. "Perhaps, but it won't get you out of having to mingle with others of their kind in the future," the ace pointed out before taking a drink. "You are, after all, a…"
"Say it, and I'll report you to His Majesty for insubordination, Char," Garma answered. He then took another drink, allowing a brief pause before continuing. "I almost wish the Ark Royal would appear here. So they would flee in terror at the sight of those three mobile suits emerging from the sky..."
"That would certainly be a sight to see," Char agreed. "Would save us the trouble of hunting the Ark Royal down as well."
"If only it were that easy," Garma answered blandly. He shook his head, knowing that was one wish that would never be granted. "But then, it would have been a boring kill anyway."
"True enough," Char answered, then decided to switch topics. Specifically, it was something that his friend would be more comfortable with. "Have you heard from Icelina lately?"
Garma looked up a little more at the mention of his wife's name. "Unfortunately not," he said, a proud if solemn smile folding on his lips. "But it shouldn't be long now."
Char nodded. "That's good to know," he said before looking on. "So many have died and are dying now. It will be refreshing to see a new life enter the universe."
"Very much so," Garma said, just imagining the sight of his newborn child. "My only regret is he will be born amid this damned war."
He shook his head again. "But at least he will be safe back on Zeon, well away from all this. And Icelina will be there to raise him in the interim."
Though he did well to mask it with everything else, Char couldn't help but feel a cold hand reach over him at that. He forced it away just as efficiently, not even considering it. "Have you decided on a name yet?"
Garma smiled, this time more genuinely. "Still working on it, but Icelina gave a few suggestions. Unfortunately, we agree that Char Zabi doesn't sound right."
"No complaint here," Char replied with visible appreciation. As easy as it was for him to adopt his current name, he had trouble seeing it spread around like that. "And I suppose Degwin is out of the question."
That earned the Red Comet a rather vicious glare. "I'll be damned to the universe's greatest darkness before I give that name to any child," he declared with clear, underlying hatred. "Least of all mine!"
"Alright, alright," Char said, raising his hands to calm his friend before those around them took notice. He very well understood where that reaction had come from. "Then how about Icelina's father?"
"Joseph? Perhaps," Garma nodded at the possibility. "It's an Earth name, admittedly, but a good one. And he was certainly a good man…"
"'Was'?" Char questioned.
Garma shrugged. "Died some time ago," he explained. "Hovercar accident."
"Ah," Char nodded in seeming understanding, though he felt there was more to that. The purge, after his father's untimely demise, had claimed many. "Shame."
"It was," Garma nodded in regret, taking another drink, then signaling the barkeep again for a refill. "But his memory and lineage live on, and I'm honored both will be within my son."
"Yes," Char agreed again, raising a glass to honor the late Joseph Eschonbach. He sincerely hoped his soul was at peace wherever he had ended up. It would be avenged soon enough.
Seeing that his friend had brought up family, Garma decided then was the opportune time. "On that note," he said, none-too-hintingly. "Galina has been asking about you."
Even without the benefit of his mask, Char's expression was unreadable. "Has she?" he replied, memories arising of the House of Zabi's youngest scion.
"Indeed she has," Garma replied eagerly, patting his friend on the back. "I don't understand it in the least, but she's taken quite the interest in you ever since you saved her life."
Char nodded, doing well to disguise his discomfort. To this day, he still didn't know what he had been thinking on July 9, 377, when, upon realizing the Massacre that was about to take place, he went out of his way to save the young princess when those around her ended up slaughtered like cattle. By all accounts, he should have done the opposite and let the assassins have their due, thereby sending one more of Degwin's spawn into the abyss, yet something in him had spurred him into action. Something that, even two years later, he did not understand.
Whatever the case, it had brought that much closer to the Zabis' good graces, such that even Gihren acknowledged him. It had also earned him Galina's continued interest and attention, not obsessive to any extent. Still, Char had the distinct feeling that the princess had not simply become enamored with the Red Comet but wanted to see the man under the mask. Such caused the ace to shutter in memory, as several times over, it had taken the best out of him to throw her off, let alone keep her at a distance. It helped even less that the rest of her family, including Gihren himself, seemed to approve of their relationship.
And it helped that much less that Char wasn't sure how he felt about it, just as he didn't know what had caused him to save her, even when he had long vowed to rid Zeon of her and the rest of her family.
Regardless, he still had an image in the present and played along. "I can't understand it either," he exclaimed with projected modesty. "I was merely doing my duty."
"Sure you were," Garma smirked, enjoying the Red Comet's obvious discomfort. "Alongside your service to Zeon, am I right?"
Char rolled his eyes behind his mask. "Something like that," he exclaimed, taking another drink.
Garma laughed and patted his friend on the back again. "It's all fine, Char. If and how you decide to pursue this matter, you have my full support, as you do with the rest of the family, including His Majesty."
He then smirked knowingly. "Until you decide, however, the least you can do is send her a response," he said, then taking another drink. "When you have the time, of course."
Despite his continued hesitance, Char found himself nodding in assessment. "I'll do that, Garma," he said, forcing a smile. "After all, the patronage of a Princess cannot be so easily wasted."
Easily taking that as a joke, Garma laughed before raising his glass. Smirking, Char followed, with both friends clinking their glasses together in a toast of apparent comradeship.
Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Warp
"Hell, yes! That's how it should be!" Karen continued to cheer as she and Eledore walked down the corridor. "Go Centaurs!"
"Yeah, it was a good game," Eledore admitted as he stretched his arms out. After all, they had been through and would likely go through in the future, it had been a nice break. "Though I imagine Lieutenant Sanders will be cranky for a while."
"Eh, he'll get over it," Karen answered back. "It wasn't like that was a championship game or anything."
Eledore nodded with visible relief. "Thank god for that in itself," he exclaimed. "That's not something I was hoping…"
"I know," Karen cut him off as they finally reached her quarters. She then tapped the keypad and opened the door, allowing them both to enter. "And we will."
Eledore nodded again, this time with beleaguered hope. It was understandable as much as Michel's earlier outburst had been unsightly. They all felt the way he did. "What the hell is happening to us, Karen?" he whispered. "Not that I disbelieve what Commander Amada said, but…"
"I know Eledore," she repeated, grasping his arm. "This scares the hell out of me too."
That reaffirmed Eledore somewhat, though his gut remained twisted. "I'm not a coward, Karen. As scared as I am in a fight, I won't run. But we've been at this for a while now, and our luck is bound to run out eventually."
He frowned, taking a seat on a nearby chair. "The least Command could have done is tell us why they're sending us headlong into enemy territory."
"I agree," Karen replied, frowning herself. "The only solace is that, whatever it is, it will be big."
Eledore looked up at that. "What do you mean?"
"Basic logic," Karen answered with some obviousness. "If your hand is a Royal Flush, then you would do everything to keep it secret before putting it in play, wouldn't you?"
That caused Eledore to recall the earlier poker game with Kai, where a Royal Flush beat him. He forced that memory back before answering. "The same could be applied to a bluff."
"True," Karen admitted. "But if nothing else, I don't think Command would waste a ship like this, or mobile suits like those, on a bluff."
"Touché," Eledore replied, seeing the point there. "Though I'm not sure how many others will see it like that…"
"That doesn't matter, so long as they follow orders and fight with the rest of us," Karen answered before reaching out and grasping her boyfriend on the shoulder. "We'll get through this, Eledore; I know it."
She then smirked as he reached out and grasped her hand warmly. "And when this operation is said and done, and we resume the course to home, you can take me out to that Centaurs game."
Smiling at this, Eledore clasped her hand with his, then let go. "As you say, Karen. Though we'll probably go through hell before it is said and done."
Karen laughed at that. "Don't we always?" she shot back.
"Touché once again," Eledore admitted before rising, then bringing Karen over for a goodnight kiss, his technical superior not complaining. Once they separated, Eledore nodded in satisfaction. "How in the galaxy did I manage to get you?"
Karen smirked back. "Again, elementary. No real men were available, so I had to make due."
Taken off guard by the reply, Eledore opened his mouth again to retort, to which Karen took the opportunity to force a kiss of her own on him. One far more intense and passionate was that Karen ended up pushing her technical subordinate against the nearby wall with a metallic slam, all but verbally informing Eledore that it was not time to take his leave just yet.
When they separated, stars were in Eledore's eyes as Karen grinned at her handiwork. "Fortunately," she exclaimed heatedly, her hand reaching downward. "You're adequate in the right areas."
Feeling that unseen hand, Eledore closed his eyes and enjoyed. "You realize we're technically going against regulations by keeping this up."
"So I heard," Karen answered uncaringly, kissing him against the neck as her still unseen hand unbuckled Eledore's belt. "And as far as I'm concerned, those regs were written by REMFs who never went to war. Let alone been with a woman."
Once the belt was out of the way, the rest of the trousers were easy enough to undo. "Now shut up," she commanded, lowering herself toward her target. "And leave everything to your superior…"
"So now we're going to sail through, and all too likely fight within, a glorified dust cloud," Kai blandly stated as he, Hayato, and Job stood by at the side of the hangar, watching as their Guncannons were continually inspected for the coming battle. "And I thought this voyage couldn't get any better."
Job shrugged. "Better a dust cloud than a glorified rock pile. And if it keeps the Zeeks off our backs, then so much the better."
"Don't count on it," Kai retorted, expressing his belief well. "With our luck, we'll have their entire Second Fleet out there, waiting for us."
Job chuckled at that. "I always love your optimism, Kai," he said before looking at Hayato. "And you? What do you think of this little side trip?"
"I'd hardly call it a side trip," Hayato answered, appearing largely indifferent. "But as you said, if it keeps the Zeon from coming after us, then so much the better."
He then frowned. "That being said, it almost feels like wishful thinking to me."
"Probably is," Job agreed. "But at least it's worth a shot. And it beats operating in open space or another asteroid field."
"Maybe," Hayato said, considering. "On that, is there anyone aboard with nebula experience? Outside of simulation?"
Job and Kai both exchanged glances at that. "I can't think of anyone," Job said. "You?"
"Not a one," Kai answered, thinking it over. "Though Commander Law did say something about fighting in the Carina once upon a time…"
Job nodded at this. "Well, there's that," he answered, though some of him wondered if that had been a literal battle or something else entirely. It could go either way with the CAG. "In any case, it shouldn't be any different than fighting in the open vacuum."
"Sure, sure. Just our sensors being blinded, visual being severely impaired, random electromagnetic bursts sparking all over, and a laundry list of similar environmental hazards," Kai exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "How hard can it be?"
"Could be worse," Hayato offered. "Some nebulas are outright radioactive or even acidic."
"Yeah, right. Others are home to what can best be described as 'Space Leviathans, '" Kai retorted. "Doesn't make this one any more of a pain in the ass."
Despite himself, Hayato found himself smirking at his friend's disposition. "You scared, Kai?"
"You're not?" Kai countered in turn, knowing better than to hide it. "Open space is fine, and I can deal with many floating rocks. Maybe even the corona of a star if necessary," he admitted. "But there's something about giant interstellar clouds that make me uneasy…"
He shook his head. "How many stories have we heard of ships entering inside one and not coming out?" he posited.
That caused both Hayato and Job to frown simultaneously. As much as they didn't want to admit it, their fellow Shrike had a point. There were many reasons why nebulas were seldom traveled through, let alone had battles fought within.
Still, it was what it was. "It doesn't matter," Job stated, looking back at the Guncannons. "Because I feel ours isn't going to be one."
Both Hayato and Kai nodded at that, though neither was entirely convinced. Job couldn't say he was himself.
It was nearing midnight Standard Galactic Time, so the mess was largely deserted at this time. Taking advantage of this, Sleggar had settled down at one of the tables with an untouched can of chilled cola and a slice of Martian red spice cake in front of him. He was hungry, or at least he had been when he had first entered the mess, but now his overactive thought processes had overridden his hunger. There was just too much on his mind to consider, such that even the effort of grabbing his fork and taking a piece of cake into his mouth seemed like additional effort.
It seemed like the more the war dragged on, the direr it became. He knew that was standard for any war; even Earth's more ancient conflicts became more destructive as time and technology advanced, with new weapons and tactics adopted to counteract whatever enemy was faced. He also knew that this war would be no different, especially with the development of the mobile suit, which had seen leaps and bounds in advancement since Gihren's initial blitzkrieg. Project V had been an extension of that with the Gundams, or at least Sleggar and everyone else had assumed at the time. In a way, he wished he could still think of it as such.
But he couldn't, not when he knew that much of the truth. What should have been the development of a brand new mobile suit, one superior to all others, had quickly become the stuff of nightmares, a weapon that, as he had spoken of to Bright, would have an irreversible effect on the galaxy itself. An effect that made those of Earth's ancient atomic weapons, which had instilled fear and hesitance into their developers and potential users, seem inconsequential by comparison. Many would suffer for it, and the universe would be irrevocably changed.
That in itself brought Juno back to mind. Though he wished he could forget about it, Sleggar remembered Unit Alpha's image before him, cloaked in an aura of white and camera eyes ablaze with vehemence as its very frame resonated from the wrath of its pilot; the very image that had spawned Amuro's unwanted moniker. Even then, when it appeared in front of him, he knew that it had been an unnatural sight; it had been something truly terrible and seemed almost out of place within the mortal realm. Something that should never have been harnessed and weaponized, much less turned into an instrument of war, despite it turning an otherwise hopeless battle into a pyrrhic victory. Something that instilled Sleggar, who had seen his fair share of death and destruction in his lifetime, with a terror that he never thought he would ever feel.
Tem Ray… Sleggar thought, recalling Amuro's father and the brains behind Project V. What were you thinking when you created this monster?
The sound of approaching footfalls snapped him back to the present before he could come up with an answer.
"Somehow, I thought I would find you here," Mirai commented as she entered, gazing at Sleggar with peculiarity.
Forcing back his thoughts, Sleggar quickly readopted his usual persona. "Let me guess," he posited. "You snuck into my quarters again."
Sniffing in response – and indirectly confirming Sleggar's guess – Mirai merely moved over to one of the food dispensers, to which she selected a cherry pie. "Far be it for me to intrude," she exclaimed. "But I couldn't help but notice how distant you were today."
Sleggar raised an eyebrow. "Distant?" he repeated.
"Yes," Mirai confirmed before adding iced tea to accompany her pie. "Ever since you met with the Captain, you've acted…differently."
Sleggar pretended not to notice. "I don't see how," he said, projecting offense. "I mean, I've gone about my remaining duties well enough…"
"Don't bother Sleggar," Mirai ordered as she came over to join him, fixing him a knowing gaze. "I've known you long enough to know when something is truly bothering you."
Her eyes narrowed as if she were seeing past Sleggar's physical form. "Just as I know when you are truly terrified."
Despite that, Sleggar made one last attempt to maintain the mask. "And what would make me terrified? When even the Zeeks have yet to accomplish that."
"That's something I don't know," Mirai admitted, yet retaining force. "But I have an inclination."
She then gazed at Sleggar straight on. "What you and the Captain have been discussing as of late, likely with that Junk Guild Professor. What you saw firsthand at Juno."
At that, Sleggar blinked and then closed his eyes in resignation. Despite what he said to Bright, some things were impossible to hide from Mirai. "So what of it? Everyone saw what happened at Juno…"
Again, Mirai wasn't convinced. "What we saw was projected on the bridge monitor. Whereas you were there when Lieutenant Ray began his rampage."
She then frowned. "And even then, that one event wouldn't be enough to scare you to this extent. As much as what you've been learning of its source since then."
Sleggar grit his teeth together, feeling as though he had been stabbed. At first, he tried to force it down but soon realized he could not do so. As a result, it all bubbled to the surface. "What is it you want, Mirai?" he growled back, no longer bothering to hide it. "The truth? Fine, alright, yes, I'm scared. I am, in fact, terrified."
He looked away, suddenly being unable to match her gaze. "Before, I thought the Zeeks were our biggest concern, but now…" he hesitated. "Now it seems like we have a new enemy face, and low and behold, it's on our side of the line."
"Sleggar…" Mirai started, realizing all too late that she had touched a nerve.
That was enough for Sleggar to calm, at least somewhat. "When this war started, I thought it would be no different than any other in the past," he explained. "Sure, our main weapons are glorified anime robots, our enemy is a race of genetically riced-up ubermensch, and the battlegrounds vary from open space to planetary surfaces to space colony interiors and the like, but otherwise, it would be no different in convention from any other war."
He shook his head. "Now, however, we're no longer dealing with conventional fighting. We've since moved into the metaphysical," he said. "And the more it's brought to light, the more it terrifies me beyond words."
He looked back at her. "Is that what you wanted, Mirai?" he nearly demanded. "Or is there something else I've overlooked?"
Despite her inhibitions, Mirai gently grasped his hand. "What I want, Sleggar, is you not to dwell on this."
Sleggar raised an eyebrow. "Because it will affect my CAG performance?"
"Because it's unnatural for you to be like this," Mirai retorted. "Sleggar Law is not a man to obsess over anything, least of all things that he has no control over."
I don't know about that. Sleggar thought as he remembered their previous relationship. However, saying it out loud there would cause additional problems.
"You're better than this," Mirai said before nodding in confirmation. "And since you mentioned it, yes, you being as you are now will affect the morale of your pilots and potentially your performance out there."
Sleggar tilted his head at that. "Maybe," he said, looking away again, this time in thought.
Mirai resisted the urge to chuckle at the display, knowing it was her ex's way of conceding a point. "That being said, we have enough problems ahead of us, namely with those 'genetically riced up ubermensch' you mentioned," she said. "Project V or whatever can wait."
She then withdrew her hands to take a piece of her pie. "The universe will remain until then," she finished, taking a bite.
"Heh," Sleggar laughed before following her example with his spice cake. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right on all of it. Such that he felt a familiar tinge of regret. We really should have been married now…
He inwardly forced that thought back, instead deciding to enjoy the moment. As much as he wished it, he didn't get to have a late-night snack with her every day. "As you say, Commander," he replied before biting. Thank you.
From there, only silence remained as the two ate, taking an indirect solace in the other's company.
Now thoroughly exhausted, Amuro laid back against his bed, feeling his still aching body relax somewhat in the process but still ache. For a time, he wondered if he should have taken Sayla's advice and visited Fraw, but he ended up deciding against it. As much as he hurt, it wasn't anything he could deal with himself, and ever since she had become CMO, Fraw always seemed to have her hands full with something. That and he knew he wasn't in any danger; the pain he felt was that of physical exertion, not out of hazard. It is not something to seek out medical support for.
He was a long way from falling asleep, though he could feel his consciousness gradually fade. He was in that state of exhaustion where even falling asleep took some time as if the brain were the only functional part of Amuro's body. It was frustrating, but Amuro knew he would fall asleep soon enough. In the meantime, he let his conscious mind run its course. There was only one thing on it anyway.
Sayla… Amuro recalled his fellow Gundam pilot and unexpected friend and mentor. Even now, after their time together, he still couldn't figure her out. Usually, that was nothing new; Amuro understood as much about his fellow humans as he did about quantum mechanics. Whereas science and technology were simple matters, no matter how arcane or complex, humans and the "feelings" they possessed were always foreign to him, even with his Newtype powers. So logically, his inability to understand one more shouldn't have been all that surprising to him.
And yet, Sayla Mass was many things, but "one more human" was not among them. With her, it wasn't that Amuro didn't understand. It was that she was outright mysterious. Even if she hadn't been a Newtype, there was just something about her that set her apart from the others and made her truly unique, such that very few, if any, truly knew her. Not unlike, in Amuro's technophilic terminology, a component that was considerably more complex and advanced than the rest of the machine, yet arcane and obscure, as if hailing from an unknown, perhaps even long past civilization. Something that stood out from the very universe itself.
So much so, in fact, that, whether through intention or not, she had instilled Amuro with uncharacteristic fascination. Never before had he been so interested in another human being; even Fraw, who was perhaps the one other he was closest to, wasn't as much of a fixture to him. It was almost a foreign feeling to him to be captivated by someone rather than something. He wanted to know more about her, where she came from, why she had joined the military, and what drove her to fight. And above all those, why she was so interested in him.
The latter, especially, he wanted an answer to. Others had written him off throughout his life, so he had long grown used to it. Only three people had ever shown him any interest before her: his father and mother, at least when the latter was still around, and Fraw. Beyond them, everyone had designated him a "nerd," "geek," or some other word for an outsider, one who did not fit amongst the rest of humanity due to some unexplainable defect. His being a Newtype, of which he had been ignorant at the time, had only alienated others that much more, to the point that "freak" had long been added to the list as well.
Yet, despite it all, she had taken an interest in him. She had taken it upon herself to instruct him about himself and his power. Amuro couldn't think of anyone else ever doing that for him, helping him adapt to what he was so that he could become an actual person rather than an outcast and a "freak," even to himself. It was almost a surreal experience.
An experience that, in turn, instilled another set of feelings within Amuro himself. He feels that, for his life, he could not remember ever possessing them. Or even holding the capability of possessing…
But that was something he didn't want to concentrate on now. Despite Sayla's aid, human emotion remained disconcerting to him, enough that considering them now would only stave off sleep that much more. Fortunately, the latter was quickly becoming redundant as more and more of Amuro's consciousness faded, his thoughts vanishing one after another as his mind at last began to disengage. It wouldn't be long before the universe around him turned completely black, and Amuro Ray disappeared into a realm beyond the physical.
Yet throughout, the image of Sayla Mass remained with him, the last thing that disappeared into nothingness…
Jahannam Station
Jahannam Prime, Jahannam System
Resisting the urge to rub his temples, Garma continued staring at the projected map at his feet. The Ark Royal's projected courses had long been added in. As he had stipulated, they included otherwise hazardous areas of proximate space that a ship could travel through or around, narrowing the search considerably. Even so, the number had proven to be quite surprising; between the various asteroid fields, radiation pockets, and other such volatile forms, the Ark Royal had more than a few obstructions and hiding places to go through to throw off her scent. Even so, she was only one ship and would only choose one course, and it remained Garma's job to predict that course.
As such, Garma continually tapped his wristcom, causing the map to fluctuate from under him, bringing in a selected course whose viability was his to determine and then moving on to the next. Over time, he had narrowed down that number even more, but he had yet to identify the course the Trojan Horse would take. And it was already midnight when he should have been at rest for what lay ahead.
The sound of the nearby door opening nearly caused him to jump in surprise; the silence had been so abundant that even that minute sound had taken him off guard. However, he remained grounded and focused on the map to his credit. He knew who the new entry was anyway. "What is it, Darota?"
"Begging your pardon, sir," his aide answered dutifully. "I was just checking on your progress."
Garma couldn't help but smirk at this. Though there was a wide gulf between their ranks, his aide was older than himself and had been in the Space Attack Force for much longer. In another world, where he hadn't been a Zabi or a legendary ace, Garma could have seen himself as Darota's subordinate instead of the other way around. It was almost a shame to him.
"Well, as you can see, I'm still here," Garma replied sardonically. "Though I'm afraid there's not much to report."
Darota laughed at that, knowing what his liege was playing toward. "That is indeed troublesome," he answered as if their ranks had been reversed. "Sir."
"Yes," Garma replied, appreciating his aide recognizing the irony and going with it. Any other man would have been shocked at the shift in decorum. "However, I have determined the more likely selections."
He then tapped his wristcom, causing the floor monitor to highlight them. "These are the least hazardous courses the Ark Royal could follow. Or, more specifically, the courses she could follow without tearing herself apart."
Again pretending that Garma was his subordinate, Darota moved over the monitor and gazed at the highlighted. "One of them seems to move around a black hole, sir."
"Yes, but well away from the event horizon," Garma concluded. "Would certainly be problematic to pursue her around that, wouldn't it?"
Darota shrugged. "I suppose so. Though I have difficulty imagining a Trojan Horse, no matter how daring her captain, sailing around one of those."
"As do I, but given Commander Aznable's assessment, it's quite possible," Garma replied knowingly, then looking to select another route to consider. "After all, he wouldn't be the first to…" he began to say, suddenly turning silent.
"Sir?" Darota inquired, sensing the shift of his liege's attention.
Instead of answering verbally, Garma tapped on the wristcom and highlighted a particular area on the map—one that was not among the projected courses. "What's this?"
Realizing his commander was serious, Darota quickly resumed his post and reviewed the selected. "The Azure Nebula, sir," he answered dutifully, already knowing what had attracted the Admiral's eye. "It's a little way out but falls within our operation zone."
Hearing that, Garma zoomed in on the nebula, a databox appearing to show its composition. "Why wasn't this included in the lineup?"
Darota shrugged as he reviewed the data. "Far be it for me to speculate, sir, but my guess is because it's not a viable course. The nebula is lightyears in span and comprised of numerous ionized gasses with high levels of static discharge. Such would be enough to obscure visual sensors, let alone the traditional kind."
The aide did not fail to see the sparkle in his prince's eyes. "Navigation would be almost impossible, at least for a conventional ship and crew."
"Indeed," Garma agreed, noting that his aide had reached the same conclusion he had. It would be a difficult course, but not an impossible one. Much less for a ship like the Ark Royal. "That's where she's heading."
It was only then he looked back at Darota. "Inform the fleet. We begin remobilization at once."
"Sir," Darota acknowledged his new orders, snapping off a salute. Upon Garma returning it, he turned around and exited to carry them out.
From there, Garma looked back at the nebula, his lips folding into a predatory smile. I have you now, Feddie…
