"The two most powerful warriors are patience and time."
- Leo Tolstoy

Chapter XIII: Frozen Refuge

Zumberg Palace
Zumberg, Zeon, Zeon Empire
August 6, GC 364

"Artesia!" she heard a voice call out as her eyes dazedly opened, blinking into focus. "Artesia!"

"Brother?" the seven-year-old Princess Artesia Som Daikun at last spoke, the final vestiges of sleep beginning to recede from her focusing sapphire eyes. Confusion came upon her in their place as she looked at her brother's hurried expression.

"Yes, that's it," the twelve-year-old Prince Casval Rem Daikun stated, his equally sapphire eyes showing visible relief. He almost thought his sister would never wake—at least not in time. "Come on, let's get your things together…"

Suddenly, another figure came in. Through her still waking eyes, Artesia recognized him as their attendant – and their father's former steward – Jimba Ral. "Your Highness, we're out of time!" he announced as Artesia's Newtype senses picked up the frantic motion outside her bedroom. "The breach is imminent! We have to go, sire! Now!"

"Damn," Casval cursed as he lifted his sister and handed her a robe. He had hoped Gihren's assassins would be kept at bay for a little longer, but that was not to be. Now, they had to make a run for it. "Come on, Artesia!" he shouted while grabbing her hand as she managed to get her robe on.

Before Artesia realized it, they were running down the palace halls, with several Imperial Guardsmen flanking them and Jimba as they progressed. The princess didn't ask what was happening; her special senses, which she had held since birth, told her all she needed to know. A battle was now waging outside Zumberg Palace between the Imperial Guard, their protectors, and a force of invaders that bore an overly elaborate shield as their emblem – one that proudly displayed the Zeon Cross upon its center. The symbol of the Imperial Security Directorate. The Stazi.

The Guards fought valiantly – holding out to the last to protect them, the true Throne heirs – but it was already clear that the Stazi would triumph through overwhelming force alone. This was emphasized as an assault gunship swooped down from the sky, firing a spray of missiles that slammed into several redoubts. Such was the resulting carnage that Artesia physically recoiled, gritting her teeth as he forced back the all too familiar feeling of death. All while the Stazi ground forces advanced, moving through the now broken barricades into the castle itself. The few Imperial Guards that held their defense were cut down just as quickly.

"This way!" Casval guided his sister along as the pair followed their "Uncle" Jimba and their other escorts, moving down the corridors quickly. Artesia didn't need to ask where they were heading; their father's yacht awaited them in the palace hangar. However, the late Emperor Zorin's youngest child could only fathom where they would go. Where they would find solace from Gihren – who Artesia already knew was behind this treachery – and his minions…

The unmistakable sound of an explosion quickly shook Artesia back to the present. If that wasn't enough, the sounds of rapid beam fire soon followed, with two of their guardsmen cut down as a result. At that, Jimba shoved the children to the side of the wall as he and their other escorts returned fire, taking down two or three of the Stazi troopers in response, thereby forcing the rest to move behind their cover. Additional beams were exchanged from there while the Prince and Princess could only close their eyes and wait for it to end.

"Grenade!" one of the guardsmen shouted as a metallic cylinder fell toward them, landing on the carpeted floor with a dull thump. Acting quickly, Jimba grasped the bouncing explosive and returned it from where it came. The sound of an explosion soon followed, alongside the death cries of several Stazi. The latter was further punctuated when the guardsmen retook the initiative, shooting down several more of the shocktroopers before they could respond.

"Now!" Jimba commanded, moving forward again. Hand still grasping onto his sister's, Casval quickly reacted, pulling himself and Artesia from the wall and following their uncle down the corridor again. Further explosions and beam fire could be heard as they moved, but only in the distance. They were clear for the moment and proceeded through the corridors and where they reached a specific area. From there, Jimba tapped a concealed control panel, causing a part of the wall to recede and reveal a secret passageway.

Another burst of beam fire erupted, striking another escorting guardsman in the head. Cursing to himself, Jimba gestured for the rest of the guards to cover, then ushered Casval and Artesia along with himself. Another of their escorts was cut down – leaving only two guardsmen with them – before the entire group moved into the passageway and closed the wall behind them. They all knew it would hold the Stazi back for a time, but eventually, the assassins would break through. As such, they double-timed down the flight of stairs – turbolifts were too risky at this point – until they finally reached the bottom.

There, the Empress Astraia awaited them. Her engines were already active, and her crew, which included another contingent of Imperial Guards, stood by. Several of the former were already arranged to cover fire, which they thankfully held as Jimba and his charges moved toward the escape craft.

"Please, Your Highnesses," Jimba respectfully commanded as they approached the opened side hatch. Both nodding their shared appreciation, Casval, and Artesia began to climb into it just as a beam slammed into the side of the hull.

"Bastards!" Jimba howled as he placed himself before the children, responding with his handgun. Another Stazi trooper fell, only for more to move in where they had been. The Imperial Guards were just as quick to reply, causing another exchange of beam fire to erupt across the hangar. Several more slammed into the Astraia's side, forcing Jimba to move fast.

"Go!" Jimba commanded as he pushed the children into the waiting yacht. As he did this, he caught one of the Stazi troopers aiming for the corner of his eye. And much more, he already knew he would not be able to turn in time.

As such, Jimba Ral did the only thing he could. Shoving Artesia into the yacht, he spread his massive body over the entryway just as the trooper pulled back the trigger. Rapid beam fire slammed into Jimba's back instantaneously, his eyes widening in shocked pain as blood spasmed from his mouth.

"Uncle Jimba!" Artesia cried, already trying to reach him, only for Casval to hold her back. And though she tried to push out of his embrace, her brother's hold remained.

Growling against the pain, Jimba reached back and fired another shot at the offending trooper, cutting them down with a precise hit to the head. "Farewell…" he breathed, forcing one last smile, warm and sincere, upon his lips as he looked upon the children of his Emperor and his friend one last time. "…Your Highnesses."

Tears streaming down her eyes, Artesia cried as she pulled herself toward Jimba once more, but Casval – also in tears – once more held her back. With that, Jimba closed his eyes and used the last of his strength to push himself away from the Astraia, landing on his back with a hard slam. Two Imperial Guardsmen immediately took his place as the yacht lifted off, fighting on to see the true heirs of the Throne to safety.

Soon enough, the yacht exited the hangar and blasted toward the sky, where it would disappear into the stars above. Throughout, Artesia's cries rang as Casval – whose own cries were subdued but no less intense – held her to himself.


Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
August 6, GC 379

Abruptly, Sayla woke, letting out an anguished cry as she did. Sweat poured from her forehead as her breathing labored, taking several moments for her to remember where and when she was that it had simply been a dream and no more.

At least, that's how she would have preferred it, wished it. In truth, it hadn't simply been a dream; it had been a memory—a memory that painfully lingered—in spite of her best efforts—from fifteen years ago, in turn causing realization to dawn upon her.

Yes, it was on this day, she thought, a familiar tinge of sorrow and remorse coming upon her as she closed her eyes, pushing the anguish back. Uncle Jimba…

Once more, despite her best efforts, her mind put forward a familiar image. That of a tall, well-built Zeon man, characterized by his thick grey hair and beard and warm, open brown eyes. Though he had not been their uncle by blood, Jimba Ral had been nothing else to her or Casval; even his position as their father's attendant was displaced by that familial closeness. To that day, she felt pure sadness and loss toward him and all that had remained unsaid. Another of her family that Gihren and his minions had stolen from her.

She shook her head, forcing her wrath away with some difficulty. There would be a time in the distant future when she would need it, but not in the present. Letting it off its leash now would destroy her and her allies. Thus, she did well to restrain it and recede it into the deepest part of her soul, where it would remain until she returned to the battlefield. When Garma inevitably attacked once more.

The thought alone caused her rage to flair from within – not unlike the momentary force of a nova – only to pass just as quickly. Yes, she thought to herself, the bloodletting would be very soon. She felt it was coming the way she felt the surrounding space within the Ark Royal and beyond it. For now, however, it was time for calm. Time for her and the others aboard to reflect and prepare and gain some measure of respite. All very much needed, given the prior onslaught.

Gradually, she rose from her bed and moved toward the nearby bathroom, feeling her body all but cry out in yearning toward the shower within. From there, it took her only a few moments to strip herself – she had only been clothed in a tank top and underwear – and then move into the stall after turning on the warm water. She groaned involuntarily as the water touched her skin – even after her prior rest, her body was still worn from battle, so it took her another moment to relax into the shower. Once that was done, she began washing herself up for the day ahead, which she knew would be eventful.

It was quite clear they had been beaten badly in the Azure Nebula. Sayla had lost track of their progress after her return, but she knew the Ark Royal had taken heavy damage in the battle and that many of her mobile suits had also been lost. None from Shrike Squadron, thankfully – the familiar presences she felt were indicative of that – but they were still down in numbers, while the survivors, including Gundam Unit Alpha, were all in desperate repair.

The latter she frowned at, coming across Unit Alpha's missing arm. It was already being swapped for a spare, but the damage was indicative enough. Garma had gotten the better of Amuro. She supposed she should have expected that much, as Garma was far more experienced than her charge, and Amuro was still getting a handle on his Newtype powers. In fact, despite Unit Alpha's present state, the White Devil had performed admirably against his present adversary, in her opinion. After all, so many other Earth pilots had fallen to Garma's blade at Solomon and beyond, yet Amuro had survived him twice. Even so, if Sayla couldn't kill Garma herself, she had no choice but to rely on Amuro to perform the deed, and for that, he could not hesitate nor give into the upstart's jeers the next time around. She would make certain of this later.

She extended her perception outward, beyond the ship's hull and over their present haven, again frowning at what she saw. The second and only habitable planet from the nearest star, perpetually frozen due to a combination of distance and its thick, clouded atmosphere. It had been colonized once, as the Ark Royal had taken shelter within a ruined city upon its surface. Literal shelter as the great fleetcarrier was now nestled within the confines of one of the ruins; some stadium, one large enough to hold the seven hundred meters long warship. She supposed it was an ideal place for refuge; the perpetually stormy atmosphere alone would shroud them from the Zeon initially. Likewise, she could see the latter and the frozen, ruined terrain fitting into Captain Noa and Commander Law's strategy for when Garma did finally appear.

Overall, she supposed the situation could have been a lot worse. At the same time, however, she hoped their stay would not be extended. The ice world, which she understood to be named Anges, would grant them solace for a time and a proper battlefield when Garma did finally arrive. Beyond those things, however, Sayla and the rest of the ship had no wish to remain there. Not even for a promised Federation relief force, which she doubted could reach them now.

Finishing her shower, Sayla stepped out and completed the additional preparations quickly. After that, she moved back into her quarters' main area and took on one of her uniforms, eyeing herself carefully as she adjusted its collar. No matter the present state, she remained Lieutenant Junior Grade Sayla Mass, the Valkyrie of Riah, and her enemies would regret coming for her and the rest of her ship. Up to and including her blood, despite her lingering regret.

With that in mind, she then exited her quarters and proceeded onward. The day, and whatever events lay therein, had just begun.


"Not exactly in fighting trim, are we?" Sleggar commented as Bright and Mirai looked over a holographic display of the Ark Royal, highlighting all the damaged areas in bright red against green. From Sleggar's point of view, it looked like the entire ship had just gone through a bad paint job.

Mirai could only shake her head in dismay toward the ship's condition more than her ex's comment. "Needless to say, we're stuck groundside for the time being," she reported. "Even if we got the engines up and running again, it would only be enough to get us back into space. Maneuvering would be next to impossible."

Bright nodded solemnly as he listened, looking toward the stern quarter. It pained him to see his ship in such a condition, though she was less damaged than Arcturus. But not by much. "Warp drive?"

Mirai took a drink from her coffee mug before answering. "Operable, but not by much," she replied. "Our going to warp through the Azure certainly didn't do any favors."

Again, Bright nodded as he took in the information. "To be expected, I suppose," he answered solemnly. He had already known the consequences his last-minute maneuver would reap, especially to the main drive systems. We're well within enemy territory, so there aren't any allied bases to reach. "Weapons?"

Mirai sighed on that one. "Less than twenty percent operational," she answered. "We lost six of our eight cannons, while only twelve phalanx remain in working order. We still have most missile launchers, but ammunition is low there."

"So we can't move, and we can't shoot," Sleggar folded his arms as he observed. "Not that we could take hits either."

"Agreed," Bright replied, noting the dilapidated state of the ship's armor. He didn't want to think about how she would hold up to concentrated fire. "We're very much sitting geese in the present."

Sleggar opened his mouth to correct that term but decided against it at the last moment. Instead, he decided to ask his question. "How's Mora doing?"

"Still critical," Mirai spoke regretfully. "Doctor Bow says she can go either way at this point. Lieutenant Hernandez is filling in for her."

The Gundam pilot sighed at this. "At least she survived," he commented, looking down regretfully. "We lost a lot of people in that fight."

"Yes, we did," Bright exclaimed half-commandingly. He was still digesting the number of casualties, and it helped even less that he would undoubtedly lose more when Garma appeared again. Something they all knew was inevitable. "Let's see what we can do about the next one."

Nodding at this, Sleggar tapped the table control panel, causing the image to shift to its immediate surroundings. "As we all know, we're currently berthed in a cityscape roughly the size of pre-Galactic Century New York," he explained, gesturing toward the specific parts. "We have mountainous terrain to the north and east and tundra everywhere. The local sky is perpetually overcast, keeping the Zeeks blind for a while. Our present haven is solid enough to absorb a couple of hits."

Bright looked upon the cityscape with distinct interest. "Mobile suit status?"

Sleggar nodded. "We have twenty-seven working units in total, including the Gundams. They're all pretty beat up, but Astonaige has assured me they will be operational in less than twenty-four Earth hours."

"Good, we're going to need them," Bright said, sipping his coffee as he continued gazing over the hologram. "So we have an abundance of cover in the immediate vicinity, and unless Garma decides to drop nukes on us, we won't have to worry about orbital bombardment…"

"What would stop him from doing exactly that, however?" Mirai questioned. "Or following Delaz's example and bringing in a colony laser?"

"The same thing that stopped him from finishing us in the Azure," Sleggar answered intuitively. "He wants a trophy to present to his big brother."

He then frowned. "For that, he has to kill us up close and personal," he looked toward Bright. "And you know what that means…"

"A direct assault," the captain nodded in agreement. "Mobile suits and possibly troop carriers."

"Likely with an opening barrage to soften us up," Sleggar added. "The sky and the ruins will protect us from the worst, but eventually, we will have to fight back."

He exhaled through his nostrils before continuing. "And twenty-seven mobile suits don't give us much edge," he exclaimed. "Gundams or not."

"Especially against the reinforcements Garma will undoubtedly call in," Mirai posited, looking toward Bright. "I know I would for an operation like this."

"As would I," Bright stated as well. It wasn't much, but he knew it would have to do. There were no other options. "How long will it take to assemble a battle plan?" he asked Sleggar.

The CAG shrugged. "Not long. I already know what we have to work with and what we're up against, so…"

"Not many variables," Bright concurred. "Very well, then, get started on it as soon as you can," he looked to Mirai. In the meantime, we'll repair the systems that can be fixed and forgo the ones we'll need a yard for."

"Yes, sir," Mirai also concurred before tapping the control panel on her side of the table, causing the holographic to shift back to the ship schematic. "Though I'm afraid we won't be able to do much before the shooting starts again."

"Perhaps," Bright exclaimed, looking over the damage again and doing well not to wince. "Even so, we should get enough back online to give Garma a run for his credits."

Once more, Sleggar wisely bit his lip.


"So, out of the frying pan and into the freezer," Sanders commented as he sipped his coffee, already working to stem off the cold. Through some miracle, the Ark Royal's environmental systems remained fully functional despite its other damage. Still, one look outside was enough for anyone to seek a warm, steaming beverage. "Who says the military life doesn't take you to new and exciting places?"

"Right, a regular trip to Atlantis or Fortuna," Kai griped, not bothering to hide his agitation. "As if skimming the big blue dust cloud wasn't fun enough."

"Eh, it's not so bad," Eledore exclaimed from beside him as he looked over the latest dataprints of his Eledore Special, which Amuro had provided him just before. He couldn't help but grin at what he found; the kid was a talented engineer. "It's not like we have to go outside the ship, nor are we short on food and provisions. We could almost wait the Zeeks out if we wanted to."

"If their leader didn't have a hard-on for us, at least," Karen added with a frown. As usual, she was sitting right beside the junior Lieutenant. She glowered at Garma's mental image. "I hope he gets fragged this next go around. Damned over-persistent whelp."

"Believe me, the little superhuman bastard will get his," Sanders spoke to his fellow Lieutenant, expressing a similar tone toward their present Zeon tormentor. "Sooner or later, Amuro will get him…"

Karen let out a "heh" at that. "I'm a little surprised he hasn't already," she pointed out, though her tone indicated that she agreed with Sanders. After all, she had seen the White Devil's drive through Juno with the rest of them. "Regardless, we still have our immediate problems…"

"Indeed," Sanders nodded as he looked at the rest of the Shrikes. "Anyone want to place odds on this one?"

"Not me," Kiki stated up front, shaking her head. "If we were going to buy it, it would have been in the Azure. But simultaneously, things are looking pretty bleak right now."

"Yeah," Job nodded with certain solemnness. "A busted-up mothership and a handful of suits against an entire Zeon fleet," he exclaimed. "Even with the Gundams, we'll have our work cut out for us on this one."

"At least our suits will be in fighting condition when the Zeeks find us again," Hayato pointed out. "So it won't be entirely one-sided."

"Right," Kai, sitting beside his fellow Ensign, dryly replied. "We'll get wiped out for sure, but at least we can take one or two Zakus down with us. That's always a comfort."

"Better than being taken down straight on," Hayato retorted, narrowing his gaze at his wingmate. "Besides, every Zaku we kill now will be one less Earth will face later."

Kai opened his mouth to quip on that – namely, on how he gave a real rat's ass about what Earth will face "later" – but decided not to bother. The other Shrikes wouldn't have received it well anyway. "At any rate, our backs are against a wall on this. Or, more precisely, against the surface of a planet," he looked over to the others. "That should give us another advantage, right?"

Sanders shrugged. "Well, it means the Zeeks will have a helluva a time digging the Ark Royal out," he answered. "Beyond that, however, we'll still face them in the open."

"Even with all the ruins outside?" Michel questioned. "Shouldn't that grant us some cover?"

"Only so much," Karen followed up. "It'll be like fighting in X-145, but with all the cover laid out in one general plane. That and said cover won't be as solid as an asteroid."

"That's still better than nothing," Kiki added, taking a sip of her coffee, savoring the warm liquid as much as her comrades did theirs. Of course, the real question, which we all seem to be ignoring, remains…

As she replaced her cup, the Ensign barely managed to keep herself from grimacing. How in Hell's Heart are we going to win?


Zeon Rewloola-class battlecruiser Ralmel
Deep Space

At long last, it had happened. It had taken several battles to reach this point – as well as legions of destroyed mobile suits and ships – but in the end, it had come to pass. Zeon was now aware of the White Devil's true identity and form. As was Char.

And for his life, the Red Comet did not know what to think of it. As he looked over the data profile Zeon intelligence had scrounged together just after the Azure – no doubt at Garma's urgings – the first word that came to Char's mind was "unremarkable." Amuro Ray appeared nothing more than an average Earthnoid by all facts and logic. From his dark brown hair and eyes to his slightly above average height and build to how said eyes looked back from the profile image, the would-be bane of Zeon looked less like a warrior and more like a college student. Yes, he wore a Federal Forces uniform in the profile shot – with the rank insignia designating him a Lieutenant Junior Grade – but had Char not been aware, he would have suspected it to be a costume. It did not indicate that its wearer was part of Earth's armed forces, let alone a direct combatant. Or a mobile suit pilot, for that matter.

The personality data was even less impressive. As if to emphasize his college student image, the young ace was a walking disciplinary problem. A being that naturally chafed against Earth's hierarchy of command, to say nothing of various civilian establishments. Though Char wasn't sure if the list provided was the entirety of Lieutenant Ray's disciplinary record, it was still a long and distinguished read; from random reports of conduct unbecoming to outright insubordination, the Zeon Commander could only imagine how this particular Earthnoid managed to retain his commission, let alone avoid dishonorable discharge. Granted, Amuro Ray appeared to be related to two prominent scientists – Tem and Kamaria Ray, the former also being a Federal Forces Captain – but hereditary patronage only went so far in any military service. And Char doubted the war effort had much to do with it; as bad as the Federation had been beaten as of late, they still had more than enough personnel to go around.

If there was any point at which Amuro Ray truly shined, it was in his apparent engineering accomplishments. Subsequently, it was that part of the read where Amuro went from being "slightly above average" into something extraordinary. Strangely captivated, Char read through the various instruments and inventions that had been associated with the younger Ray's name, from basic computer components and modified children's toys – namely the ever-popular Haro – to various curiosities as musical instruments, video displays, and holographic generators to even military applications, the good Lieutenant was quite the inventor and innovator. The reincarnation of Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla, as some had claimed, with an abundance of academic accolades to match. All without any indication of genetic engineering.

It was a striking contrast, Char thought. On the one hand, Amuro Ray was a rebel and a renegade who seemed incapable of associating with anyone, much less with any organization, military or otherwise. On the other, he was a producer, developer, designer, and architect, one who held absolute authority in whatever pursuits and interests he found worthy of his time and effort. A strange embodiment of the unruly and turbulent, yet innovative and freethinking, image that prevailed over Earth and its inhabitants. Such that Char wished there were more like him in Zeon.

Char mused ironically. He could see himself being good friends with the Earthborn ace—in another life, at least.

Still, while this newfound information answered several questions, it also left that much more open. Once again, by all facts and logic, Amuro Ray seemed better suited for an engineering role than a combat one. From that angle, Char could see why he was involved with Project V. Obviously, he had been the Alpha mobile suit's test pilot – perhaps even been its designer, or at least among that team – and the attack on Antillia had inadvertently drawn him into battle. And though he had been inexperienced, his familiarity with his machine had allowed him to fight the Red Comet head-on. In contrast, their opposite unfamiliarity hindered the much more experienced Artesia and Sleggar Law. Char didn't want to think about how a rematch would play out in the present, with both hindrances effectively dealt with.

What wasn't explained was how and why he became the White Devil. The more Char looked upon that boyish image, the more he felt something amiss with the being it represented. No amount of training or experience – even under the Eagle of Arcturus and Valkyrie of Riah's shared guidance – could have accounted for the sheer power Amuro Ray had displayed at Juno. And it certainly wouldn't have made him Garma's equal, even though the younger Zabi had done actual damage in their last fight. No, there was something more there that went along with his Newtype strength, which was also unprecedented. Yet Char continued to draw blanks where he attempted explanations.

"What are you?" he heard himself murmur as his sapphire blue eyes – presently free from the confines of his mask – gazed directly into the digitized brown ones across. Unlike Garma and the rest of Zeon, he had long been aware of the White Devil and his strength. From the initial fight at Antillia to the ambush at X-145, he had sensed something different with the pilot of the Alpha suit, something that was, quite simply, far more than the usual human, Newtype or otherwise. That mysterious quality – and its potential against Gihren and his ilk – had stayed his hand in the latter battle.

Char frowned as that memory played out, regardless of his will. The sight of the Alpha mobile suit rendered inactive, its pilot knocked out via concussive force from his ramming attack. His Zaku's axe came down toward the undefended cockpit block, moving to finish what had started at Antillia then and there. And then he stopped the axe swing, realizing – despite his abundant uncertainty – that the pilot – even more so than the mobile suit – was worth more to him alive than dead.

Even now, Char couldn't help but wonder if he had made the correct choice. His technical adversary was certainly playing the role he had hoped – being the unholy terror that brought death and destruction upon Gihren's legions – but at what cost? What would happen now that the White Devil had emerged when Char had every opportunity to destroy him at X-145?

Smirking again, Char shook his head at that thought. If the White Devil did prove to be less of a benefit and more of an obstacle, he could end him when the time was right. For now, however, he didn't foresee a problem with – or an actual threat from – the man called Amuro Ray.


Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Anges

Having been born and raised in the virtual center of Earth's northwestern hemisphere, Amuro was not unfamiliar with the cold of winter. No matter the planet or the terrestrial setting, snow and ice were always the same to him, while cooler climates were something to take precautions against and nothing beyond. That said, there was something strangely majestic about the Ark Royal's present surroundings, or at least what Amuro could physically see on the observation deck. Something that he couldn't quite turn away from.

It wasn't that one would call the surface of Anges beautiful. It was very lonely, given the broken, dilapidated buildings scattered as far as Amuro's physical eyes could see. Combined with the abundant ice and the harsh wind that was undoubtedly blowing throughout the settlement, it all looked and felt like a grave. In that sense, Amuro couldn't help but wonder how many of the original inhabitants – specifically the ones that failed to make it offworld when the cataclysm occurred – were frozen within those buildings.

No, what made Anges so captivating was the calm it retained within itself. Just like a real graveyard, one felt a strange, almost ethereal peace within its scope. A cold tranquility that went perfectly along with the weather conditions, one that felt easing to the soul and the body. Whether it was something generated from the physical realm or was, in fact, a spiritual essence that his only Newtype senses could decipher, Amuro would have been a fool not to take advantage of it. Especially given all that he had endured and would continue to do so soon.

The thought caused him to frown, though he didn't take his eyes away from the landscape. Just how much more fighting will he have to endure before reaching Earth? It seemed like a lifetime had passed since he left Antillia, and he had been fighting one battle after another. Whether against Aznable, Delaz, or Garma, it had been continuous as well as trying, such that Amuro felt as though he were a different man from what he had been before Project V. It was as though he were centuries older, as well as wiser and wearier toward the universe around him, far beyond the aspiring engineer that had only joined the Federal Forces, and Project V, at his father's urgings.

It was a frightening prospect, to say the least, one that invoked a great, disturbing fear within Amuro Ray. He had never wanted to be a soldier. He had never wanted to be a killer. He aimed to create and revolutionize all things technological, not to end human life. He had initially made that clear to his father and several others, even after enrolling in the Academy. He would use his expertise in Project V to aid the Federation in perfecting the Gundams, but he refused to engage in actual battle with them. And much more, once Project V was over and done with, he would have returned to Earth to seek out a new engineering assignment elsewhere. The closest he would have ever gotten to a Zaku was through a simulation and nothing more.

Yet here he was now. He was one of the war's leading aces, with tens if not hundreds of kills to his name. The unholy terror that struck fear into the Zeon and its allies. The Federation's newfound hope toward a final victory, as he had been at Juno.

The White Devil.

You seem distracted, Sayla announced as she entered the observation deck, immediately moving up behind him. Amuro could almost literally feel her eyes bore into his back.

The pilot of Gundam Unit Alpha closed his eyes. He had been so focused on his thoughts that he had failed to detect her despite her considerable Newtype presence. Just thinking about things, he answered reassuringly, opening his eyes again. As well as enjoying the scenery.

Sayla was far from convinced. Are you? she inquired with clear disbelief.

Amuro frowned once more. He should have known better than to try and hide anything from her. No, he admitted up front. In truth, I feel…

Only then did he turn to face her, the uncertainty as apparent in his eyes as within his soul. I feel different. Like I've become something different since Antillia.

He then looked down, taking another moment to find the right words. And… he stammered. I…

More than the words he projected, Sayla could feel the great turmoil within Amuro. He was not broken – thankfully – but it was quite clear that his last encounter with Garma had fractured him. Thus, she proceeded cautiously.

You are different from the boy I met at Antillia, Sayla stated factually, eyeing her charge carefully. But is that such a bad thing?

Amuro looked away from that. I don't know, he answered hesitantly. I think I've grown into something…better, but…

He sighed, looking back at his reflection. I'm not sure,… he exclaimed, again feeling as though he were looking at a stranger from himself.

Again retaining caution – though not so much that it hindered her care for him – Sayla reached out and placed her hand on his shoulder. It is not a question of better or worse, Amuro, she spoke with reassurance. Whether Newtype or Oldtype, Earthnoid or Zeon, war or peace, time and experience causes us all to develop and evolve from what we were.

That brought to mind another one of Garma's exclamations – that Amuro's lack of experience would be his downfall. Sayla noticed this and thus gripped his shoulder that much more.

This is not a bad thing, Sayla reassured me once more. It is a simple part of our existence. That we must strive and grow as the universe moves forward.

Yes, but into this? Amuro questioned. Into a soldier? A killer?

He then swallowed as he added. A monster?

Despite the gravity of that statement, Sayla smiled and shook her head. You're not a monster. This war has done much to you, but it has not stripped away your humanity. Or the good you retain.

She then moved up to stand beside him, where she, too, looked upon his reflection. Yes, you have killed. And you have killed many, as the enemy has long since recognized.

Amuro attempted to retort that, but Sayla spoke on. However, you have only done so as part of the conventions of war. To survive, to avenge, to gain victory. You have killed simply because you fought in battles not of your choosing, not because you yearn to end human life. There is no shame in that.

And yet… Amuro exclaimed, closing his eyes and looking down again. Garma's image again entered his mind, as did his words.

Resisting the urge to shake his head in response to this, Sayla pressed on. And yet… You are still the boy I remember from Antillia.

That caused Amuro to look up again, this time in surprise.

Not the pup and the coward who objected to fighting, such that Commander Law had to drag him into battle kicking and screaming, she exclaimed, taking some minor amusement in Amuro glancing slightly away on that. But the boy, no, the man I found in the ruins of the Bow family clinic, aiding the lone survivor through that horrific ordeal. The man who persuaded me into taking that survivor aboard this ship so that she may be taken to Earth to start a new life.

She smiled a little as she saw her words hold effect. It was that man who fought to avenge those massacred in Juno. That man stands against Zeon and its tyranny to protect those who cannot defend themselves.

Sayla continued with telepathically projected reassurance. Yes, you are the White Devil. A threat, an enemy to the Empire, and a warrior who has claimed much in the way of blood and victory.

Her blue eyes then locked upon Amuro's brown. But more than that, you are Amuro Ray. And everything that name, your true name, and being entails.

Amuro wasn't sure what he felt as he looked into Sayla's eyes – even through her reflection against the viewport – but he knew it was different from the doubts he retained earlier. And that it was warm and comforting.

Never forget that. Any of it. Sayla continued. Especially…

Her eyes narrowed against the viewport, picturing their shared adversary. The next Zabi to die. …against the likes of him.

At that, another set of emotions flashed through Amuro's mind, nearly causing him to recoil. It was brief that he couldn't quite identify those emotions, but he knew they had been intense. And much more, they had been directed toward Garma Zabi's image and, seemingly, everything it represented.

Ultimately deciding not to dwell on it, especially after all he had been going through, Amuro righted himself. Determination and resolution now shone through his being.

I won't, he answered back, his own eyes narrowing into vengeful glare. He again pictured Garma Zabi himself, but this time, he held no hesitance toward his opponent. When the fighting began anew this time, he swore he would end him. Once and for all. Neither will he.

Another smile crept on Sayla's lips upon hearing this—a smile that was warm and well pleased toward her charge yet cruelly anticipating Garma's fate…


The doors opened, allowing a dazed and exhausted Fraw to enter her office and flop into her waiting chair. She didn't know exactly how long she had been working, except that it had been hours. Too many, far too many, had been wounded or worse from the previous battle, and it had taken all her power – as well as those of her staff – to see to them all. Only now had she been able to step out and relax, knowing that her patients had been cared for. Every one of them.

Sighing, she leaned up against the bulkhead, forcing back the tension. Win or lose, she had done all she could. Those who could be saved had been, while those who couldn't have been eased in their passing. It was not an ideal outcome – no doctor ever wanted to lose their patient to death – but it had been the best one. Especially for the engineers; between the battle damage and that which had been taken when the ship warped in the middle of the nebula, Fraw was astonished she saved so many. Commander Boscht was still in critical condition, and several more of her subordinates had passed on between the battle and now, but she had saved the rest. Surely that had been enough, right?

May the universe curse this damned war, Fraw thought bitterly. No, she was far from turning into a peacenik. There were enough idiot anti-war fanatics across the galaxy who believed there was some easy way to end the fighting. Or worse, they thought the Zeon and their allies were entirely justified in their actions and were not a band of malicious savages hellbent on conquest and domination. The deaths of her parents had told her all she needed to know as to why there was a war and why it had to be fought. And much more, why Zeon had to be defeated in the end.

But at the same, war remained hell, even in the Galactic Century. Never had Fraw seen so much death and destruction nor so much hurt upon those still living. Even those unwounded had been deeply affected in ways that no amount of care or medicine could heal. Fraw shivered as she remembered those particular crewmen, their faces and bodies frozen in pained horror at all they had witnessed and endured. She and her staff had also done their best for them, checking them over and then sending them to their quarters to rest. Unfortunately, that had been all she could do for them; the rest would be up to God. And Fraw could only wonder if He had even noticed their plight.

"You are something, Doctor Bow," a voice called from the side. Fraw's eyes snapped open, glancing over to see Commander Yashima standing across from her desk. Acting reflexively, Fraw snapped up to attention and threw a hasty salute.

"Ma'am!" she nearly stammered, hoping she didn't look too overwhelmed. She must have been tired; she hadn't heard the door open again.

Mirai, however, smiled and shook her head. "Sit back down, Lieutenant," she commanded, watching with mild relief as Fraw relaxed back into her seat. "We are both far too exhausted for that right now."

Embarrassment came upon Fraw as she registered that all too factual statement. Mirai chuckled. "If anything, I should be saluting you. If not for your efforts, we would have lost far more," the XO exclaimed. "I wish Earth had more with your skill."

Fraw looked away a little. "I only saved who I could, Commander," she said, feeling somewhat shameful. "And I wasn't entirely successful with some…"

"I know. One of the sadder realities of war, I'm afraid," Mirai nodded sympathetically. "Even so, the fact remains that you've done both this ship and the Federation an invaluable service. A service that very few, even in your line of work, can render."

Fraw smiled sadly. "If you say so, Commander," she replied solemnly before looking down again. "Though I don't quite feel I've done enough."

Mirai smiled just as sadly. "No one ever does after a fight, Doctor. We always think we could have done more after the fact, especially when we look back on our mistakes."

The Commander shrugged. Ultimately, however, this accomplishes nothing. The best any of us can do is accept the results and go on."

Fraw thought about that. "I can't disagree with that," she said aloud. "But…"

She shook her head. "I don't know," she said, her frustration becoming apparent. "In my mind, I know I've done everything I could. That I did save lives and help those who could be helped. But…"

"Deep down, you can't stop thinking about the ones you couldn't save," Mirai finished.

Fraw reluctantly nodded. "Is it like that for you, too?"

Another tinge of sadness entered Mirai's eyes. "I'm the ship's Executive Officer, Doctor," she explained. "Which means I share the responsibilities of commanding her with Captain Noa."

She looked away somewhat. "Between the two of us and the rest of the command staff, we control the fates and destinies of over six hundred people," she continued. "Any decision I make or order I give will affect their lives, and not always for the better."

The Commander nodded back toward the sickbay area where the wounded remained. "This is a good example of that kind of outcome. Captain Noa might have been the one who brought us into the Azure, but I concurred with his decision. And for that, the ship and those aboard were put in harm's way."

"But," Fraw suddenly spoke up defensively. "You didn't mean to…"

"That is irrelevant," Mirai retorted. "Whatever our reasons, we brought the Ark Royal into the nebula. We blundered into Garma's trap. And those you have been tending to pay for our miscalculation."

She shook her head. "Rationally, I know I am not at fault. I was following my captain's will, and I knew that, at the time, it was the best move we could make. None of us could have foreseen Garma's trap or conceived his suspecting our course. Much less being able to intercept us within the nebula."

Again, Mirai looked Fraw in the eyes. "Yet despite all that, I will go to my grave feeling like it could have been different. If I had noticed some tiny detail, I would have been able to see it all coming and find a way around it. Or in the battle itself, if I had just been better, we would not have been as hurt as we are now."

She smiled again, this time at Fraw's dubious glance. "It's as nonsensical as it sounds, but still human nature. Those who sway over others always feel they can do better with that responsibility. No matter how much logic and reason would say otherwise."

The Commander smiled more reassuringly. "The only way to cope with that is not to dwell on it," she said. Take it as it is, no matter how bad, and move on."

Exhaling, Fraw could only concur. "I see," she answered. It still didn't feel right to her, but ultimately, there was no alternative. Not one that would benefit her.

Seeing that resolution, Mirai decided to leave it at that. "Anyway, I think I've taken enough of your time," she said before returning to the door. "I just wanted you to know your efforts and your accomplishments have not gone unnoticed."

Fraw smiled once more. This time in gratitude. "I appreciate that, ma'am," she answered, suddenly feeling the need to rest. "Truly."


Eyes focused in the manner of his moniker's, Sleggar observed the holographic layout of the city. It had since been marked several times over with yellow dots, each indicating a specific area of interest. He was still working out the finer details, but if nothing else, there was plenty of ground cover. That wouldn't be much against the Zaku's evasive capabilities, even under gravity, but Sleggar couldn't quite dismiss it, especially with how big and oriented some of the ruins were.

Once more, the CAG could only fathom whatever cataclysm had occurred. The city hadn't just been deserted at random. Very few buildings, which were anywhere from five to well over a hundred stories in height, actually stood. The majority were broken, fragmented, knocked down, and lying about at different angles, while the streets below were all but entirely buried in various debris. All reminding Sleggar of a stereotypical post-apocalypse movie from the AD era, complete with an unchecked winter to emphasize. That made him even less inclined toward the present environment, but it was what it was.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly had happened. An earthquake, perhaps? That certainly would have accounted for the knocked-over buildings, yet the Ark Royal's sensors had not indicated any form of terrestrial instability within the planet. The original settlers would have anticipated it upon the initial colonization and constructed the settlement accordingly. At the same time, it was quite apparent that whatever happened had occurred long ago, well before the war. That left very few other possibilities, and Sleggar dared not dwell on the ones that came to immediate mind. Not while he and the rest of the Ark Royal were still sitting there, at least.

Whatever it was, unless it reared its ugly head at some point, Sleggar preferred not to dwell on it. He had enough problems, and Garma and his minions were a far direr threat. To say nothing of whatever else they may bring into the fight.

Yawning and stretching his arms out, Sleggar suddenly felt worn. It was times like these when it seemed like the war would never end; he and the rest of the Ark Royal would spend their lives fighting the Zeon and the evil they represented. He knew that wasn't the truth; it would eventually end like all wars, win or lose, life and victory or death and defeat. Yet it still felt otherwise, as though this one was different and would only continue on and on, at least until there was no one left to fight it.

"Hell of a day, huh, Commander?" Shiro spoke up as he entered the lounge, having noticed his superior's demeanor.

Sleggar smirked toward his DCAG. "Hell of a day, Shiro," he answered as the latter went to one of the nearby vending machines. "And what brings you out on this grand, auspicious hour?"

"Oh, the usual," Shiro answered, tapping a few buttons, not missing a beat. "Seeing the universe, meeting all sorts of interesting people…" his grin turned snide. "…and killing them with giant death mecha."

"Heh," Sleggar laughed, appreciating the ironic humor. It was a wonder how Shiro never made it onto the recruitment posters. "I don't suppose the rest of the Group shares your disposition."

The Guncannon pilot shrugged. "They're not exactly in the brightest of moods, unfortunately," he answered as his drink was dispensed. "But at the same time, they're not yet cursing God and the universe for getting them into this mess, so that's a plus."

Sleggar looked down somewhat on that. "Wouldn't blame them if they did. This is a fine mess we're in right now. Twenty-seven suits and a broken mothership against a Zeek fleet…"

"Spearheaded by two of the best Zeon has to offer, yes," Shiro concurred. "Still could be worse, in my opinion."

Sleggar nodded in agreement. "It could always be worse," he said, looking over the city. "But that doesn't mean it's not bad as it is."

"Unfortunately," Shiro answered as he sat across the table, from which he also looked over the holographic projection. "We're beaten and battered, but our backs are against the wall, which gives us an advantage in this fight."

"Yeah, as the enemy can only come at us from one direction," Sleggar saw that his deputy had already caught onto his planning. "With the Guncannons' superior range and the Gundams outfitted with bazookas, it'll be a bitch for them early on."

The CAG then adopted a frown. "The problem is after planetfall when the Zakus inevitably scatter," he said. "It doesn't matter how many we get at the start. We're still going to be outnumbered."

"Once more, unfortunately," Shiro agreed. "What about the Gundams fighting them in the open while the Guncannons continue fire support from the deck?"

"I thought about that," Sleggar spoke in turn. "And if it weren't for Garma and Aznable, I would have gone with that strategy, but…"

"Right, of course," Shiro responded, shaking his head at the obviousness. It was a sure bet that the two Zeon aces would go after Amuro and Sayla again, which meant Unit Beta would have been the only Gundam left in that scenario. And as good as the Eagle of Arcturus was, there was only so much even he could do against an enemy force that size.

"No, an open melee is our only choice. No matter, we can't let the Zakus reach the deck," Sleggar explained. "But at the same time, a conventional battle will be suicide through and through."

The Commander sighed. "If only we had one more ace in the hole…" he exclaimed, smirking at Shiro. "I don't suppose we have any nude pictures of Lacus Clyne handy."

"We should be so lucky," Shiro answered regretfully. "Not that I think they'd fall for that trick."

"You never know," Sleggar stated before considering. "Though some of us would fall for it too."

"Undoubtedly," Shiro replied knowingly. He could only imagine how Eledore and others would react to seeing that centerfold on their cockpit monitors.

After another moment, Sleggar looked up again. "Now that I think more about it," he said, looking more intensely toward the ruined city. "Lacus might be a little too slow for what we're looking for…"

Arching an eyebrow, Shiro followed his Commander's gaze. Coming across a specific tower, still largely intact and upright, at the center. One that held a very large, spike-like antenna.


Zeon Rewloola-class battlecruiser Reugen
Deep Space

"Cruisers Mokum and Maromel now exiting warp," the Reugen's tactical officer reported, just as the two Musaka-class cruisers appeared on the main monitor. By now, it seemed as though the immediate space was filled with Zeon ships, the abundance of green all but blotting out the blackness of space. This is a reassuring sign for those present, given what they would soon face. And there were still several more en route.

Toward the rear of the Reugen's bridge, Commander Zewin Darota quietly stood by, observing as his liege's fleet was assembled. Already, the fleet was nearly sixty percent in assemblage, and the earlier losses from the Azure Nebula had long since been replaced. It wasn't quite as large as the force that Grand Admiral Dozle had so famously taken to conquer Solomon – or the even greater force he had taken to Arcturus – but it was larger than some observers would believe necessary. Darota himself found it difficult to believe that they were assembling this much to go after one ship – a crippled ship at that – but then the Ark Royal was no ordinary Feddie vessel. Something that had been well-established since her first miraculous survival.

Though he did well not verbalize it, Darota was worried. Even with the great fleet coming together before him, he remained unsure of their chances against the thirteenth Trojan Horse. There was something strange about that ship and that it carried, as though neither she nor her mobile suits or crew were beyond anything and everything that was understood. And as though Darota would have liked to dismiss such inclinations as paranoia, he couldn't help but wonder if it was instinct. That he, Admiral Garma, and the rest of Zeon with them were going against something far more than any of them could amount to.

Certainly, there was much to support this consensus. It had long since believed that the Ark Royal had been sunk at Arcturus, yet she reappeared over a year later, shaking off a dogged pursuit from the Red Comet. She would then elude Delaz, destroy much of his fleet in the process, and, from there, do the same with his own Admiral twice over. Up to and including the Azure Nebula, each event should have led to the Ark Royal's destruction, yet that thrice-damned Trojan Horse continued to survive. Heavily damaged and reduced in fighting power perhaps, but still she remained. And Darota could only fathom what other fights she had taken part in between her "loss" at Arcturus and her rediscovery in Durga.

And then there were those three new suits, the Project V units. Even now, Zeon had little information on them, not even what they were named. The only solid data was that they surpassed the Zaku and seemingly every other mobile suit by great margins. And many more were piloted by three of the best pilots the Federation held in its muster.

Darota felt great dread toward the coming battle. Yes, he was a Zeon, and conventional wisdom claimed fear was something only the lowborn felt, but the Commander was much better than that. Only fools would not fear something that was a threat to them. The Ark Royal and her mobile suits certainly qualified as such.

If anything, that was what he feared the most. While he understood his liege wanting to get back into a real fight – and much more enjoy the thrill of the hunt – Darota feared that Admiral Garma was too focused on his supposed prey. Yes, the Admiral was a warrior and was certainly experienced in battle to this point. But at the same time, the prince was still young and reckless, capable of overlooking the warnings that more experienced men like Darota could not. Warnings that one has come to a precipice. Warnings that foretell that one has reached the point of no return.

Far more than he was willing to admit, Darota feared that his liege had come to that point here and now, yet through his youth and energy, he failed to recognize it. And that, despite the great force he was about to bring to bear, the Ark Royal would survive – and triumph – yet again.

"Message from the Rivvay," the communications officer alerted. It took a moment before Darota realized the man was speaking to him directly. She is at warp and will reach us at 1700. Captain Conscon expresses his anticipation to the Admiral."

Hearing that, Darota could only nod in acceptance. "Duly noted. Inform Captain Conscon that Admiral Garma appreciates his taking part."

Nodding in return, the comm officer returned to his station, allowing Darota to return to his thoughts. Ultimately, he knew that the course, as it were, was set. No matter his doubts, the hunt would continue. The Ark Royal and her demons would be fought repeatedly and again as necessary until they chased her back to Earth itself.

Thus, Darota could only resolve himself to follow his liege, all the while hoping that, in spite of his youth and assurance, he recognized the same danger that his aide did.


"Admittedly, things could be better," Garma shrugged to the golden-haired, emerald-eyed, and very pregnant woman across from him. "But I assure you it's all under control."

"I do not doubt that. Not with you in command, my love," the woman replied, eyes and voice filled with concern. "It's just that these are not regular Feddies you are hunting, so you can understand why I'm worried."

Garma tilted his head in acknowledgment. "They are tenacious, I grant you that," he said. "It's no wonder Delaz had such trouble with them over Juno."

The Admiral shrugged again. "But honestly, they're nothing I can't handle, Icelina," he spoke reassuringly. "Much less anything that you should be weary over."

Princess Icelina looked far from convinced. "I am always weary when it comes to your safety, my love," she countered, not about to yield in that fight. The same one she had had with her husband since the war began. "And from what I've been hearing of this particular Trojan Horse, I have all the more reason to."

She eyed Garma inquisitively. "Is it true?" she questioned. "That you've been fighting the White Devil of all things?"

Garma resisted the urge to bite his lip. By now, all of Zeon likely knew of his battles with Amuro Ray, so it was only a matter of time before his wife asked that question. "It's true," he answered, forcing back his reluctance. "I cut off his suit's left arm too."

He then flashed another smile. "He isn't as terrible as claimed," he offered, hoping somehow his wife would believe him and drop the issue.

Icelina fixed her emerald eyes upon him. "I saw the footage from Juno, Garma," she began again. "And I know what he did to Delaz's forces."

Garma frowned at this. "All the more reason that he should be brought down," he shot back. "Before he becomes an even larger threat."

"I agree, but simultaneously," Icelina spoke with utmost concern. "Why does it have to be you?"

Again, Garma smiled. "Because I'm a Zabi. And, as far as I know, I'm the only one capable."

The responding gaze spoke volumes of his wife's belief. "We both know better than that, my love. You have Char with you, and you can easily call in Gruenwald or…"

"Char's set to fight the Valkyrie again," Garma responded. "Gruenwald is on the Karakal Front, and I'm not about to recall him for something like this."

Still, Icelina persisted. "What about Greydon?" she continued. "Or Snell?"

Garma fought back the urge to roll his eyes. "They're also unavailable. Like it or not, this task falls to me and me alone."

The young admiral then took on an air of reassurance. "Again, don't worry so much, Icelina. I've fought worse than this so-called 'Devil.' As I said, this isn't anything I can't handle."

Icelina closed her eyes. "I know that, but…" she exclaimed, considering her words. "This one is still different somehow. Like the Federation brought in an actual Devil into this war."

She opened them again. "I don't like this. I don't like it at all," she said, shaking her head. "And I especially don't like you being in the middle of it."

Garma let out a breath of air. "As the Terrans say, c'est la guerre," he replied. "I've been in the middle of it since the fighting began, and I'll still be here when the White Devil and the thirteenth Trojan Horse are dealt with."

Reluctantly, Icelina could only acquiesce. "I hope so," she murmured.

Feeling his heart sink, Garma reached his right hand over to his wife's cheek, at least where it would have been had she been on the Reugen. "I will come back to you, Icelina," he spoke with as much reassurance as he could muster while Icelina reached her hand up to "grasp" his. "It may be a little bit sooner than expected."

Icelina blinked at this. "What do you mean?"

Once more, Garma smiled. "Once this operation is over, I am to return to Zeon," he could see the light return to Icelina's eyes. "The Emperor will wish to hear of my success in person…"

His smile grew as he added. "…as well as witness the birth of his nephew."

Icelina tore upon hearing that. Garma responded by stroking his finger against her holographic cheek, knowing that she – despite all that was – would feel his touch. "Inevitably, I will return to the war," he explained further. "But I think it can go on longer without me."

"I can imagine," Icelina answered, content in the moment. The idea of Garma returning in time for their son's birth was almost too much to believe. "I take it you're bringing Char with you?"

"But of course," Garma replied sweetly. "Our son will need his godfather."

Icelina chuckled at the thought. Somehow, she couldn't see the Red Comet being a "positive" influence on their child. Not that that was a problem. "Galina will certainly be happy."

"Please," Garma waved her off in jest. "That's the last thing I want to consider now."

The princess knew better than that. If there was anyone who, more than anything, wanted the Red Comet to marry into the Imperial Family, it was her husband. Not that Dozle was far behind him. "In that case," she said, throwing back a smirk. "I'll pray much more for your success, my love."

Garma matched her smile, seeing the deliberateness behind that phrase. "A member of the Imperial family praying to a God that may or may not exist?" he spoke with mock disbelief. "What is this galaxy coming to?"

They then shared a chuckle before slowly returning to a comfortable silence. Then Icelina turned to reach her hand forward against Garma's cheek. "Don't make me wait long," she spoke, almost pleadingly.

Wishing that she was there on the Reugen even more, Garma reached up to "touch." "I won't," he spoke while drawing close. "Soon, Icelina."

Embracing the holographic projection, he stroked his wife's cheek again, causing her to close her eyes once more. "Very soon," he repeated before leaning forward to kiss her.

Knowing full well that – again, despite everything – she felt it. Just as he felt her lips in return.


Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Anges

"Alright, that should wrap up things with the Gundams," Astonaige exclaimed as he looked over the datapad before returning it to his subordinate. "Start working on the Buster next. Lieutenant Sanders claims his targeting systems need adjustments."

"Again?" the other technician whined, too tired to hide his anguish. "How the hell did Lieutenant Sanders get that thing anyway? I thought the Buster was never put into mass production!"

"He knew someone on high," Astonaige replied with a shrug. "Either way, he has it, and we'll need it soon. So get to work."

Purposely groaning, the technician could only turn around and walk off. Astonaige couldn't blame him in the least, not just because of his next, highly tedious assignment. They were all strained to the breaking point.

Sighing, the chief returned to his main workstation and slipped out a water bottle, taking an immediate swig. They had repaired what they could, but as he had personally surmised, the Ark Royal would need a shipyard after everything was over. And while mobile suit repairs were far more progressive, none of Astonaige's staff were hopeful that their twenty-seven suits would fair against Garma's legions. Only the possibility of a fighting chance and their professionalism as spacers and mechanics kept them working at this point.

As for Astonaige himself, he, too, wasn't really that hopeful. Yes, the Ark Royal had survived worse scenarios multiple times, but that didn't mean his beloved ship was invincible. She only needed to be destroyed once – albeit completely, given her track record – and a part of Astonaige wondered if this would be that "once." It seemed that way as time passed, and he worked in the present setting.

"You seem to be a deep thought," a new voice spoke up, one that Astonaige easily recognized.

As evidenced by the appreciative smile that crossed his lips. "More like deep exhaustion," he turned to the newcomer – a woman with short blonde hair, light blue eyes, and an equally warm smile. "Shouldn't you be resting up for the fight, Lieutenant?"

"As much as you should be working on my machine, Chief," Lieutenant Kayra Su, XO of Warhound Squadron, smartly replied. "If only Commander Law saw you slacking off like this…"

"For your information, repairs to your Guncannon were completed hours ago," Astonaige said chidingly. "It was the first suit to be worked on."

Kayra chuckled at the smoothness of the chief's tone. Like several other members of the ship's company and the Federal Forces, they were in a steady and very physical relationship. Regulations be damned. "How sweet of you," the Lieutenant responded as though the chief had presented her with a bundle of roses. "Next, you'll tell me you fixed the right elbow joint."

"Not only that, but I recalibrated it personally," Astonaige continued with deliberate sappiness. "Only the best for you, milady."

Kayra chuckled at the chief's display. "Always the gentleman," she said, her tone conveying her appreciation. "But seriously, how are things progressing down here?"

Astonaige shrugged. "Could be a lot worse," he said, glancing up at the mobile suits around them. "We may not have as many suits as I'd like, but the ones we have will certainly go out in top condition. Up to and including the Gundams."

He then looked back down to Kayra. "How about your people?" he inquired. "How are they fairing up?"

Kayra pursed her lips. Warhound Squadron had lost five in the Azure, and the remaining seven – including her – were still taking in those losses. "About as well as you can expect," she answered honestly. "Commander Garrett's still sickbay and the others are staying low for now."

The chief arched an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware Commander Garrett had been wounded."

Kayra shook her head. "Appendicitis," she explained. "He'll be out but should be healed for the big fight. Or so Doctor Bow told me."

"I see," Astonaige answered, yawning. "Well, he's not missing much right now. His Guncannon's still being patched up."

The Lieutenant smiled as she watched her boyfriend yawn. "When was the last time you slept?" she asked.

Again, Astonaige shrugged. "Can't remember," he said. "Been very busy, as you can imagine."

"Aren't we all," Kayra replied sympathetically. "I suppose asking when you get off is out of the question."

"Heh, yeah," Astonaige replied. "The way things are, I'll still be here when the war ends. Win, lose or draw."

"I hope not," Kayra spoke once more with apparent sympathy. "Find me when you do, or at least when you go on break. Maybe we can still get dinner together."

"Would be nice," the chief answered, daring to sound hopeful. At the very least, it gave him something to work toward at the end of the day besides bettering their chances of survival, of course.


"I have to admit," Bright started as he looked over the datapad. "This is a new one, even for you."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Sleggar, standing in front of Bright's desk, replied smoothly. "So, do I have the go-ahead or not?"

Bright considered for a moment. "You have it," he answered, placing the datapad back on his desk. There was no other option, and Sleggar's plan was so daring – not to mention poetic – even Bright wanted to see it in action. "Though you're going to have to consult with Kikka and Oscar on getting things to work again."

"As well as to get it to do what we want, yes," Sleggar nodded, having already considered that. "And there's no guarantee it will all survive the opening barrage, of course."

"No battle plan ever survives contact with the enemy," Bright quoted an Old Earth military theorist, whose name he could not remember. "Still, assuming this one survives, it's better than hiding out and letting Garma and his cronies drop unhindered."

The captain then looked back at his CAG. "And I suppose you've already picked…source material."

Sleggar couldn't hide his grin at that. Bright knew him too well. "Yes, I have," he answered smoothly. "And rest assured, it's something quite appropriate."

Bright remained stoic-faced, but it was also a great temptation to smile. "I can imagine," he answered. "When will you brief your pilots?"

"Tomorrow. It will be a breakfast briefing," Sleggar replied. "Won't hurt to let them rest a little longer."

"Agreed," the captain exclaimed, already doing the same with much of his ship's compliment. "Since we're on the subject, how are they doing?"

It disturbed Sleggar that he automatically knew who 'they' were. And that Bright wasn't referring to the whole of his pilots in general. "They seem to be holding up okay. Keeping to themselves like everyone else."

Bright nodded. "I can understand," he said, smirking a little. "They were probably more affected by the fighting than we Oldtypes."

You have no idea. Sleggar thought, doing well, not verbalizing. At least, that was the case for Sayla. Unless Garma also turned out to be Amuro's long-lost sibling, he imagined the pilot of Unit Alpha was 'merely' fatigued, just like the rest of the herd.

"At least Amuro isn't causing any problems," the CAG added without missing a beat. "But then he's shaped up quite well as of late."

The captain nodded at this as well. While he didn't understand precisely – though he had his theories – Lieutenant Ray had remained in line to this point as though he had always been a model officer. This did well enough for Bright, as it meant the discipline problems he had feared would not take shape. Still, it was a curious change in the Lieutenant's character. "I suppose Juno was more an eye-opener for him than we thought."

Again, Sleggar did well not to verbalize a reply to that. While Amuro had indeed changed following Juno, the commander knew it was not the battle, per se, that changed him…


The doors shifted open, allowing Sayla to enter her domain again. The day had turned out shorter than she had wished – likely not helped by the fact she had spent most of it with Amuro – and now evening was upon her and the rest of the ship. Not that she would have known the difference on the outside, given Anges' perpetual cloudy skies, but it was now 1900 in Earth time, which the Ark Royal ran on. Not quite late enough to go to bed – she still had yet to get her dinner – but just enough to feel the first vestiges of exhaustion.

Still, there remained several things she had to do. Dinner was one of them, but that could wait. She also needed to check on Fraw – she hadn't seen her all day and could imagine the kind of work she had been doing throughout – but she could do that further down the line. And, of course, there was her Gundam, which she needed to inspect up close. She had been monitoring Astonaige's progress off and on with her Newtype power and knew that work on Unit Gamma had long since been completed, but she still wanted to look it over up close. After all, it was her machine, and she liked it even if it was a Federation-built mobile suit.

For now, however, she had another priority—one that she had been unable to fulfill until now when she knew the other side would hear her.

Thus, she came across her quarters and turned, leaning back against the bulkhead. Taking a breath, she relaxed and momentarily closed her eyes, allowing her power to extend beyond the Ark Royal—beyond Anges, beyond space and time, progressing deeper and deeper into the stars.

Only then did she reopen her eyes and speak out. Are you there, Casval?


Zeon Rewloola-class battlecruiser Ralmel
Deep Space

I am, Char confirmed in response. Like his sister, he was leaning against the bulkhead of his quarters, his head still bereft of his traditional mask and helmet. Blue eyes of the same shade as Sayla's stared outward as he continued. I trust you are doing well, Artesia.

Given the present circumstances, Sayla responded as well as could be expected, feeling as though she could feel Char's presence directly behind the bulkhead. Such was the depth of their bond, which, despite their separation, had not diminished. That said, brother, I'm not here for a simple chat as much as I would wish.

Of course, Char replied with bemused understanding. What do you wish to know?

Well, how much time we have for starters, Sayla answered from the other end. I assume Garma has figured out the Ark Royal's hiding place.

Yes, he knows you're on Anges, Char responded with a bit of guile. Not that you made it difficult for him, given the speed of your exit.

The younger Daikun shrugged. That is to be expected. And may I also presume that his fleet is almost assembled?

Unfortunately for you, Char continued. The last additions are expected to arrive at any moment. Once they do…

You'll set course immediately, Sayla finished for her brother, frowning.

Char "gazed" back at his long-lost sibling with peculiarity. I trust this will not be a problem on your side.

Sayla grinned at the not-so-subtle hint. Not at all, she answered with assurance. We'll be ready for your arrival. Preparations are already being made.

She could feel Char match her grin. I see. Will you tell me what diabolical schemes you have in store for us?

And ruin the surprise, dear brother? Sayla mockingly admonished. No, I think it's better you see our 'diabolical schemes' firsthand. Commander Law put much effort into them.

Heh, Char laughed a little. Knowing the Eagle of Arcturus, it was sure to be good. If it supports our true mission, then so much the better.

Yes, about that, Sayla spoke up, suddenly turning serious. Is everything set on your side?

Char adopted his serious expression on that. More or less. However, it will still require much on the White Devil's part.

Even without the brief silence that followed, Char could feel his sister's responding displeasure.

This seems displeasing to you, Artesia, Char pointed out, feeling there was a deeper connection between Amuro Ray and his sister. One more than it should have been. May I inquire as to why?

Sayla shook her head. To be honest, Casval, I would rather not use him as the instrument. I know there is no choice to be made in this, but that doesn't mean I approve.

Again, Char chuckled. While I appreciate your concern for others, Artesia, it is as you said. Neither of us has a choice in this matter.

The younger sister then felt her brother's power draw closer to her. But then, this isn't a simple concern for others, as opposed to concern for the one.

Sayla closed her eyes again. As much as she was tempted to deny it, she knew her brother had already figured out. Amuro Ray means much to me. I will admit that. Enough that I would rather not involve him in our vengeance.

She frowned once more. He's suffered much already, as you can imagine.

Char could feel his sister's emotions on the subject; she did care for him, that much was for certain. Naturally, this made the Red Comet even more interested in the man he had spared at X-145. Even so, it is as it is. To change anything now would jeopardize our efforts.

Char felt the responding glare as if Sayla were in the room with him. Please do not give me that look, Artesia. Garma was the one who wanted to fight the White Devil to begin with. I 'suggested' nothing to him.

Sayla let out a breath. One that she hadn't realized she had been holding. So that you could hunt me down and avenge Sasro, correct?

Indeed, Char confirmed. Garma was quite vocal about that—to the point that he wants you alive.

Sayla's grinned at that notion. Isn't that special? I'm glad to see my accomplishments at Riah are still spoken of.

Char once more matched her grin. Not as much as my accomplishments at Arcturus, I'm afraid. Since we're on the subject, I trust Sasro died properly.

Oh yes, Sayla beamed, recalling the moment she placed a finishing beam shot into the Sasro Zabi's ruined Zaku. It would be a memory she would carry to her grave. I wish you had been there to witness it.

Char did well to catch the hint that his sister was still displeased over his choice to return to Zeon instead of joining the Federal Forces with her. However, he didn't rise to the bait. Well, I will certainly witness this one. Garma Zabi will not return from Anges.

Sayla grinned, her anticipation clear. Another traitor to meet his end.

Char felt something inside him shift on that for a moment. However, it had been too brief for him to realize what it was, so he shook his head and continued. You do realize that no matter how Garma dies, Gihren and his ilk will blame your side for it. And respond accordingly.

Sayla nodded. It would be almost disappointing if they didn't. Not that they aren't running us ragged already.

Quite, Char replied. Sayla could tell he wished her not to be in that position, but he knew he could not change it. Be prepared, Artesia. While I cannot predict how exactly Gihren will respond to his brother's death, rest assured, it will be far more than Sasro's.

Again, she nodded. I understand, Casval, she answered before regaining her smirk. Still, it's nothing that I won't be able to survive.

I hope so, Artesia, Char responded. He was again tempted to implore Sayla to leave the Federal Forces while she had the chance, but he fought back, knowing that she would refuse once more.

We're getting closer to the center, Casval, Sayla continued. With Garma out of the way, only four will remain. And outside Galina, they will likely be harder to kill.

Char almost bit his lip at the mention of Galina. However, he was quick enough to force back those feelings before his sister picked up on them. Yes, it will take much more to end Dozle and Kycilia. And until the tide of the war turns, neither of us can reach Gihren.

And with each of their deaths, the more opposition we will face, Sayla spoke, seemingly oblivious to her brother's internal conflict. Yet even so, we will see this through to the end.

She looked on intently and then asked, Won't we, brother?

Again, despite Char's best efforts, the temptation returned. He wanted to tell Sayla otherwise, that she did not need to continue in their father's vengeance. That she had the best chance at living a happier life, one free of hatred and destruction. And all she needed to do was leave the military – and their pact – behind and forget all of it, especially as she had endured so much already.

Acting just as promptly, Char forced it all back down again. Despite all that he wished, his sister had taken to the path. And, just as she had stated, she would follow it to its end. No matter where it would lead or whether or not her brother walked with her upon it.

Thus, biting back that final semblance of hesitation, it was all Char could do to answer. Yes, he replied while keeping the better part of his emotions back. We will, dear sister.

Instead, he focused forward into not-so-distant space, where their latest target presently resided. We will see this through to the end.


Zeon Rewloola-class battlecruiser Reugen
Deep Space

"Admiral on the bridge!" an officer called out as Garma exited the turbolift and went to his waiting seat.

Once he took it, his flag captain stepped before him. "Your Highness, the fleet is now assembled."

The older man's eyes then narrowed as he said. "We await your command."

Settling back into his seat, Garma looked beyond the assembled bridge personnel and to the main monitor. Where his recomposed fleet lay in formation, ready to begin the hunt anew.

The young Admiral was content to merely sit back and savor the feeling for a brief moment. It was a long and difficult hunt with a most elusive, cunning quarry. Yet, as with all things in the universe, it would soon end. The Ark Royal would be destroyed, her mobile suit force would be laid to waste, and Garma would eventually return to playing the armchair commander of the Second Fleet.

Even so, it was for the better. For whatever fate awaited Garma at the end, he would still bring an end to one of the greatest of opponents. And in that same process, he would bring glory to Zeon itself.

Thus, taking one final breath, Garma gave the awaited command. "All ships set course for Anges. Maximum warp."

With that, the Zeon armada engaged their engines and accelerated away, onward toward the final reckoning.