"The art of leadership... consists in consolidating the attention of the people against a single adversary and taking care that nothing will split up that attention."
- Adolf Hitler

Chapter XVII: The Shadow of Zeon

Zeon, Zeon Empire
August 13, GC 379

Char always felt certain uneasiness whenever his eyes fell upon his homeworld. A feeling deep inside of him that regarded the bright emerald of Zeon as something almost foreign; that, even though the Ralmel was drawing closer to the planet, it seemed ever far away from him. He supposed it was only natural; after all, the Zeon he and Artesia had been born and raised upon was little than a pleasant but utterly distant memory now, one that had long been replaced by the twisted parody of "Emperor" Gihren's domain. Char did well not to sneer at that image lest the bridge crew somehow detect his disdain. Instead, he focused on melancholy while still grieving for his "friend."

The Ralmel proceeded through the reentry process easily enough, slipping through the atmosphere and gradually settling upon Emperor Gwazine Starport. Once his ship had made her berth, Char went through the remaining disembarking procedures with his crew, after which he and Nanai exited. The only hindrance had been when Char had attempted to rise from his command chair; he was still getting used to only having one arm. Even so, it had only been a temporary impediment, so he and his XO were well off the ship and into the terminal soon enough. All with as much efficiency as Char could muster, again despite his present handicap.

Unfortunately, present circumstances ensured that the visit would be far from routine. Char did well to keep that in mind as he saw Grand Admiral Dozle at the far end of the terminal, awaiting his approach. Exhaling through his nostrils, Char attempted to salute him alongside Nanai, only to remember again that his right arm ended at the shoulder socket. Even so, the sympathetic expression on Dozle's face showed he understood, as did his saluting the both of them regardless of the mild breach in protocol.

"Welcome home, Commander," Dozle spoke to Char directly, somehow retaining the usual gruff tone despite the turmoil inside. "I wish it were under better circumstances."

Nodding his dismissal to Nanai, who immediately took her leave, Char looked back at the Grand Admiral with as much remorse as he could project. "As do I, sir," he spoke solemnly.

Dozle then nodded to his right side. "How are you holding up?" he asked with apparent concern.

"About as well as can be expected, sir," Char replied, gesturing as though attempting to shrug with his right shoulder, only to fail. "Compared to the loss you and I share, this is little more than an irritation."

"Yes," Dozle acknowledged, gesturing Char to walk with him, which the ace did well to comply with. "I keep reading the reports, hoping to find that I misread them previously, but they always end the same way."

"Yes sir," Char concurred, again projecting as much solemnity as he could. "If I may say, sir, Garma was far more than a comrade to me. More than a friend even."

Dozle again nodded, this time in apparent sorrow. "He used to say the same about you, Char. That you were his brother in all but name," he replied, not bothering to keep the mourning from his voice, at least not beyond what Char could hear. "I take great solace in your fighting beside him to the end."

Momentarily, Char felt something begin to draw inside him from that. However, he forced it back before it could somehow take hold of him, lest the Admiral see it through his mask.

"I take that solace as well, sir," Char continued as though that hesitation had never occurred. "Garma fought most bravely throughout the hunt, as he called it."

He then lowered his head slightly as though in shame. "I truly wish I had been able to save him."

"I know, Char," Dozle answered, patting the Commander on the shoulder. "I know. If you could, you would have done everything for him."

Again, Char felt something well up inside, and again, he forced it back—with much more effort this time. What exactly…?

"Needless to say, we will not let his death go unanswered," Dozle promised him, vestiges of wrath now entering his voice. "There will be a time for vengeance, I assure you. The White Devil, the Ark Royal, Earth itself will pay for the blood they have spilled."

Then, much as Char had done just then, Dozle visibly forced that wrath aside. "But for now, we may only grieve and hope his spirit lives forever on."

Yet again, Char could only nod in compliance while keeping himself grounded. "That is a command I most eagerly accept, Admiral."

Dozle couldn't help but smile in gratitude for this. At the very least, Garma would have been pleased with his friend's – no, his brother's – survival. Next to Icelina and their child, his biological brothers and sisters, no other had mattered so much to him. Again, Dozle took solace in the fact that his brother had not died in vain and that a part of him would continue to live on through Char Aznable. Especially if all went the way he and others hoped with Galina.

But again, that was all for another day. For now, he and his subordinate had an appointment to meet. "Come, Commander," he said, holding his arm toward the exit. "The Emperor awaits your audience."


Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Warp

Gently raising the coffee mug to her lips, Mirai took a long sip, feeling the warm, soothing liquid flow down her throat. It had been a long morning to an equally long last several days, and the Lieutenant Commander was feeling every ache and pulse. She still did not know how she managed to get herself into her uniform and on the bridge, though she did well not to appear too exhausted in front of the present crew. They were certainly trying to hold it all in.

More and more the Ark Royal became a ramshackle as time passed, and more and more, her crew exerted their energy to keep her alive and functioning. Just that morning, they had three critical systems nearly break down on them, one of which had been a key component to the warp drive. Naturally, they had been dealt with – the ship was still moving beyond light speed after all – but it had come close to putting them dead in the water greatly. And those were "merely" core systems that had nearly failed; a multitude of "less essential" systems had since been rendered inoperable. It was almost becoming like a "whack-a-mole game" – to borrow another phrase from her ex – in repairing every system and component, only for another to break down and repeat the process.

If there was any solace to be had, it was that Mirai did not have to perform the repairs herself, for which she was immensely thankful. Besides the fact she was neither an engineer nor technician, her status as the Executive Officer meant that while she had to oversee the repair work – whether from the bridge or on the deck in question – she didn't have to do any of the hard labor. Which was best for the ship as well; despite her last name and coming from a certain family back on Earth, she had never been good with that delicate kind of work. As such, Mirai was perfectly content to sit back on her command chair, sip coffee, and otherwise ensure the ship didn't break apart around them without taking a direct hand.

Not that that changed what she was doing from that chair or anywhere else on the ship. The Ark Royal didn't need the Zeon; she could blow up or tear apart perfectly on her own the way things were going. It still struck Mirai as nothing short of a miracle that they got off of Anges in the first place – even after the Zeeks had fled – much less made it this far into deep space and remained at warp for so long. Either a miracle or the fact the Ark Royal herself was, not unlike her crew, just too damn stubborn to die.

However, that stubbornness had its limits, as the momentarily flickering lights above reminded her. Biting back a sigh, Mirai activated her chair's holographic projector and looked over the afflicted system. Fortunately, it turned out to be a momentary power fluctuation – undoubtedly brought on by the strain of the ship's two Apollo Reactors – and the lights soon settled back into place. A few of the bridge crew glanced around nervously for a moment but otherwise returned to their task as well. Compared to what they all had to deal with off and on, a minor power fluctuation was easy to overlook. Unless it led to something much direr, of course.

Which brought to mind the next line of thought for Mirai. It had been two days since Captain Noa had received that message from Earth and all that entailed. Even now, well after she and Sleggar had been filled in on the parameters, Mirai remained dubious and suspicious. Operation Ararat had to be one of the biggest Charlie Foxtrots in the making since the war began. Yes, it was the only chance that the Ark Royal could be repaired and refurbished in the field, and yes, she had to admit that High Command had pulled out all the stops for them. However, that didn't change the fact that too many things could go wrong with it, and not just the Ark meeting her end before ever reaching her destination. Part of her wondered if there would be enough of the ship left to fix if and when she did.

More flickering from the overhead lighting soon followed. Again forcing back her frustration, Mirai returned to the holoprojection, isolated what she guessed to be the source of the fluctuation, and redirected damage control accordingly. The whack-a-mole game indeed, though with overworked technicians and increasingly short equipment instead of a cushioned mallet.

Still, Operation Ararat – for its entire Murphy factor –was their best chance. It was not just to repair their ship but to ensure that they continued their mission and worked toward Odessa. Otherwise, they might as well have evacuated to the life pods – assuming they were still operable – now and be done with it. And Mirai would have rather slit her wrists than abandon her ship in such a manner, to say nothing of the rest of the crew.

That being said, they were still at least two or three days out from Ararat's operations area, for whatever that was. Mirai and the rest had to spend the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours keeping their fragmenting ship together as she flung herself FTL through open space. All the while, she had to look out for anyone who sought to avenge the late and unlamented (at least on her side) Garma Zabi.

Needless to say, as she took another sip of coffee, she enjoyed every drop.


"I dunno, Bright," Sleggar exclaimed as he looked over the holographic projection of where Ararat was set to be executed. "No matter how much I look at it or think about it, this is a long shot even by my standards."

I suppose it would be shot from here to Kowloon. Bright thought as hegazed over the image. It was déjà vu all over again to quote an ancient Earth philosopher whose name he could not recall. This would be the second time he would bring his ship toward the type of destination, System J-292. Right down to it being "designated" instead of name. "Well, the opposition will be less likely to guess this time. And even if they did, it's doubtful they would have any forces close enough to intercept."

"Hopefully," Sleggar retorted as he tapped a switch, causing a datawindow to appear underneath the projected system, though he had to 'thunk' the table once to stop the flickering.

By and large, the best anyone could say about J-292 was that it was remote and well off anyone's scope, an ideal area for covert activity. Set around a dying red dwarf, the system was composed of only two planets, with the one closest to the host star was little more than a dead, atmosphere-less rock, while the second would have been much the same had it not been broken and fragmented to its core. The latter had left an abundance of asteroids and other such fragments floating around the system, making it an extremely hostile space to navigate, let alone set up any colony or outpost within. Merge that with the lack of any worthwhile ores or minerals, and one could easily see why High Command chose this as their apparent safe haven. No matter how dubious.

"The main issue is the most obvious," Sleggar commented after a few more minutes of musing. "What else could be in that system beyond the rocks and radiation?"

"Agreed, unfortunately," Bright concurred. Such systems tended to be domains for pirates or other riffraff, not to mention various potentially hostile lifeforms. Usually, it was of little to no concern for a ship like the Ark Royal, but in her present condition… "Do we have any operational mobile suits left?"

"Two Guncannons and Unit Gamma," Sleggar reported, recalling Astonaige's recent but meager triumphs in getting what remained of their suits back online. "I could also go out in Unit Beta if it came down to it."

Bright nodded to this. The two Gundams alone were nothing to sneeze at, and if two Guncannons backed them up, then so much the better. "That should be sufficient to face down any kind of pirate ship or suit if there are any out there."

"No arguments, though that kind of space would be hell to fight in," Sleggar responded. "It would be a reverse of X-145, in which the enemy force would set up the ambush. And they would have the entire system to do so in rather than just an asteroid belt."

Again, Bright nodded in concurrence. "We still have Lieutenant Mass for that issue," he offered. "And Doctor Bow has assured me Lieutenant Ray will be fit for duty soon enough."

"Even they're not perfect, Bright," Sleggar admonished. Despite what Sayla might claim anyway. "And again, that's a lot of space to hide in, even from a Newtype or two."

"If you say so," Bright exclaimed, as he had no expertise. Nor did he care to. "Still, it is what it is, Sleggar. Short of a direct miracle from God, this is the only way to get Ark Royal and her suits back into the war, especially before Odessa."

The CAG let out a long, drawn breath. "That's probably the worst part about it, Bright," he mused. "How did we get to the point that this is our only option?"

The captain shrugged. "We've been in far worse conditions," he pointed out, bringing Arcturus back to memory. "At least this time, we don't have to restart from scratch."

"I suppose," Sleggar conceded as he drew his gaze back onto J-292. Despite the conversation, he still retained his doubts about Ararat, even if he knew it to be their only choice. Their only salvation, as it had been for the original Noah and his Ark.


Zumberg Palace
Zumberg, Zeon, Zeon Empire

Bootfalls echoed throughout the marble halls as he followed the escorting guardsmen. Char couldn't help but notice the distinctly cold air throughout Zumberg Palace. Not that he had ever felt any warmth within those halls – at least not since he and Artesia had been running through them as children – but somehow, the setting seemed even more stale and frigid to him, more akin to a graveyard than the residence of Zeon's Emperor and ruling family. As though the palace itself had been affected by Garma's loss and the resultant sorrow of those within.

Beyond that, however, the palace remained virtually unchanged from all he remembered, even as far back as his boyhood. White and gold embroidered walls and ceiling complimented equally white tiled floor, with extravagant red and gold carpeting running through the halls. Various portraits of equally multiple items of interest, from specific members of past Imperial family members to different landscapes and buildings that had inhabited Zeon throughout the ages, were spread between an assortment of windowpanes and antique golden light fixtures. And, of course, the Imperial Guardsman was standing at nearly every corner, alert and ready to defend the palace and its occupants immediately. That alone brought back memories of Char's last night in the palace – at least under his real name – and the Guard's valiant struggle against the Stazi to ensure his and Artesia's escape. He did well to force back the resultant bile before it managed to take him over.

And then there was another facet of the palace that made Char even more solemn as he and the escorting guards passed it. The portrait of Zorin Tor Daikun, the rightful Emperor of Zeon. Whether as a sign of honor or a simple oversight, the picture hung exactly where Char remembered it, proudly generating the late Emperor's image to all within that part of the palace. As his steely eyes swept up to those upon the canvas, Char again did well to keep his emotions firmly restrained, projecting only respectful solemnity. He was not in a position to dwell upon any of it now; what his father had wanted of him and Artesia, whether or not he would have condoned their quest for vengeance or if he even wanted to be avenged at all. There would be a time for that later – as there always was at some point or another – but for now, his father was dead, and to bring up his ghost then and there would hold grave implications. Thus, Char shifted his eyes away from the portrait as he continued down the hall, the escorting guardsmen remaining completely unaware.

At long last, the entourage came across a particular set of red double doors flanked by two additional guardsmen. Following the exchange of salutes, one of the flanking guards reached out and opened the doorway with an audible creaking. From there, Char and his escorts were allowed to proceed into the very heart of the palace—the very center of power within all of Zeon.

Continuing to feign adherence, Char entered the throne room, the two guardsmen remaining beside him. Aside from the raised, arching ceiling, the chamber was not much different from the rest of the palace, though that mattered little as to who else occupied it. There, sitting at the far end under a magnificent banner that displayed the Zeon Cross, Emperor Gihren watched as Char proceeded toward him, eyes narrowed while displaying utmost impassivity. This is not unlike a predatory avian observing a newcomer entering its domain and determining its intentions.

Once more, Char did well not to react outwardly, all the while still keeping his emotions firmly within. To this day, it affronted him to see that vermin sitting in his father's chair as though he were, in fact, the rightful heir to the Throne. If he had the power and the opportunity, he would have slain the imposter then and there, but unfortunately, he had neither, and he did well to keep that in mind. No, he and Artesia would have their chance, Char knew, but it would not be at this time. He should only wait longer for his prey to let down his guard, just as Garma had properly.

Until then, however, he remained a loyal servant to Throne. And so acted accordingly.

"Your Imperial Majesty," he addressed as he knelt in convincing adherence. "By your will, I am now before you."

"Rise," Gihren commanded simply enough, to which Char followed. The Emperor then waved his hand to the guardsmen, who took their immediate leave. Leaving their liege alone in the hall with the one he had summoned. "I had hoped, Commander, when I next called upon you, it would have been out of recognition of your latest glory. Alas, it appears that was not to be."

He then looked toward Char's missing right arm. "How are you recovering?"

"As well as can be expected," Char replied dutifully. "Though an obvious inconvenience, my wounds do not hinder me."

Gihren nodded in apparent satisfaction. "Good. Very good," he answered back. "Though obviously, it will be some while before you may return to the war, I take solace in your resilience. Not many, even among our highborn, can endure so much."

To this, Char allowed himself to smirk. "I am nothing if not resilient, sire."

"Indeed," Gihren acknowledged, then sitting back on his throne. "Unfortunately, I did not summon you here to discuss your recovery alone. You should understand this well."

Char then frowned, even though he didn't know if it was part of the act or natural. "All too well, Your Majesty," he confirmed in a near monotone.

Gihren could only proceed. "I trust he fought to the end?"

"Very much so," Char again confirmed. "It was only by some miracle that the White Devil survived his final attack."

The Emperor sniffed at that specific word. "A miracle…" he muttered thoughtfully, obviously in consideration.

Char noticed but pretended not to. "Had it been any other mobile suit and any other pilot, he most assuredly would have won from the start," he posited. "Unfortunately though, the White Devil was too much even for him."

"Or you," Gihren again looked toward Char's missing arm.

Char nodded in concurrence. "Much to my regret, Your Majesty."

Once more, Gihren seemed satisfied with the given answer. From there, he activated the throne's holoprojector, generating a vidwindow in front of him. One that displayed footage of the White Devil in action.

"I never would have thought the lowborn capable of creating such a monster," Gihren exclaimed as he watched the white mobile suit tear through multitudes of Zakus. The Emperor couldn't help but feel strangely in awe of such a form.

He then looked back toward Char. "What can you tell me?"

Char considered. "As you said, Your Majesty, it is a monster," he began. The mobile suit alone outperforms the Zaku by a wide margin and likely has cutting-edge technology that surpasses even our own advancements."

The Red Comet forced himself not to grin. "However, I believe the mobile suit is a minor element."

Intrigued, Gihren nodded. "Go on."

"The defining factor is the pilot," Char continued to explain. "Though at first glance Amuro Ray appears as nothing more than a typical novice, he has a strange power. A power that the suit itself can harness, increasing its performance exponentially."

"What sort of power?" Gihren inquired.

Char shook his head. "I'm afraid that is beyond my knowledge, sire," he feigned ignorance. "But suffice it to say, it is not anything that this galaxy has seen before. A power that I dare say transcends spacetime itself."

Gihren frowned at this. "An outlandish claim, but believable considering the Devil's exploits to this point," he admitted. "What would it take to destroy such an enemy?"

Again, Char feigned remorse. "I'm afraid that is beyond me as well, Your Majesty," he replied. "We have seen the Devil obliterate an entire fleet of ships and mobile suits at Juno, while at Anges, he singlehandedly shifted the entire course of the battle right as Garma was about to deliver the finishing blow."

He then dared to say. "I'm afraid destroying him, at least when he is wielding his full power, is beyond conventional means."

Gihren's frown deepened. "Once again, outlandish, but I see no alternative," he answered as he deactivated the holographic display. "Even so, we must somehow accomplish this, lest the Feddies turn the tide against us."

Char nodded. "As you say, sire," he agreed.

The Emperor couldn't help but let out a long, exhausted breath toward all of it. There had already been many setbacks since the war began, from upsets like at Sanc and Orb to certain "allies" that were lackluster and inadequate. Compared to those, however, the White Devil was something that Gihren would never have anticipated, quickly becoming a dire thorn in Zeon's side. A thorn needed to be removed as soon as possible, yet possible solutions were not as forthcoming to the Emperor as he had hoped.

If there were any silver lining, it didn't look like the Devil or the Ark Royal would soon be going anywhere significant. Between the damage Garma had inflicted in the Azure Nebula and the near-finishing blow he had wrought at Anges, there was no way the thirteenth Trojan Horse was in any condition to fight. At the same time, her mobile suits were undoubtedly decimated. Indeed, Garma's sacrifice had been far from vain in that area.

They are open and vulnerable, so we need only track them down once again, Gihren thought. And if that's not enough, there's always Augusta…

Ultimately, he decided to muse over that on another day. For the moment, the Ark Royal was beyond Zeon's reach. And there were other matters to attend to anyway.

"That will be all for now, Commander," he addressed Char while signaling his guardsman to reenter. "How long before you can return to the front?"

"I cannot say exactly, Your Majesty," Char answered. "But given my limited knowledge of regeneration treatment, I believe it will take no more than two to three months."

"I see," Gihren took note, then continued. "Until such a time, it would be my honor to have you as my guest here," he declared, much to the guardsmen's barely disguised astonishment. "Consider it gratitude for standing beside my brother to the end."

Again, Char withheld a smirk. "The honor is mine, Your Majesty," he answered before saluting and following the guardsman past the double doors.


Double doors creaking closed, Char could do nothing more but follow one of the guardsmen as he led him to his guest quarters. His meeting with the imposter Emperor had gone as smoothly as he had wished, yet he still found himself troubled for some reason. Though he had not expected Gihren to act overtly to Garma's death – given his position and character – Char still couldn't help but feel that his "liege" had worked a little too measured. What could that possibly mean? Did Gihren somehow suspect his hand in his brother's demise? Always a possibility, but Char had no way of knowing for sure at this time.

Well, no matter. If Gihren had wanted him dead, he would have dealt with the matter and been done with it. After all, it would have been far easier to have Char arrested as a traitor and a murderer than to allow him into Zumberg with open arms only to wake up one night with the Stazi looming over him. Thus, he could rest easily knowing that, even if Gihren had his suspicions, he was at least going with the act for the time being. It would provide him a good respite from the battlefield, which he much needed now. Especially if he was to face Artesia and the White Devil again…

"So," a distinctively light yet firm voice spoke from behind. "It's true then."

Forcing down a responding frown, Char turned to face the speaker with newly emerged melancholy. He couldn't quite tell whether the expression was another falsehood or, in fact, real, given who was addressing him now.

"My brother is dead," the woman spoke sadly, though without any tears. She dared not weep in sight of the guards if nothing else.

"I'm afraid so, Your Highness," Char exclaimed sympathetically, now feeling a strange turmoil within that only came about with this particular woman. Not even the discomfort, for lack of a better word, he had held with Dozle earlier felt as disheveling to him as what he felt now toward her.

Nodding to the guard to take his leave, which he did immediately, Princess Galina Zabi looked toward Char with soft magenta eyes. The very same colored eyes Garma had once held. "I had hoped, truly hoped, Char," she continued. "That the reports had been exaggerated. That…that my dear brother had survived despite everything."

The princess couldn't help but look away now. "Even though I knew, more than anyone else, that they had indeed spoken the truth," she murmured, visibly yearning to believe otherwise. "Garma has joined Sasro in the realm beyond."

For once, Char held no reply to this, not like he had with Dozle and Gihren. He could only stay silent as the princess fought deep inside to retain her composition. Again, she dared not break down then and there despite the pain she was feeling.

"Did he suffer?" Galina finally inquired.

Char shook his head. "It was brief, Your Highness," he answered. "An overloading Apollo Reactor does not leave any time for suffering."

"I see," Galina acknowledged, taking some clear solace.

"For what it's worth," Char found himself adding again for reasons he did not understand. "He fought valiantly to the end."

"I know," Galina replied, now reminiscing. "Garma always envisioned himself dying as such. Fighting the enemies of Zeon to the last…"

"And he did, Your Highness," Char reassured. "I only wish his sacrifice had done more harm to the enemy."

He then found himself asking. "How…how has Princess Icelina taken it?"

Galina shook her head. "She mourns him with the rest of us. Perhaps even more so," she explained. "But she remains strong, and Joseph remains healthy."

Char nodded, feeling a tinge of irony toward the son's chosen name somehow that made him even more melancholy.

"It had been Garma's dearest hope for you to stand beside him during his son's birth," Galina offered. "After you and he vanquished, he had finished on Anges."

Char again nodded. "And I shall," he assured, again biting back his turmoil as he spoke. "In spirit, if not physical presence."

Doing much to dare, Char moved to place his remaining hand on Galina's shoulder. "Whether he is here now or beyond our reach, Garma will see his son's birth," he declared. "I will make sure of it."

A ghost of a smile appeared on Galina's lips. "You honor him and all of us, Char," she spoke, this time with more strength, which she gained as much from the physical contact as she did from Char's words. "I do not know what transpired on Anges, but I know this…"

Her eyes fixed on Char's, somehow penetrating his mask. "I am glad that you were beside him," she said, her voice at last starting to waver, even as her gaze remained resolute. "Even…even to his last hour."

With that, the Princess, no longer able to contain herself, could only turn and quietly slip away. Char did not need his Newtype powers to pick upon her sorrow, which was even more pronounced than he had felt in Dozle. Perhaps even on par with what Icelina felt now.

For what seemed like innumerable minutes, he watched as she disappeared down the hall, continuing to restrain his emotions as she became further distant. Only when his original escort reemerged did he finally turn away, again following the guardsman to his assigned quarters.


Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Warp

"I'm actually kind of enjoying it," Kiki said as she took another bite of her dinner. "It's nice not to have the Zeeks hounding us for once."

"Only because they lost track of us from Anges," Michel pointed out from the side. "If they ever find us again…"

"That's a big 'if' Ensign," Sanders countered before the topic got out of hand. "Even the Zeeks can cover only so many places at once, especially within space."

"I know that, sir, it's just…" Michel considered his words for a moment. "They found us in the Azure, didn't they? How do we know they won't have that same luck later?"

"We don't," Karen acquiesced, her stomach twitching at the mere prospect. "But at least it's far from a sure thing. We don't even know if they're actually looking for us now, given that they're still reeling from Garma's untimely departure."

"Oh, they're looking for us," Sanders assured. "They probably got Cosmo Babylonia, Zanscare, and the rest helping them. But as I said, space is vast, and we remain one little ship."

"To a point," Shiro finally stepped in after sipping his coffee. "Our 'one little ship' happens to be a Trojan Horse, which is bad enough itself, but we're also beaten, crippled, and are carrying the suit and pilot that killed their prince."

He sighed at his own words. "If the Zeeks find us, they won't mistake us for anything else. And they'll send everything after us straight away."

Sanders himself sighed at that. "Has anyone ever told you you're a planet-sized killjoy, Commander?" he quipped.

Shiro shrugged. "All part of the duties of a DCAG, Lieutenant," he answered. "Not that I don't wish it otherwise either."

"Yeah, you would think the Zeeks had better things to do than go after 'one little ship,'" Sanders exclaimed as he drank his coffee. "One thing still bothers me, though…"

That earned him the attention of the whole table. "We just killed their prince, right?" Sanders posited. "So why haven't we heard a peep from them for days?"

"Good question," Karen mused, visibly wondering. "I'd like to think they're still getting over their collective shock, but that doesn't sound like them. More likely, they're planning something."

"Ugh, great," Sanders shook his head. "As if we didn't have enough to worry about already."

"It's doubtful that something has to do with us per se," Shiro entered again. "Don't get me wrong, they'll come after us again at some point, but whatever it is they're doing will be more a statement toward the whole galaxy. Some demonstration of Zeon resolve and whatnot."

"'Demonstration?'" Kiki repeated. "As in a large-scale attack somewhere?"

"Quite possible, unfortunately," Shiro allowed memories of Hera beginning to return to him. "But altogether, I wouldn't bet too much on it. A reactionary attack can also be seen as a sign of weakness, and I'm sure Emperor Gihren is well aware of that fact."

"So what else does that leave?" Karen inquired, her lips folding into a sly smirk. "The Zeeks burning a fat effigy of President Hyran?"

That earned a chuckle from across the table. It was an unexpected bout of humor that was more than welcome to the pilots, especially given the present mood.

"Your guess is as good as any of ours," Sanders offered before slightly frowning, effectively returning to the present. "Though I get the feeling we will find out soon enough."


"I'm betting on Pelago myself," Kai explained, daring to anticipate. "It's not out of the way and is discreet enough to avoid unwanted attention. And it's namely an oceanic world…"

"Plenty of beachfront and swimwear?" Hayato questioned flatly.

"You read my mind, Ensign Kobayashi," Kai replied hintingly. "The perfect hunting ground for a handsome mobile suit pilot on holiday, if you know what I mean."

Hayato did well not to roll his eyes. "I'm thinking more of Nostromo myself," he said, earning a disgusted glance from Kai. "I know it's not exactly scenic, but it has enough industrial capacity. Surely enough to repair and refurbish the ship and maybe get some new mobile suits…"

"Nostramo's a wasteworld, though," Kai glowered in distaste. "Perpetual night, frigid planetary climate, overabundant cityscapes, not exactly an ideal vacation spot, Hayato."

"I don't think we'll be getting any shore leave anyway, Kai," Hayato said. "Remember, we're still far from home, so any place we stop has to be neutral or secretly anti-Zeon. Not too many worlds like that, for obvious reasons."

"No need to remind me," Kai exclaimed in frustration. He remained well aware that they stayed within enemy territory. "But even so, we have to get off at some point. The human body wasn't meant to remain this long in a flying, lightspeed capable tub."

"I'd hardly call the Ark a tub, though I agree for the most part," Hayato answered, sighing. "I'd give anything to touch down on terra firma again, even on a planet of perpetual darkness."

"Hell, I'd even take a space colony with a desert environment," Kai added. "Just to have some topsoil underneath my boot soles."

Hayato attempted to reply but was interrupted by the intercom system.

"All hands, this is the First Officer," Commander Yashima announced from overhead. "We are now less than forty-eight hours from our destination. On-duty maintenance crews must conserve engine power, structural integrity, and life support. All other personnel remain on standby. Out."

"Would it have killed you to tell us where we were going?" Kai snarled at the intercom, frustration very abundant. "Goddammit, at least give us a hint."

Hayato said nothing but otherwise felt similarly to his wingman. Though he doubted Captain Noa and the rest of the command staff would intentionally turn the ship toward danger, it was as he said: they were deep within enemy territory with little to no options on where to make port. Yet all the same, they had to put in somewhere, as the Ark Royal was too damaged to go on as she was now. An uneasy thought.

Ultimately, Hayato knew he had no say in the matter, no matter how much he wanted to vocalize it with Kai. Like it or not, they were going wherever they were going. All he could hope was some shelter at the end, well away from the Zeeks and whatever else may have been out there…


Zumberg Palace
Zumberg, Zeon, Zeon Empire

With a further sense of irony, Char stood before the windowpane, gazing out upon the glittering lights surrounding Zumberg, bereft of his mask and helmet. Not simply because he was a "guest" of the enemy he had sworn to destroy so long ago but also due to his present quarters. They had been his room and private space when his father held the Throne. Much of it had changed since then, obviously – his original bed had been replaced with a larger set, no toys scattered across the ground, the walls were now adorned with different sets of pictures, etc. – but a part of him still recognized it as his domain such that he could be at ease within, despite the room being "lent" to him, a mere guest of the present Imperial family.

That was all well to him, however. If there was anything he needed now, it was peace and respite. The Battle of Anges, for all of its success, had left him exhausted beyond measure, even if he discounted his physical wounds. He knew there would be more such battles ahead, more fights for his life and to carry out his vengeance. As a result, he would do well to be at ease there, well away from the battlefield and in a familiar space, gradually regaining his strength and fortitude. The War could, and would, wait for another day as far as he was concerned.

Unfortunately, however, he was not entirely calm, which was the source of his present position. As much as his strained body wanted to relax and enjoy the nearly forgotten comforts of his present domain, his equally strained mind refused to abide somehow. Recent events, namely and especially Garma's death and all the upheaval it was still causing, remained a fixture, and he could not think of anything else. Nor could he dismiss the turmoil that remained within, causing him no shortage of dishevelment.

He supposed he should have expected this kind of internal flux. As much as it had been necessary for him to die, a part of him had recognized Garma as a friend. There had even been times, albeit few and far between, when he had paused to consider carrying out his vengeance upon him. It had been tempting, to say the least; Garma was the youngest male scion of the Zabi line and had been in no way involved with Gihren's machinations. That didn't make him innocent overall – he had taken part in the War – but it had certainly meant that his death would have warranted nothing to Emperor Zorin's ghost. And that was before one brought up Icelina and the entirely innocent life she carried in her womb. Having experienced the loss of his father, could Char reasonably inflict the same wound upon another child? Especially when he had also seen what it had done to his beloved sister?

Sound arguments, but ultimately futile. In the end, he carried out his father's vengeance against Garma. Not so direct as to strike the killing blow himself, but enough that Garma did die. Whatever would occur because of it would happen, including the possibility of Joseph – who Char had chosen to spare for several reasons – growing up to carry out his vengeance for his father's demise. Thus, all Char could do was move on from there, letting Garma's soul rest as he sent the rest of his family off to join him. To stop now would be to forgo everything he, and by extension Artesia, had sacrificed.

This presented another dilemma that haunted him from the start: Galina. Garma's younger twin sister, perhaps the only real innocent within the Zabis. His vengeance dictated that she had to die as well, despite her having even less to do with her elder brother's crimes than Garma, yet Char felt hesitant. If he had been able to strike Garma down, then why not her? As different as she was from the other siblings, she was still a Zabi and, therefore, guilty of their crimes against the universe. So why did Char feel so uneasy whenever he thought of her and the death she assuredly warranted?

That caused a certain memory to arise within Char's consciousness. Two years ago, the ninth of July by the Terran calendar. The celebration of Zeon's march through the galaxy, in which Char – having warranted an invitation through Garma and his deeds at Solomon – first became (re)acquainted with the Imperial Family, from the Emperor himself to his youngest sister. The latter meeting Char knew he would not forget any time soon, despite his best efforts.

Indeed, he would have been lying if he had claimed not to have been taken by the now fully grown Galina Zabi's charm. Despite not being as forwardly aggressive as her elder siblings, she had her force of strength, which Char easily recognized through their exchange. Whereas her brothers and sister were out fighting the war, she had focused her time and energy on Zeon's domestic front, ensuring that the Empire's citizenry would be properly accommodated throughout. Nowhere near as forwardly glorious as Dozle, Garma, and Kycilia's triumphs – at least not to a nation wholly immersed in conquest – but still completely essential to the Empire's prominence. Char found himself actually appreciating what she had spoken to him and the lengths she had gone through on the home front to maintain Zeon's progression.

It was then he had picked up on the occurrence. Through his conventional and Newtype senses, he detected the assassins as they set up for their attack, arranging to strike the attendees. After that, everything became murkier and remained so with his present-day uncertainty. Though Char could remember as the assassins drew their weapons with clarity, for the life of him, he could not recall what exactly had caused his next action: reaching his arm around Galina and throwing them both down to the floor as the gunfire sounded followed by his bringing her with him behind an overturned table. Where they both remained as the Imperial Guard rushed to the scene and forced away the aggressors, several officials already lying dead or wounded across the ground.

He had known throughout that the assassins – who the Stazi later identified from a certain black operations branch of the Earth Federal Forces – would have killed her had he not acted and that he would have been one step closer to eliminating the Zabi line. And yet, for reasons that still eluded him, he had still saved the youngest Zabi from her fate.

Ironically, his "brave, heroic" act brought him into the Zabis' greater graces, with Gihren himself recognizing him for his bravery. At the time, Char had used that as his excuse; by sparing Galina's life for that moment, he had gained an even greater vantage on his targets—a vantage he had thoroughly exploited for much of the war, all the way to Garma's death in the present. He would eventually utilize the same vantage to reach Gihren when the time was right.

And yet…yet he knew that was a pleasant falsehood at best. As beneficial as his newfound closeness to the Zabis had turned out, that was not why he had acted to preserve the princess' life. Whether he admitted it or not, he knew he had done it simply for that reason so that she may live beyond that certain death. All despite everything else, including his and Artesia's vow on their father's grave.

The memory of that vow shook Char to his core, raging against his hesitance. No, there was no discourse to be had here, not until his father was properly laid to rest. Degwin Zabi's lineage needed to be purged; otherwise, vengeance would not be had. If that included spilling "innocent" blood, then so be it. It was not like so much of it had been spilled already by the Zabis' hands. How could he even think to hesitate when the whole of the galaxy burned under the Imperial banner? How could he spare even one of that traitor's family when he had sworn to see it entirely eradicated, such that history itself would deny their very existence?

How could he dare to betray his father here and now?

Doom'd for a certain term to walk the night, Char thought, quoting to himself a line from an Earth drama that was eminently fitting. And for the day confined to fast in fires, till the foul crimes done in my days of nature are burnt and purged away. But that I am forbid to tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part and each particular hair to stand on end, like quills upon the fretful porpentine.

He felt his will surge from those most ancient words, almost invigorating him. But this eternal blazon must not be to ears of flesh and blood. List, list, O, list! If thou didst ever thy dear father love—

His blue eyes focused, the visages of each of his enemies – including her own – prominent within. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder.

Yes, he would see it through. He would see them all dead and forgotten. Even the one amongst them who was truly innocent, the one whose very name had condemned her, just as it had Garma.

Thus, Prince Casval Rem Daikun renewed his oath to the darker days ahead, all while his adversaries remained ever unsuspecting and open.


Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Warp
August 14, GC 379

This was the second time since coming aboard the Ark Royal that Amuro was summoned before her captain, and just like the first time, he was not looking forward to it in the least. Having just gotten out of sickbay the day before, Amuro only wanted to enjoy some much-needed R&R and let the universe tend to itself for once. Alas, it was not to be, as Captain Noa had wasted no time ordering him to his office the next morning. And now Amuro – somehow managing to get back into his uniform and bring himself down the deck – was about to answer that call.

Double doors shifting open with the traditional "swish" sound, Amuro saw Captain Noa sitting behind his desk, peering back at him with minute interest. This time, however, Amuro saw that Commander Law was also present, sitting in one of the nearby chairs. That told the Unit Alpha pilot enough; whatever he had been called here for had to do with his performance on Anges. Probably more questions about the Gundams' capabilities and Project V overall, which Amuro didn't want to dwell on now, much less talk about. Still, orders were orders, and the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could return to his break. Thus, with as much pomp as he could muster, Amuro entered the officer and stood before the desk.

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Amuro Ray reporting as ordered," he somehow managed to speak without backhanded sarcasm.

Hearing the exhaustion within the Lieutenant's voice, Bright took on a small measure of sympathy as he replied. "At ease, Lieutenant, and take a seat."

Once Amuro sat down, conveniently next to Sleggar, Bright moved to the business. "I have called you here, Lieutenant, to share some news with you," the captain informed us as he picked up a datapad from his desk. "By the authority of the Secretary of the Earth Federal Forces, with the special recommendation from Space Force High Command, Lieutenant Junior Grade Amuro Ray is to be awarded the Space Force Cross for valor in combat."

Amuro's eyes suddenly lit up in shock. He was not one for awards, but the Space Force Cross?

"Medal to be received at next port of call," Bright finished, then placed the tablet back on the desktop, taking note of Amuro's somewhat astonished reaction. "Not a bad accomplishment for taking out one Zeon prince and saving your ship and crew, wouldn't you agree, Lieutenant?"

Sleggar himself couldn't help but smile as Amuro sat there, unsure what to say. Though he didn't get Sayla's promotion when she took out Sasro, the young ace was properly compensated with the medal, in the Commander's opinion. Indeed, for all of his youthful troubles, the White Devil was moving up in the universe.

"I…" Amuro stammered, trying to find some form of reply. Unfortunately, due to his astonishment and exhaustion, nothing came to mind. "I don't know what to say…"

"You don't have to say anything, Lieutenant. And you've earned that right," Bright replied once again sympathetically. "Whether it was due to the Gundam's capabilities or yours alone, you accomplished the impossible in that battle. And much more, you saved all of us doing it."

Bright gave a small, approving smile to this. It was the first time Amuro had ever seen him smile. "For that at least, consider myself and the crew of the Ark Royal grateful to you, Lieutenant Ray," Bright proclaimed.

Sleggar slapped his charge on the back, protocol be damned. "Alongside myself and the rest of your fellow pilots, Amuro," the Commander added, emphasizing 'your fellow pilots.' "If it hadn't been for you, we would never have made it out of that mess. And Garma and his fellow Zeeks would still be partying on our graves now."

Amuro noticeably turned mellower at the mention of Garma and the associated memories. "Yeah…" he could only let out, suddenly a lot less on top of the universe.

Bright and Sleggar both did well to notice. "I assume it wasn't a pleasant experience," Bright offered.

Amuro shook his head. "Not in the least, Captain," he replied. He then looked toward Sleggar, who nodded to his unspoken inquiry – that Commander Noa knew his Newtype power. With that out of the way, Amuro elaborated. "Before he died, I managed to glimpse into Garma's final thoughts."

Both Commanders looked up in interest at this, allowing Amuro to continue. "It…it wasn't exactly what I thought it would be," he spoke distantly. "Garma didn't die like the other Zeon I killed…"

He took another moment to put it all together. "He wasn't angry about my killing him, nor was he afraid to die. Rather…it felt like he was regretful," Amuro explained. "That he was unable to do something before I killed him. If I remember correctly, his second to last thought was to 'pray' that someone would do it for him…"

Bright raised an eyebrow. "Are you claiming a Zeon prayed, Lieutenant?" he questioned, remembering the universal agnosticism their enemies purportedly abided by.

Amuro shook his head. "I don't know, Captain. It was just what I felt at the time."

Sleggar himself couldn't help but wonder about that as well. Ultimately, however, he knew that question would never be answered. "Forgive me for asking, Lieutenant, but what exactly was Garma Zabi's final thought in this world?"

Amuro had less difficulty remembering that one. "'Glory to the Empire of Zeon,' sir."

"Ah," Sleggar almost slapped himself on the head, having forgotten that cliché line. "Should have guessed."

Bright moved back to the main topic. "I won't pretend to understand what you felt then, Lieutenant, or whether or not Garma Zabi deserved to die. But if you had not forced him to attempt a kamikaze attack, neither you nor I nor Commander Law would be here now. By that time, it was either us or them."

The captain allowed some of his exhaustion to show through if only Amuro could see that he was not alone there. "And it will be like that until the war comes to its formal end, Lieutenant," he finished. "It is unfortunate, but so is war at its whole."

Amuro understood the underlying message there easily enough. "Yes, sir," he acknowledged, affirming that he would continue to defend this ship and its crew for whatever the enemy threw at them.

Again, Bright nodded in gratitude. Knowing that the Lieutenant wanted to spend his break from action elsewhere, the captain opened his mouth to dismiss him. However, before he could utter a single word, his wristcom flashed. "Bridge to Captain Noa."

From the tone of Mirai's voice, Bright could tell that whatever was happening wasn't good. "Noa here."

"Sir, we're picking up a wide-range transmission," Mirai explained, then pausing briefly. "It's coming from Zeon."

Exchanging a glance to Sleggar, Bright let out a sigh. So it begins. "Broadcast shipwide for the record," he commanded before signing off. "You better stay for this as well, Lieutenant."

Suddenly feeling his gut twist, Amuro could only nod and remain where he was seated. Right as Bright turned to face the wall monitor behind his desk, which flickered to display a clear picture.


Zumberg Palace
Zumberg, Zeon, Zeon Empire

For once projecting his emotions, Gihren visited the palace balcony to face his audience. No citizens were in attendance this time; his whole field of vision was filled with the green and sparsely alternate-colored uniforms of the Imperial Forces. All were standing in perfect formation, awaiting their Emperor to speak of the loss they felt within. The same loss that Gihren felt toward his youngest brother, their beloved prince.

It had not been easy to hold this, and it had been very much contested throughout. Dozle especially had been affronted at the idea of giving a state funeral to Garma. Not so much because Sasro had been "denied" that honor before him, but because everyone in the Imperial household knew Garma would have detested it. Even Kycilia, who was still en route but would arrive soon enough, had reinforced that notion with their terse words. And though Galina herself had understood her elder brother's intent, she had reminded Gihren that Garma would rather have had his death and mourning held by his family and loved ones, not the whole empire, especially when so much more Zeon blood had been shed without recognition.

For his life, Gihren wished he could have abided by their, and Garma's, wishes. Even to him, using his brother as a martyr for the cause was distasteful, but ultimately, he knew he had no choice. As bad as Sasro's death at the Valkyrie's hand, Garma's was in a different league. More so than the rest of them – save perhaps Galina – Garma had represented the future of Zeon, only to have died to satisfy the present. Many, especially amongst the Empire's enemies, had taken that as a sign of events to come, as though Zeon was visibly weakening before their eyes, and now was the time to strike. Gihren would be damned if he allowed the lowborn such a rallying cry and, much worse, allowed his people to be taken by their fears and apprehensions. They needed resolution; they needed a call to strength. And they could only receive such from their Emperor, who would speak in their Prince's name.

Thus, Gihren took to his podium, gloved hands grasping the edges almost forcibly. Above him, a holographic portrait of Garma is displayed proudly, projecting his visage to the whole of the empire and beyond. Doing well not to gaze up at that image, Gihren quietly apologized to Garma – wherever he was – for using him like this. At the same time, however, he knew that Garma would have understood, perhaps even more than Dozle and Kycilia could. It was with that knowledge that Gihren at last gazed over the assembled, speaking the awaited words.

"My people," he began reverently. "Sons and Daughters of Zeon!"


Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Warp

Typical, Sayla thought through her ire as she and those around her watched it all begin. She should have known Gihren would be inferior enough to use his late brother as a martyr. Did the "Emperor" do anything that wasn't aligned with his insane cause? Could he even relieve his "superior" bowels without proclaiming "Sieg Zeon" at the end?

"Mere days ago, we lost a great hero to our glorious and noble cause. My brother Garma was slain upon a forgotten world by the lowborn vermin of Earth, the light of his being forever snuffed out from our universe, from Zeon. Even now, I, and those he cherished to his end, mourn him. For he represented the best of us, the best that our civilization had to offer, only to be wrongfully taken from us as our brother Sasro had been not long before…"


Presidential Residence
Dakar, Earth, Earth Federation

"But does this foreshadow our defeat? No. It is a new beginning, a new phase of our great march. For while our enemies have struck us a harsh blow, we shall endure, we shall fight on. Visiting upon them the full force of our vengeance as we continue our drive to the galactic core…"

So you would believe, "Your Majesty", Jamitov mildly thought. He wasn't sure what the Emperor intended for this show, but the President certainly saw it as a desperate effort to stem the coming tide. To make Zeon's enemies quell as its denizens and their allies were affirmed. Jamitov had seen it done many times by different speakers for different groups and nations. However, he had to admit Gihren was likely the best orator he had ever witnessed.

In the end, it would hardly matter. For Jamitov, Garma's death was a turning point in the war. The perfect prelude to Operation Odessa, the time history would recognize as Zeon's – and the rest of the Outer Powers, for that matter – downfall. He and Earth need only wait that much longer overall, allowing Gihren to continue his charade. All the while, I prepared in the background until the time of D-Day was given.


Zumberg Palace
Zumberg, Zeon, Zeon Empire

"Despite our continued losses, despite all that has been inflicted upon us, how have we been able to fight the fight for so long?" Gihren continued as though directly questioning his audience. "It is because our goal in this war is a righteous one. The greatest cause that our empire, our very civilization, has undertaken since its formation a whole millennia ago. A cause that will live on, through the blood of our martyred dead, under their watchful gazes from beyond."

"Only fifteen years ago was this cause thrust upon us, upon the deaths of Emperor Zorin and my father, Chancellor Degwin Zabi. The lowborn of Earth, consumed by fear, struck the first blow, and through their wanton attack, we realized that there would be no peace. No harmony between our superior race and those who would disdain us, who would strip us of all that we value and cherish. Never forget the times when Earth and its fellows within the Inner Powers trampled us! Never forget that which they have forced upon us for centuries! Humiliation, isolation, theft of property, and belittlement of our triumphs! All the while repeatedly proclaiming that they, by right of 'natural birth,' are the superior image of humanity!"

The Emperor then paused, sudden exhaustion welling upon him. "We can never forget this, my people, nor forgive. We, the Empire of Zeon, have long and arduously struggled to achieve our great nation. By blood and iron, we have triumphed, and by blood and iron, we shall continue to triumph, both through our struggles and against our enemies abroad. Our fight is sacred, our cause divine, so much so that even my beloved brother Garma was sacrificed. Why? Why must he, the greatest of us all, be taken?"


The Albany
Cheyenne, Earth, Earth Federation

"Because he was a bastard whelp," Tem muttered before he took another drink of his whiskey sour. That should have been obvious enough, even to a jumped-up demagogue like Gihren. But there was only so much one could do in putting a positive spin on a complete disaster – one inflicted by the virtual hand of God no less – so Tem had to give the Emperor some credit there. Maybe some of his audience would even believe him.

"For eons, the lowborn of the galaxy have shunned us, made every move to oppress us. We must send them a message, but not composed of words. We have already wasted too much time with words. We need action, we need force. Earth and its cohorts must be taught a strong lesson for their sins. Their heinous crimes against the betterment of our race, our very galaxy."


Space Force Base Bhatan
Ananke, Bhatan

"Thus, I declare that this is only the beginning. The first stage of our war is completed, a war that will see Zeon at the very center of this universe, whether in mere days or perhaps even a hundred years. We will see our Empire triumphant and ascend, and our enemies will be forever vanquished…"

Not if we can help it, you highborn son of a bitch, Admiral Wakkein thought as he and the rest of the room's occupants continued to watch the speech. Knowing full well that they all shared the same thought and inclination to fight on.

Behind them all, sitting away from the main group with only Commander Ajan by his side, Fleet Admiral Abraham Revil himself remained silent. His aged but ever-willful eyes were fixed upon the projected image of Emperor Gihren, watching with specific interest as the tyrant began the final lines of his eulogy—or, more precisely, his renewed war declaration.


Zumberg Palace
Zumberg, Zeon, Zeon Empire

"Many of our friends and loved ones have perished valiantly in the face of this vile enemy, an enemy that will never stop until its inevitable defeat. We must never forget what this enemy has done to us! What they have done to our forefathers, and what they would do to our descendants! We must never forget! We must never forgive!"

He raised his hand at the overhead portrait. "Through his courageous sacrifice, Garma has shown us that this is the only path we are to take. By focusing our anger and sorrow, we may yet gain victory! A long-due victory that will see our most cherished nation flourish and ascendant. For such a victory is the greatest tribute we can pay those who sacrifice their lives for us!"

At that, Gihren raised both hands, this time to the assembled. No, to all of Zeon. "Rise, Sons and Daughters of Zeon, Rise! Take your sorrow, and turn it into anger, into strength! Our nation, our empire, thirsts for the strength of its people! The strength that will make the whole of our galaxy and the enemies' hearts shudder! The very strength that will bring us unto providence!"

At last, he raised his fist, calling out with all strength remaining. "SIEG ZEON!"

"SIEG ZEON!" came the reply from across the whole of Zeon and much of the galaxy beyond. "SIEG ZEON! SIEG ZEON! SIEG ZEON!"


Federation Lexington-class fleetcarrier Ark Royal
Warp

The chanting continued for some time, echoing throughout the Ark Royal's decks as her crew looked in clear apprehension. Through the abundant vitriol, they had all understood Gihren's underlying message: that the war was still on. That, for as much grief as Garma's death, had caused him and his empire, Zeon would continue to fight until the galaxy was crushed under its proverbial jackboots. And any who stood in their way, whether Earthnoid or otherwise, would be trampled with the rest.

They also quickly realized this did not bode well for themselves and their ship. After all, they were the ones who had struck that blow; it had been one of their own that had killed Garma. Thus, they understood that they were well within Zeon's crosshairs, so Earth was now even more distant to them. It was not hard to guess that the Zeeks would send their very best after them now; not just the Red Comet, but any of their ace commanders and pilots could be made hounds unto the hunt. What they had dealt with under Garma was only the beginning, while the end, should it ever come, appeared all the more out of reach.

Amidst that number, however, one stood out defiantly. Her sapphire eyes fixed upon the object of her hatred, Sayla Mass – Princess Artesia Som Daikun – gazed upon her father's murderer with palpable fury. Indeed, the first stage of the war was over, but not just for Gihren and his minions. For she, too, would enter the next phase of her war, which would see another of the Zabis dead and scattered and another and another. All until the very last of their lineage was not but a fleeting memory, a horrid nightmare that had since ended. Only then would the galaxy be at peace, and Sayla's demons – and Casval's as well – laid to rest.

Thus, she did well in holding that image of Gihren Zabi in her memory, for it would be at this moment that his end, and his lineage's with him, would well and truly be set into motion. Never to stop until the very name of Zabi was forever cast to silence, never to be uttered again.


END OF ACT II