Gundam Wing: Destiny's Call

by operation meteor

Sequel to Journey to a New Battlefield. It's been two years since the Bloody Valentine War and tensions are rising. When a shadowy group attacks the colony of Armory One, a certain Gundam pilot takes to the battlefield once again. However, little to his knowledge, some old friends are on a journey to his new world. M for language and violence (again, it's war. What do you expect?)

35. Chapter 35

Author's Notes: Hello there! Sorry for the long wait with this, the past several months have been extremely busy for me. Good news is that everything's settled back down, mostly because the big-ticket item's out of the way; yours truly is now a homeowner! Well, me and my younger brother, the two of us just finished moving into a new condo. Nice to finally have some space to spread out, the room at the acquaintance's place I've been renting the past ten years was getting awfully full, mostly of books. Anyway, now that I have all that wrapped up, the writing can get back on track.

Only one song for the chapter: "Voodoo" by Godsmack. I think you'll find it quite fitting for the scene it plays in!

Enjoy!

Episode Thirty-Five: Web of Intrigue

After listening attentively to his aide's update, Durandal smiled and inclined his head. "Thank you for notifying me so promptly, Amber. It's good to have a positive development, especially considering prior recent events."

His brown-haired assistant nodded. "Of course, Chairman."

Durandal turned his attention back to the viewport before him. "If there's no other news to report, you are dismissed."

His aide hastened to exit, leaving the lounge occupied by just Durandal and Meer. The Chairman's brow furrowed as he pondered the latest information. While Sovereign's destruction was most welcome news, the fact that a ZAFT strike team had played a role in the operation was something of a wrinkle. The benefits were undeniable; the most experienced and talented pilots in ZAFT had demonstrated their prowess against the Mobile Dolls, and them playing a key role in the dreadnought's downfall gave Durandal a much-needed propaganda win in the aftermath of the Iceland debacle. However, the big problem was that he had given no orders to launch such an operation in the first place. Sure, now that it was over and done, Durandal was not above taking advantage of the mission's success for his own benefit, but the fact that a ZAFT strike team from a fleet that had been under strict orders to withdraw back to Gibraltar presented a problem.

One from an unlikely source, Durandal mused, Talia…

In hindsight, perhaps the Chairman should have seen it coming. Talia had been quite vocal in her desire for intervention against Sovereign, and her authority as a FAITH member gave her a potent tool for action. She had clearly utilized it, and her dispatching of a strike team had walked a very fine line between taking initiative and outright insubordination. Durandal supposed that he had only himself to blame there; after all, his orders were for the fleet to continue its withdrawal, and Talia had abided by the strict wording of the command by only dispatching a mobile suit strike team instead of diverting any warships. That the operation had ended in resounding success served to provide valuable after-the-fact shielding, but even if an inquiry were raised, Talia had not necessarily done anything that she could be charged with. Her FAITH authority provided protection for her creative interpretation of orders and individual action; all she had really done was use the tool Durandal had given her.

Durandal could not even be mad at her for it, if he was honest. Her determination to do what she believed was right, and her ingenuity in the face of the obstacle that Durandal's order had presented, were admirable. The ability for trusted operatives like her to take such independent action was part of why FAITH had been created in the first place, and Talia had fulfilled the spirit of the organization's purpose even as she'd defied the spirit of Durandal's order. She had demonstrated courage and intelligence, just two of the many traits that had drawn Durandal to her all those years ago…

…and would she still be the woman he loved if she had done anything less?

"And Rey went along with her operation," Durandal murmured as he stared out through the viewport at the stars beyond, "so perhaps I was wrong…"

"Wrong about what, Chairman?" Meer chimed in.

Looking to his right, Durandal smiled and shook his head. "Nothing you need concern yourself with."

Sitting on the couch beside him, Meer tried and failed to stifle a yawn. "Are… are you sure? If there's anything I can help with…"

Durandal held up a hand. "I appreciate the sentiment, my dear, but I promise that you have nothing to worry about. You should concern yourself more with getting proper rest."

Meer sighed. "I know, but… I can't sleep well on ships for some reason. Not like in the PLANTs or on Earth… it feels strange. I don't really know how to describe it."

Durandal could sympathize. "Whether on Earth or in a space colony, there's a sense of being anchored that makes sleep come more naturally. On a ship, that sense is lacking, even in areas of the vessel with artificial gravity. It takes time to become accustomed, and you've gone on very few long trips, yes?"

Meer nodded. "I'm used to just short shuttle flights between colonies. The longest trip I ever took was the one from the PLANTs to Gibraltar earlier in the war… and now this flight home."

Durandal reached out to gently pat her on the shoulder. "Well, we'll be home soon enough, and you'll have a bit of time to rest."

Meer blinked in confusion. "But what about my work? Don't you need me addressing the people, calming them? This is a critical time for you, right?"

"It is," Durandal conceded, "but for now, my struggle will be contained to an arena that I know quite well. I will need your calming voice in the public sphere very soon, but I'm hardly the only one among us who's been burning the candle at both ends. I've spoken to your manager, and Sarah's agreed with me that you could use a bit of downtime. She's already cleared your schedule for the rest of today, and granted you a late start for tomorrow."

Meer's eyes widened. "Chairman… are you sure?"

Durandal nodded. "Quite so."

Meer bowed. "Thank you, Chairman. I promise that I'll work harder than ever when I return."

Durandal smiled. "I don't doubt that for a moment. For now, simply go home and rest. Consider that your duty."

He turned his attention back to the viewport and the scores of ZAFT warships that were now coming into view. As the Supreme Council Chairman, Durandal naturally represented a high-profile target for the enemies of the PLANTs, and so his shuttle had docked with the Nazca-class destroyer Anaximander shortly after reaching orbit. With two more destroyers as escorts, the Anaximander had made haste towards L5, its commander conscious of the need to reach friendly space before the Earth Alliance realized that the Chairman was out in the open. While there had been a few brief moments of concern as hostile patrols had been detected, efforts at evasion had been successful, as none of the patrols in question had included any of the new Typhoon-class destroyers, the only warship in the Atlantic Federation's arsenal capable of matching the Nazca-class's speed. Now, the Anaximander and her escorts were entering the Exclusion Grid, which meant she was finally in safe space.

Only safe harbor from my martial enemy, Durandal thought, I'm sure that my political foes are sharpening their knives even now.

Once the vessel docked in Aprilius One, the Chairman and his songstress would go their separate ways. Meer would be taken home and allowed the luxury of quiet relaxation. Durandal would be taken to the PLANT Supreme Council Building. First, he would meet with the SIB. After that, he would face his colleagues on the Supreme Council…

…and fight tooth and nail to preserve his position.

….

Despite her role as 'Lacus Clyne,' Meer's residence in Aprilius One was rather modest. Sure, by any normal person's standards, it would not seem that way; a suite in the series of gleaming cylindrical towers that made up Glenn Spires most certainly could not be afforded on the average worker's salary. A residential complex in heart of the capital's governing district, Glenn Spires catered to wealthy clientele who still desired at least a modicum of discretion. Its inhabitants ranged from upper-level government officials and high-ranking ZAFT officers to corporate executives, lobbyists, and financiers. Entertainment and pop-culture figures generally were not the sort who favored the more subdued form of luxury that Glenn Spires prided itself in, and thus it was low on the list of places anyone who might seek out the resurfaced 'Lacus Clyne' was likely to search. Extensive but carefully concealed security measures were quite sufficient for sending the paparazzi packing, so the well-to-do residents could be confident that their privacy was protected. It was the perfect place for the Chairman to hide his imposter songstress when she was not needed, and his staff had stressed early on to Meer the importance of keeping a low profile. The suite that was her home in the capital was not even registered under her public persona, let alone her real name, with an alias on the books instead.

Measures to keep the whereabouts of 'Lacus Clyne' a secret went further than fake names on a registry. While camera crews had been waiting at the dock and captured shots of both her and Chairman Durandal leaving the Anaximander, as soon as the songstress and her patron were out of the public eye, Meer's appearance was drastically changed. Spirited away by her staff to a private room, she'd swapped her glamorous stage outfit for a simple pair of jeans and a dark grey hooded sweatshirt over a white blouse. Tying her pink hair up in a bun so it would be easier to hide beneath the hood while donning a pair of sunglasses, Meer had then been hustled off to a black sedan, identical to any number of vehicles in the government motor pool. From there, she'd been whisked through the busy streets of Aprilius One and into the parking lot beneath Glenn Spires. A quick elevator ride to the fourteenth floor later, and she was left alone at the door of her residence.

I might be on leave now, she thought as she unlocked the door and stepped inside, but how am I supposed to relax with everything that's going on?

Taking off her shoes and hooded sweatshirt, she placed them both in a small closet just to the right of the doorway before strolling into the middle of the suite. It was hardly a penthouse, but it was far from a simple apartment, either. The broad living room she found herself in, dominated by a long black sectional couch and a wide-screen television mounted on the far wall, could have comfortably hosted a substantial party, as could the wide dining room on the opposite side. The cleaning staff must have been through recently, for the tabletop and kitchen counters gleamed with almost a mirror-sheen, along with a hint of disinfectant in the air. A hallway at the back led to a large bedroom and the spacious bathroom connected to it, and the suite even had three guest rooms and a secondary bathroom, along with a modest laundry room.

Meer had no bags on her; her luggage would be shipped over from the docks, likely arriving later that afternoon. Having taken a quick meal shortly before the destroyer had docked and feeling unsure of what to do with herself, Meer untied her hair before plopping down on the couch. Stretching her arms, she closed her eyes and leaned back, trying to place her jumble of thoughts in order.

The Chairman had told her not to worry about him, but for Meer, that order was impossible to obey. Her position, perhaps her very life, was tied to his fate. While she prayed for the Chairman's success at the impending Supreme Council session, something Durandal had seemed quite confident of, she could not help but fear the worst-case scenario. If the Council determined that the disaster at Heaven's Base merited a confidence vote and subsequent removal, then whoever took Durandal's place would undoubtedly seek her out to shore up their support. Should that happen, there was the very real chance that whoever replaced Durandal or one of their supporters would place her under fresh scrutiny and realize that something did not add up. For Meer, exposure meant the death of the persona she had worked so hard to take on, something that terrified her more than whatever legal consequences she might suffer.

Meer let out a weary breath and shook her head. She was supposed to be relaxing, not stressing herself out. The Supreme Council session and its outcomes were beyond her control; fretting over them would accomplish nothing, and in fact detracted from getting any form of rest. She really should have just retired to her room for some proper sleep, given how little she'd gotten aboard the Anaximander, but Meer was too restless for that. Absent any better ideas, she picked a remote off the coffee table before her and turned on the TV, flicking over to a news channel.

Meer was not sure what she hoped to see, but when the broadcast she'd tuned into showed footage of mobile suits doing battle around a massive dark grey titan of a warship, all weariness was suddenly banished as she immediately leaned forward and turned up the volume. While she was already aware that Sovereign had been destroyed thanks to being present with the Chairman when he'd received the news, the dreadnought itself wasn't what Meer cared about right now. Tuning out the reporter's voice, she focused solely on the footage.

While hardly an expert in identifying mobile suits, Meer's preparation to take on Lacus's identity along with her time at Gibraltar meant that she would at least do better than the average civilian at picking out individual units in a crowd. The camera footage appeared to have been taken from the ground, and Meer marveled at the bravery of whatever crew was responsible for it. Given the dire losses suffered amongst journalists during the European invasion and especially during the Paris attack, any reporter who got this close to the action now was not some blowhard chasing the limelight; they were dedicated to showing the world what was really happening, risks be damned.

There were two particular mobile suits that Meer sought out in the footage. Since the camera crew had been justifiably focused on Sovereign herself, Meer found it rather difficult to make out the details of individual machines. Still, it was just a few seconds before she spotted a trail of pinkish-red light flash across the screen. Meer felt certain that it was from the Destiny, and even thought she spotted the Gundam's distinctive wings.

If Athrun had fallen, you'd know, she told herself, Chairman Durandal would've learned of it and told you immediately. He's alive; you don't need news footage to tell you that.

It was still comforting to see Athrun on the screen, even if it was just for a few seconds and only the mobile suit he was piloting. While Meer regrettably hadn't become as close to him as she wanted to before being ordered to leave Earth, she still cared for his well-being. Even if he clearly wasn't comfortable with her taking on the role of his fiancé, he'd still been kind to her whenever they'd spoken. If he fell, the public would no doubt expect 'Lacus' to make a show of mourning, and Meer would be able to sell it for a very simple reason; her grief would be sincere. That she could see him flying in the broadcast reassured her that Athrun was still alive. He'd survived epic clashes such as the Second Battle of Jachin Due, Berlin, and Heaven's Base; he wasn't about to go down now.

The footage then shifted to another cut, and Meer's heart leapt as she found the second mobile suit she had been searching for. In fact, it was one she had been hoping to see even more than the Destiny, and it wound up being much easier to identify. It was a dark blue machine, spitting out a storm of bullets and missiles, with periodic salvos of particle beams thrown in for good measure; Gundam Heavyarms Arsenal.

"Trowa…" she whispered as she looked on, captivated by the footage.

The camera only stayed on him for a few seconds before shifting, and Meer bit back a curse. More than even Athrun, Meer wanted to know that Trowa had survived the battle. She needed him to survive, because…

…why?

Rationally, it did not make much sense. Trowa was no longer an ally of ZAFT or the Chairman's. In fact, he was an enemy; he'd been part of the force that had defeated ZAFT's Operation: Angel Down. Meer should have felt only hostility towards him now, whether it be reluctant or otherwise. In siding with what Durandal had characterized as the 'rogue element' that was Terminal, Trowa had made himself a threat to the Chairman's vision for a peaceful world.

And yet…

…Meer was desperate to see him again.

To speak with him again.

This strange pilot who had come out of nowhere…

…and who just might be the only person in the entire world that could truly understand her.

"As I said at the start, you're suffering a crisis of identity. I think our conversations here and back at Diocuia were the few times in this war that you've been your true self. Your interactions with everyone else, consciously or otherwise, are in the persona that you took on for this role… and it's threatening to consume you in more ways than one."

His words from their last conversation at Gibraltar echoed in Meer's mind as she continued watching the broadcast, which culminated in a shot of Sovereign's destruction. Before the footage from the battlefield ended, there was one last shot of the Gundams, and Meer was relieved beyond words to see Heavyarms Arsenal among them.

Why did that Gundam's pilot seem to grasp so well just what Meer was going through? What had Trowa experienced that gave him such insight? What had his crisis of identity been…

…and could he save Meer from hers?

She would have given anything to have him with her here and now to find out.

….

Hardly an auspicious start, Durandal thought as Ali Kasim, the Legislative Committee Chair and representative for Januarius City on the Supreme Council, was going over the failures of the Heaven's Base attack with a fine-toothed comb, but more or less within expectations. I'll wager you've been chomping at the bit for just this moment, Kasim…

One of four current members who had cut their teeth in the First Bloody Valentine War's Supreme Council, Ali Kasim was a somewhat controversial figure to those who closely followed PLANT politics. Cleanly shaven, with neatly-cut brown hair and sharp brown eyes, Kasim was as popular with his Januarius City constituents as he was distrusted by his colleagues on the Supreme Council. His appeal in Januarius City came from his effectiveness as head of the Legislative Committee in ensuring that his constituents got a good bit more than their fair share of the pie when the yearly appropriations session came around. Ample funding for new public works in Januarius City combined with well-cultivated relationships in local political circles had granted him strong public support.

However, within the ruling elite, he was regarded as a shapeshifter, and with good reason. Kasim had a nose for power and one finger always testing the political winds. He'd first entered the Supreme Council as a member of Siegel Clyne's moderate faction, but as the electoral campaign had heated up between his benefactor and Patrick Zala while public sentiment rapidly shifted towards the radicals, Kasim had quite publicly hedged his bets. Unfortunately for Kasim, this did not lead quite where he had hoped. When Patrick Zala's radical faction won their governing majority, Kasim had been decisively defeated. Yet while Kasim's seat on the Supreme Council had been lost to the hardliner Maximilian Leval, the veteran politician's shift towards a centrist stance combined with his intimate knowledge and connections in the legislative apparatus made him difficult to truly dispose of, and he had been invited by his former opponent to serve in an advisory role. Regarded with suspicion by both the moderate and radical faction from that point onward, Kasim nevertheless survived the increasingly draconian environment of Patrick Zala's regime by keeping his head down and focusing purely on helping Leval shepherd whatever legislation came before him to passage. In the eyes of the radical faction, Kasim might not have been a comrade or even a loosely-defined ally, but he was a useful tool for enacting their agenda. Kasim himself could plausibly claim no direct involvement in the radicals' eventual genocide campaign, but his expertise in navigating the legislative process had been at their disposal just the same.

Following the Second Battle of Jachin Due and the end of the First Bloody Valentine War, Kasim had been investigated and publicly cleared of having a role in Patrick Zala's campaign of Natural annihilation. Without missing a beat, Kasim openly condemned the radical faction, ensuring his popular appeal in Januarius City remained strong enough to reclaim his seat in the next election by a comfortable margin. After Eileen Canaver had abdicated her position as Provisional Supreme Council Chairwoman and Durandal had won the leadership post, Kasim wasted no time in allying himself with the new Chairman's ascendant faction. While Durandal publicly welcomed his support and was not above using his talents just as Siegel Clyne and Patrick Zala had done before, he was no less wary of Kasim as his predecessor had been. Kasim had long been adjacent to power rather than in the driver's seat himself, and Durandal suspected that his ambitions had only grown stronger over the years, regardless the mask he wore as being nothing more than a dutiful public servant of both Januarius City and the broader PLANTs. Indeed, Kasim had presented a loyal front through most of the Second Bloody Valentine War as ZAFT's efforts in outer space and on Earth met with success, but now that an offensive as important as the attack on Heaven's Base had failed in such spectacular fashion, the veteran political operator smelled blood in the water. Now he was the lead shark circling wounded prey, and other opportunists on the Supreme Council were emboldened to follow suit.

One of those opportunists was another veteran of older Councils, Parnel Jesek. A venerable statesman whose raven-hair was now showing more than a hint of graying, he had long been November City's representative on the Supreme Council. Like Kasim, Jesek had originally come onto the Supreme Council as an ally of Siegel Clyne, though his connection to the moderate faction had been that of a fellow traveler rather than an open member. Jesek had also shared Kasim's fate in being decisively defeated in the Council elections which had given the radical faction control of government. The degree of independence Jesek had maintained might not have saved his seat, but it did save his life when Patrick Zala came to power. Unlike Kasim who had become both publicly and practically neutral once the radicals tightened their grip on power, Jesek was strongly suspected of having maintained covert lines of communication with Siegel Clyne's followers. Nothing was ever conclusively proven, and his support within November City's local political circles despite the recent crushing electoral defeat made him rather difficult for the radical faction to openly move against. Jesek wisely kept a low profile, riding out the oppression of Patrick Zala's regime in relative obscurity.

Following the First Bloody Valentine War's conclusion, the utter shock and horror at the radical faction's attempted genocide of Naturals had resulted in a massive shift in public opinion across the PLANTs, and this very much included November City. Seizing the moment, Jesek returned to political life and easily reclaimed his old Supreme Council seat in the new elections. While he'd publicly supported ZAFT acting in a defensive capacity once the Second Bloody Valentine War was underway, Jesek had raised objections to the seizure of new territory on Earth despite Durandal and the Defense Council's protestations that the acquisition of Diocuia and the Suez Canal were necessary for securing the PLANTs' position and granting them valuable leverage once the peace negotiations finally came. He would most certainly have not favored the invasion of Iceland, which made him an ally of convenience for Kasim now that the Heaven's Base attack had blown up in Durandal's face.

He's letting Kasim take the lead, Durandal silently noted as his gaze lingered on November City's representative, providing support, but not setting the tone. That's his usual style. A big fish in his home pond, but in this arena he's a follower, not a leader. I wonder if he's been in contact with the Clyne Faction… I should see if the security services have observed him making any connections with old friends later.

Durandal could at least take comfort in the knowledge that not all of the old Council veterans were lining up to take shots at him. The Junius City representative and chair of the Judicial Committee, Louise Leitner, had already stood up more than once in this session to offer rebuttals for Kasim and Jesek's attacks. An iron matron of a woman, the bangs of her short brown hair framing firm and unyielding brown eyes, she was a survivor of the old radical faction. As her constituents had included those lost in the Bloody Valentine Tragedy, she had naturally become a firm supporter of Patrick Zala. Curiously, though, her zeal for defending the PLANTs and taking the fight to the Earth Alliance stopped well short of the Natural extermination that the most hardcore of the radicals had ultimately pursued. Having dug thoroughly into her background before inviting her into his political camp, Durandal eventually realized that she was on the benign end of what in L5 politics was referred to in uncomfortable whispers as the 'Coordinator Supremacy Spectrum.'

After the actions of Patrick Zala and his most devoted followers in the radical faction had helped bring the Earth Sphere to the brink of apocalypse, the vast majority of L5's citizens would have been nonplussed to say the least at hearing the words 'benign' and 'Coordinator Supremacy Spectrum' in the same sentence. It would have been a reasonable reaction, too, given the crimes of the past regime. However, the reason why the word 'Spectrum' was included with the term provided a clear hint to those who could look past their initial gut reaction and study the matter in further detail; put simply, not all radicals were cut from the same cloth. Leitner was a particularly fascinating case in Durandal's eyes, for while her representing the colony city that included Junius Seven meant she would've had more reason than most to embrace the same extremism as Patrick Zala and others, her personal ideology was downright merciful compared to her faction's leader. She was among those in the unofficial supremacy movement who believed that being a Coordinator came with the obligation to use their heightened mental and physical abilities for the benefit of all mankind.

The notion was frequently described as a genetic equivalent of the classic noblesse oblige concept, and Leitner had lived by it to a remarkable degree. While unwavering in her support for strengthening ZAFT as the means for securing a safe future for Coordinators, when Patrick Zala's regime had begun clamping down on the freedoms of Naturals residing in the PLANTs, Leitner had worked behind the scenes to protect those her colleagues were targeting in her home constituency. Many Naturals had suddenly been brought into local government and public service jobs within Junius City and designated 'vital personnel' despite that label being dubius at best for some of their roles, while more had simply disappeared outright only to reemerge when the conflict was over claiming that Leitner and her allies had helped them go into hiding. Those actions had gone a long way towards saving Leitner's political career once the harsh investigative spotlight had fallen upon radical faction members after the war, and they played no small influence on Durandal's decision to bring her into his circle of allies. Despite having been in the same political party as Patrick Zala, Leitner had demonstrated the ethical and moral fortitude to act against his worst instincts, even if that had been covertly rather than the eventual open and militant opposition embodied by the Clyne Faction. She had remained steadfastly loyal to the PLANTs and ZAFT while using the power and connections of her position to protect those endangered by her nation's leadership, working within the system rather than outright rebelling. As Durandal's long-term designs would essentially see Leitner's beliefs codified and enforced across the Earth Sphere, to the betterment of humanity, it meant he could safely classify her as a stalwart supporter.

As long as she remains in my corner, Durandal thought, then the rest of my support bloc should stay intact. I'd be up the proverbial creek and then some if the 'Steel Thorn' of Junius City turned against me.

The last of the old Council veterans, Orson White, had already fallen in line with Leitner to defend Durandal. Representative of Sextilis City and chair of the Administrative Committee, White was hardly as famous as his colleagues despite matching them in experience. With neatly-trimmed brown hair and brown eyes, he was quite plain in both appearance and political record. Having come into government as a centrist, he had read the political winds and shifted over to the radical faction's camp just enough to ride their coattails in their election victory during the First Bloody Valentine War. Like Leitner, he had stopped well short of advocating for the extermination of Naturals, and he had taken similar steps to protect Naturals residing within the Sextilis City colonies, actions which had likewise preserved his future electoral prospects. While lackluster when it came to charisma, White was able to continually win reelection thanks to his reputation as an effective navigator of bureaucracy, efficiently ensuring that legislation or executive orders went from mere words and documents to practical implementation. It was why he had remained chair of the Administrative Committee regardless of whose party held power, with Durandal himself having gone out of his way to bring White into his camp precisely because of his prowess in tackling the thorny managerial and regulatory aspects of day-to-day governance. White did not make waves of any sort, and he had no inclinations towards office higher than his own; he simply wanted to ensure that the machinery of state continued chugging along smoothly, a trait that Durandal regarded as priceless.

The rest of the Council was new blood, having been swept into power through the same popular demand for change that had brought Durandal into the Chairmanship. Some were strong supporters of Durandal, while others were either neutral or openly oppositional. Neu Kazaefsky, representing Februarius City, was one of his loyalists. A blue-eyed woman with blonde-hair that was smoothly swept back save for the forward-angled bangs framing her face, she was the youngest of the newcomers at only twenty-nine years old. Serving on the Administrative Committee, she was an idealist, having campaigned on peaceful reconciliation and future cooperation with the nations of Earth. However, her idealism did not blind her to harsh geopolitical reality, which was why she had supported Durandal's push for expanding and upgrading ZAFT's arsenal of warships and mobile suits to the very limits of the Treaty of Junius Seven. While Durandal had been mildly concerned about her potential reaction once word of the new nuclear-powered mobile suits like Destiny and Legend became widespread, she had pleasantly surprised him by not offering so much as a peep of opposition.

Seeing as the Atlantic Federation completely disregarded the treaty by covertly rebuilding their nuclear arsenal, Durandal mused, I suppose Kazaefsky was unlikely to criticize the development of new nuclear-powered mobile suits. After all, the enemy's already attempted a second round of Armageddon against us; Destiny and Legend are small potatoes by comparison. Then again, Kazaefsky doesn't know what else is in the works…

While he knew the young councilwoman was aligned with him ideologically, Durandal had to wonder if her steadfast loyalty would remain intact once the weapon that would help enforce his planned new world order was finally unveiled. As it would be a lynchpin in securing the future peace of the Earth Sphere, there was a good chance that she would see it as an unfortunate necessity, much as she had ZAFT's armaments buildup and the Armory One colony initiative. If she did not…

…well, Durandal had contingencies in place, even if he was reluctant to employ them.

Another loyal member of Durandal's voting bloc was Eduardo Lee of Martius City. A member of the National Defense Committee, which provided civilian oversight for the Defense Council and ZAFT more broadly, he was a stern man in his late thirties with dark green hair and grey eyes. While the severe losses ZAFT's invasion force had suffered during the Heaven's Base operation would hardly do Durandal any favors in Lee's eyes, the Chairman had already been privately reassured prior to the session via email that he would continue supporting him. It should have gone without saying; after all, Lee had backed Durandal to the hilt in his decision to launch the operation in the first place. Lee was a man who favored decisive action, and the Heaven's Base assault had been conceived as just that; a chance to seize one of the enemy's last major strongholds on Earth now that North America had erupted into civil war, dealing a crippling blow to the Atlantic Federation's surface forces. That the operation had blown up in their faces meant that Lee had no choice but to back his ideological comrade before the inquiry lest they both go down separately. After all, the Supreme Council might currently see Durandal as the focal point of this disaster, but if he was ousted, attention would then turn towards his most ardent supporters.

Lee has ambition to spare, Durandal thought, but his survival instincts outweigh it. He's already hitched his political fortunes to mine, and he knows that presenting a united front is key to preserving both our careers. He won't be a problem.

Alan Clarzec, another member of the National Defense Committee, was a more pressing concern. In his early forties, he made for a rather rigid figure, with his gray hair cut in traditional military fashion while his black eyes had a cool edge to them. Formerly a member of ZAFT who had overseen the Naval Procurement Division, he'd left the service following the First Bloody Valentine War's conclusion and entered civilian politics, using the connections he'd forged in both military and government circles to rapidly assemble a powerbase in Maius City. As Maius City's inhabitants had outsized representation in both the civilian and military shipbuilding industry, Clarzec's name was widely known even before he had gone into politics, and quite favorably to boot; contracts he'd negotiated during his time in the Naval Procurement Division had resulted in constant and very-high paying work for the shipyard employees, giving him an almost tailor-made voting bloc. His work in ensuring continued contracts for maintenance and new construction even after the large-scale drawdown after the First Bloody Valentine War had won him the adoration of his core constituency, resulting in a commanding electoral performance which had easily won him his Supreme Council seat.

At first glance, Clarzec might seem like a natural ally to Durandal. After all, the new armaments programs included substantial work for the shipbuilding industry, which meant Clarzec's core voting bloc would continue receiving hefty paychecks for their vital efforts. However, while he had not been a frontline officer, Clarzec's time in ZAFT had still served well in acquainting him with the horrors of war. He had lost many friends over the course of the conflict, especially during the Second Battle of Jachin Due. While still favoring a strong military, Clarzec's stance was that ZAFT should purely serve to defend the PLANTs, and the new territorial conquests on Earth once the Second Bloody Valentine War had gotten underway did not sit well with him. Even early in the conflict when things had been going well, Clarzec had strongly criticized the offensive actions on the surface despite their strategic necessity. He had firmly opposed the Heaven's Base assault, advocating instead for a campaign centered around using ZAFT's substantial fleet of Vosgulov-class carrier/submarines to interdict any shipping bound to or from Iceland with the goal of strangling the stronghold's supply lines. Considering the catastrophic losses the invasion force had suffered, Clarzec's arguments for a naval blockade now seemed prescient, and he had ammunition to spare for his attacks on Durandal.

Joining Clarzec in the opposition bloc was the representative of Quintilis City, George Adaman. Sitting on the Legislative Committee, he was a somewhat lanky man in his late thirties, with short-cut light brown hair and bright green eyes. A career public servant at heart, he'd gotten his start in the humble local politics of his home colony, rising from a lowly city councilman to his current position thanks to his reputation as an efficient legislator. Like the higher-profile Kasim, Adaman had proven quite adept at navigating the intricacies of statecraft, particularly when it came to hammering out the necessary compromises between rival officials to ensure proposed bills became law. However, unlike Kasim, Adaman was much more consistent when it came to his political loyalties.

Unfortunately for Durandal, Adaman's consistent loyalty was not to him or his wider faction. In fact, from the moment Durandal had taken power, Adaman had questioned practically every policy ranging from the initial proposal for Armory One right up to the Heaven's Base operation. Having campaigned as an advocate for stability in the wake of the First Bloody Valentine War, Adaman's gripes with Durandal frequently came down to the fact that many of the new Chairman's policy preferences appeared to raise tensions within the Earth Sphere. While Durandal had brushed off those concerns in the past, privately he had to wonder just how much Adaman knew or suspected of his real goals. After all, while he could never admit it publicly, his intentions behind the new armament programs and Armory One's placement just outside the L4 debris field were to raise tensions; his vision for the future could not be enacted otherwise.

Only a humanity pummeled by the rapidly-repeated trauma of global warfare would be willing to accept the necessary sacrifices for a truly lasting peace, Durandal thought, one that must be imposed in order to finally contain and subdue our species' worst instincts. The First Bloody Valentine War was insufficient, despite the apocalyptic stakes of its final battle. Adaman and his ilk would never accept the radical solution required to force mankind's evolution into something beyond its current chaotic incarnation. They remain wedded to the antiquated notion of self-determination, and to the belief that only a peace forged by mutual consensus can last. Those ideals have already been discredited by this new war. Yes, I did my part in laying the groundwork, but it was LOGOS who so obligingly threw the first punch.

Had Adaman recognized the deliberate-yet-subtle pattern of provocation in Durandal's policies before the outbreak of war? His vocal criticisms had only grown louder after the Armory One attack, and he had begun frequenting establishments once known to be gathering spots for Clyne Faction members to discuss ideas and policy before Patrick Zala had forced them underground. Was he in contact with Terminal? Despite Durandal's best efforts, weeding out the contact network they'd established within the PLANTs during and after the First Bloody Valentine War had proven so far to be an exercise in futility. If Adaman's activities and criticisms had gotten Durandal's attention, then they would almost certainly have drawn the eyes and ears of Lacus Clyne's supporters as well. The councilman would warrant much closer observation, especially seeing as the Heaven's Base debacle appeared to have emboldened him.

Adaman was not the only councilor whose suspicions Durandal had increasingly been worrying about. Christa Orberg of September City was another member of the opposition, and a far more formidable adversary than the likes of Adaman. A sharp blue-eyed woman in her early thirties who kept her dark brown hair tied up in a neat bun, she had run for Eileen Canaver's seat when the latter had eventually stepped down following her stint as Provisional Supreme Council Chairwoman at the end of the First Bloody Valentine War. In fact, Orberg was Canaver's successor in more ways than one; not only had she taken the chair of the Diplomatic Committee, she had been mentored by Canaver herself for the position. Orberg had been considered Canaver's protegee going back to the First Bloody Valentine War, and while the two of them had conspicuously kept their distance from each other once Orberg had assumed her new post, Durandal was all but certain that they remained in contact privately.

While Orberg had not opposed the new armament programs, having understood the need for force upgrades and maintaining a potent deterrent against future aggression, it was the decision to have Armory One located at L4 instead of L5 which had pushed her firmly into the camp of Durandal's rivals. As head of the Diplomatic Committee, Orberg grasped better than most the provocative impact of merely announcing such a move, let alone commencing the actual construction. From there, her opposition to Durandal's policies had only grown, with the new surface conquests at Diocuia and Suez providing fresh fodder for her criticisms despite their strategic importance. While she had conceded the point on those acquisitions potentially providing leverage in future peace negotiations, that knowledge was hardly enough to placate her. When the Atlantic Federation had commenced its invasion of Europe, resulting in the Eurasian Federation officially seceding from the Earth Alliance, Orberg had argued for pursuing a separate peace treaty with Moscow, or at least a non-aggression pact that left the door open for cooperation against the Atlantic Federation.

Had Durandal been pursuing a more conventional foreign policy, he would have agreed with her position; not only did it remove one official enemy from consideration, but it presented the possibility of gaining a former foe as an ally against the far-more aggressive adversary that was the Atlantic Federation. Likewise, once the Orb Union was back under Chief Representative Cagalli Yula Athha's de facto rule, Orberg had advocated for opening negotiations, but Durandal had once again shot her down despite the obvious benefits. He'd taken the public position that both the Eurasian Federation and the Orb Union remained untrustworthy as diplomatic partners, seeing as they'd already broken agreements with their former ally. Even he knew that it was a flimsy argument at best; the Eurasian Federation's reluctance for greater involvement in the war while they'd been part of the Earth Alliance clearly signaled their rift with the Atlantic Federation even before relations between the two nations had become openly hostile, so they would've likely been open to a new diplomatic arrangement with ZAFT and have no reason not to uphold it. As for the Orb Union, it was clear as day that they had been pressured by the Atlantic Federation into allying with the Earth Alliance, and the ease with which Cagalli had eventually taken back her government and abandoned its friendly relationship with Washington D.C. pointed to said relationship having little real support in Orb outside of the now-disgraced Seiran family and their allies. Seeing as the public had not even made a token gesture of mourning Yuna and then Unato Seiran when they'd been killed, it was obvious to all that the majority of the population had never bought into their desire for alignment with the Earth Alliance. There were fertile grounds for Orberg's proposed negotiations, and Durandal's flat refusal to engage in them was a clear signal to any savvy political operator or observer that his real policy positions were far more aggressive than anything he had publicly proclaimed.

The North American resistance throws another wrinkle into things, Durandal bitterly mused, as they're another party Orberg would no doubt seek to open talks with should they take the Atlantic Federation mainland… and according to SIB estimates, they have a real shot at doing so. With the dreadnought destroyed, the Atlantic Federation's once more on the backfoot, their only secure territory shrunk to Iceland and the region they've secured around the Anchorage mass driver. The rest of the North American continent is contested in civil war, and the Atlantic Federation no longer holds popular support. If the resistance triumphs on the ground, Orberg will push for negotiations, and she'll have serious support… she could deadlock the Council, possibly even peel off a vote or two from my bloc.

It was an ironic situation; the North American resistance's goal of overthrowing an Atlantic Federation government that sought the extermination of Coordinators presented a threat to the long-term vision of the leader of the Coordinator nation. If the resistance succeeded in taking power, the people of the PLANTs would undoubtedly be open to peace talks with them, even if they'd still regard the Americans warily to say the least. The problem was that Durandal's dream of a humanity finally at lasting peace required the very worst of the worst to continue ruling the Atlantic Federation until the war's climax so he would have an easy target to rally his people against. LOGOS and Blue Cosmos running Earth's most powerful country presented an extremely clear and existential threat to not just the PLANTs, but the entire Earth Sphere; the perfect foil for Durandal to play off when the time came to unveil the truth of his grand design to the world. If the insatiable oligarchs and their bloodthirsty pawns were deposed in favor of a conciliatory administration that accepted not just the existence but the rights and dignity of Coordinators, then the people of L5 would see no further reason to keep up hostilities. The raging inferno of war that was necessary to give birth to a new world order would fizzle out, leaving humanity free to repeat the cycle all over again and rendering the life's work of Durandal moot.

If I refused to engage in talks under those circumstances, Durandal thought grimly, Orberg could easily flip the Supreme Council against me. A confidence vote would follow, and I'd be ousted. In fact, at the rate things are currently progressing, that's the most likely scenario for this war's end. I may need to take to take drastic measures to get events back on track…

While Orberg was no small matter of concern, the final two members of the Supreme Council were much more favorably disposed towards Durandal. One of them, Ricardo Orff of October City, was not strictly in Durandal's camp, but the ostensibly 'neutral' councilman had been a fairly consistent vote in support during council sessions under his tenure, and that didn't seem likely to change today. A blond-haired and grey-eyed man in his late thirties, Orff was a member of the National Defense Committee. Having previously served in ZAFT as head of the organization's Public Relations Board, mostly charged with organizing recruitment campaigns and reputation management, he was a surprisingly subdued figure for someone who had chosen to enter big-league politics. Concise and to-the-point in campaigning and at work, he had won his Supreme Council seat largely through harsh repudiation of the radical faction member that preceded him, Herman Gould. Stressing to his constituents that any of their sons and daughters that joined ZAFT would no longer have to worry about being ordered to carry out the atrocities that had become a hallmark of the organization's final months under Patrick Zala, he had publicly positioned himself as an advocate for restoring proper ethical and moral conduct within the military while privately assuring Durandal that he still understood the need for the inevitable bit of dirty work. Durandal had taken it as both endorsement and warning; Orff would continue to back him as long as he didn't put ZAFT in the same compromising position as it had been under Patrick Zala, but would turn against him should signs of regression become too public to ignore.

The Heaven's Base attack might've ended up a disaster, Durandal mused, but in Orff's eyes, that disaster remains within the bounds of traditional military conduct. Offensives go wrong, intel can be incomplete, miscalculations made; he understands all these things. As it was a conventional assault with no orders that could be considered unethical or unlawful, he hasn't spoken against me beyond token criticism. Orff's the type that values stability in times of crisis, so I can't see him supporting a confidence vote. As long as I can keep his support, I'll maintain my majority, if only by a one vote margin.

Unlike Orff, the final Supreme Council member was fully committed to Durandal's camp. Having taken Patrick Zala's old seat as representative of December City and chair of the National Defense Committee, Takao Schreiber was a stalwart supporter. In his early forties, possessing dark brown eyes and greying-brown hair which included a thick mustache, Schreiber had previously served in ZAFT as head of the Navigation Board. A relatively obscure body, the Navigation Board worked in conjunction with ZAFT's Patrol Fleet to ensure the military's various navigational charts remained constantly updated. While considered to be dull work by most, it was in fact a crucial responsibility, with Schreiber and his subordinates' diligence having saved many a soldier's life before they had even entered the field by mapping out hazardous debris and previously known hostile patrol routes. Still, no matter how important the Navigation Board's work might have been, serving on it essentially meant that one's career in ZAFT had stalled out, and Schreiber's industriousness was matched by a healthy dose of ambition that meant he simply could not remain satisfied with that post, even if it had come with the benefit of helping him dodge any direct involvement in the prior regime's atrocities.

Luckily for Schreiber, Durandal had an eye for talent, and he had been scouting the man well before the postwar election cycle was underway. Securing Schreiber's loyalty had not been difficult; offering campaign assistance combined with the promise of a seat on the National Defense Committee in the event of victory did the job nicely. Durandal had even sweetened the pot post-election by personally nominating Schreiber for the National Defense Committee Chairman position, thus guaranteeing that his other supporters on the Council would back him in the vote, and from that point onward, the man's fealty was assured.

I'll need all the fealty I can get, Durandal thought with an inward grimace as footage from the Heaven's Base assault, in this instance the moment where the orbital drop force had been decimated, played for all to see, if I'm to survive this crisis.

Unchanged from the First Bloody Valentine War, the Supreme Council's meeting room was a signature of Coordinator design, blending functionality with sleek futuristic grace. The crescent-shaped table that the members all sat around had an upraised portion at the inner rim which contained screens for each councilor's viewing pleasure. Each table section had a console for its respective councilor to use. There was also a large hexagonal-shaped light blue shaft dropping from the ceiling that possessed large screens on each side at the end, facilitating simultaneous briefings on multiple matters should the need arise. As this session had been convened to go over the failures of the Iceland operation, all those screens were focused solely on battle footage, none of it presently flattering for Durandal.

Having fired the opening salvo of the inquiry, Kasim had continued taking point, and it was he who paused the current footage, showing scores of ZAFT mobile suits getting annihilated by a blizzard of emerald beams from the dish-like weapon the enemy had so cleverly hidden. "How was a weapon of this size not discovered prior to the assault?"

"Simple; it was constructed underground, as much of Heaven's Base was," Kazaefsky answered matter-of-factly, "Even our intelligence and reconnaissance assets cannot peer beneath the surface, Councilor Kasim. The enemy would have been able to conceal this weapon regardless of how thorough our intelligence gathering prior to the assault had been."

"Even if it couldn't have been found by orbital observation, there should've been signs," Jesek said, leaning forward slightly, "The enemy would've had to ship in the necessary materials and equipment for the construction, not to mention remove cubic tons of earth. Surely the SIB's investigations would've revealed at least hints of a subterranean weapon on this scale."

"Construction of Heaven's Base commenced before even the First Bloody Valentine War had begun," Leitner pointed out, "JOSH-A held greater prominence until it was destroyed in the conflict, but that doesn't change the fact that the enemy was working on their Iceland facilities for a very long time. Given the size of this weapon, it was either part of those original construction efforts or added on shortly afterwards. Either way, it would've been developed and built long before we had cause to surveil the region."

"That may be the case," Clarzec conceded as he pressed a few keys on his console, "but this is another matter."

The images on the monitors shifted; they now showed Sovereign and her Mobile Dolls in action, tearing through ZAFT's invasion force with efficient brutality as Clarzec continued. "The beam weapon that inflicted such heavy losses on our orbital drop force was likely constructed before the war even begun, but this new dreadnought and her unmanned units? They were most certainly new construction. The technology they demonstrated in their deployment is proof enough of that."

"We have no way of knowing if the shipyard she was built in is new construction or was planned from the outset," Orff noted.

Lee jumped on that point. "Precisely! It was concealed just as well as the anti-air beam weapon. There's no way our intelligence and surveillance assets could've known about it."

"Perhaps not," Kasim admitted, his eyes narrowing, "but what of the dreadnought? As Clarzec said, much of its technology, especially the positron reflectors, are of much more recent vintage than Heaven's Base itself. Even if the vessel herself was assembled in this hidden shipyard, so many of the components and materials in her would've had to be produced and shipped in from beyond Iceland. There would've been increased air and sea traffic to deliver those components, and that was detected from the early days of this new conflict and before."

"How could we have known precisely what those shipments were for?" Schreiber countered, "Given the rising tensions between the PLANTs and the Earth Alliance leading up to the Armory One attack and then the official declaration of war, it would not have been out of the ordinary for the Atlantic Federation to reinforce its major surface facilities in preparation. Any air or sea convoys going to Iceland could've easily been identified as part of those preparations rather than being connected to a top-secret warship program."

"All too true," Durandal chimed in, "Need I remind this body that the PLANTs and ZAFT have always had difficulty when it comes intelligence gathering within the Atlantic Federation? Given the culture of hostility towards Coordinators that has long been fostered within their government and armed forces, cultivating sources willing to pass vital intel along to us within that environment is naturally a very challenging task for the SIB. We've largely had to rely on signals intelligence and orbital observation rather than human sources when monitoring our enemy, and that's been one of our long-standing weaknesses no matter how hard the intelligence services have worked to mitigate it. Whether we like it or not, that weakness has remained throughout this new war, and it was an unavoidable aspect when it came to planning and executing the Iceland operation."

"A known weakness is one that precautions can be taken against!" Kasim snapped.

"What other precautions could we have possibly taken?" White asked, "We assembled as near an overwhelming force as could be managed while still maintaining sufficient strength to defend Gibraltar. Orbital surveillance assets were monitoring Iceland around the clock for weeks leading up to the assault, to the detriment of operations elsewhere, I might add."

"We did all that we could when preparing to launch this operation," Kazaefsky concurred with a mournful shake of her head, "Unfortunately for us, that simply wasn't enough. Our soldiers fought with incredible bravery during the attack and to protect our withdrawal once the tide turned against us. Yes, we were defeated, but heavy losses were inflicted upon the enemy as well. The enemy's naval assets in the region were all but wiped out, and their land forces suffered severe casualties. The Destroys and those new mobile armors were annihilated. This may not have been a victory for us, but the Atlantic Federation paid a high price for their win."

Durandal inclined his head. "Quite so. While I'll be the first to admit that this operation went badly wrong, that was not the fault of the officers and enlisted troops who carried it out on the ground. Were it not for their efforts and sacrifices, the outcome of the battle at Heaven's Base would've been worse. As the situation now stands, with Sovereign and her Mobile Dolls having fallen earlier today, we can at least consider our enemy's surface strength contained once more."

Orberg then cleared her throat, and Durandal inwardly braced himself; he had spent enough Council sessions with her by now to know her tendencies, and this was the sort she saved for when she meant to hammer home a key point. "All of us should show our most profound gratitude for the soldiers who risked everything in both this operation and the one that was carried out today to deal with its aftermath. That being said, I believe this Council has missed a fundamental point; should the invasion of Iceland have been launched in the first place? I feel confident in stating the answer as a definitive 'no.'"

Leitner scowled. "Respectfully, Councilor Orberg, it's easy to state that with the benefit of hindsight."

"None of the intel we had prior to the operation suggested our enemy had such countermeasures prepared," Schreiber added.

Orberg's eyes narrowed as she met Durandal's gaze. "None of our intel, perhaps… but we had more than just that to go off of, didn't we, Chairman?"

Durandal took a deep breath. "If you refer to the transmission I received at Gibraltar from the self-proclaimed North American resistance leader, that only came in after our fleet had departed."

"But with more than enough time to recall them," Orberg pressed, "It took the fleet the better part of two days to traverse the distance between Gibraltar and Iceland. Surely their advance could've at least been halted while the warning was considered. After all, it's not like the enemy didn't already know we were coming; ordering the fleet to standby while new intel was taken into account would not have jeopardized anything."

"And exactly what were we to take into account?" Lee pushed back, "The demand of a guerilla leader that we call off the most important offensive operation of the war to date?"

"A guerilla leader who offered little supporting evidence for her claims that Heaven's Base was a trap," Orff noted.

Orberg folded her arms. "I wonder, Councilor Orff, if you and I had access to the same recording and transcript. From what I heard and read, this 'President Eisenhower' not only correctly deduced that Heaven's Base was concealing both a dreadnought and AI-controlled mobile suits, but she even had the codenames for those programs; Project: Reaper and Project: Iron Legion, respectively. That hardly sounds like 'little supporting evidence' to me."

Durandal's expression was impassive, but he was privately second guessing the decision he had made post-battle to fully comply with the inquiry's preliminary investigation. Protocol dictated that any relevant files, meeting minutes, audio, and video evidence be supplied to the Supreme Council. As this 'President Eisenhower's' transmission had come to Durandal during working hours and through the equipment used specifically for his work as Chairman, and it had directly pertained to the Heaven's Base operation, it met every requirement for being evidence related to the inquiry. By law, Durandal had to turn it over, and he had done so. However, it had not been before a long back-and-forth in his head about potentially deleting the transmission from the record. It would have been possible; members of Durandal's personal staff had the technical skill to do so, not to mention the loyalty required to keep such an action to themselves. Unfortunately, that temptation had been weighed against Durandal's knowledge of the Supreme Council's methods and resources for conducting investigations; there was the very real risk that any such tampering on his part would be detected, and that could potentially cause even greater problems down the line than presenting the full record up front.

As history had famously shown, it was not the Watergate break-in itself that had ultimately doomed United States President Richard Nixon; it was the following attempt at a cover-up and the subsequent fallout which turned his allies in Congress against him, culminating in his resignation. In a similar vein, hiding the transmission he had received from the North American resistance leader might have been an appealing solution to Durandal's dilemma with the Supreme Council inquiry, but should it be uncovered that he had ordered the deletion of key evidence, it had a very real chance of fracturing his support bloc and turning a difficult-but-survivable inquisition into ouster followed by criminal charges. In the end, Durandal had determined such a gamble to be too high-risk, even for his tastes. Nevertheless, now that he was facing the anticipated grilling, Durandal inwardly bemoaned his decision to comply with the law.

No good deed goes unpunished, he silently fumed, I can only take comfort in the knowledge that the new world order for which all these sacrifices have been made shall overshadow this embarrassing episode, and it will be relegated to a mere footnote in history.

"She could've come up with those codenames herself!" White protested, "They're intimidating and scary; perfect for her fearmongering message!"

"Except intercepted and decrypted transmissions from after the battle confirm that the Atlantic Federation did have Sovereign and the Mobile Dolls designated under such codenames," Kasim cooly countered.

"A favorable point towards the resistance leader's credibility," Clarzec noted, "albeit one that couldn't be verified until after the battle was over."

"That a third party was able to present such knowledge of the enemy's top-secret weapons programs should've been enough to give us pause," Adaman chimed in, "At the very least, a brief delay while this new information was considered would not have been unreasonable."

"That third party is a wild card," Leitner argued, "Just because we've since confirmed their information was credible does not mean we should've trusted them and completely called off the operation at the time. Perhaps briefly delay to account for this new intel and try to confirm it through our own means and sources, but outright cancelling the offensive just on their word? Unreasonable."

"Then let's take this back a step further," Orberg said, her gaze flickering back and forth between Leitner and Durandal, "In light of the wider strategic situation, was the Iceland invasion even necessary? At this point in the war, the Atlantic Federation has descended into civil war in North America. Their most prominent naval bases on the eastern side of the Atlantic Ocean were destroyed by Terminal, and the Eurasian Federation had begun contesting the sea in that part of the world. On the far side of the world, the Atlantic Federation's last major Pacific naval assets outside their west coast defense units were destroyed when Chief Representative Athha was restored to power in the Orb Union. The Republic of East Asia remained a minimal presence in the conflict, providing logistical support to the rest of the Earth Alliance, but refraining from direct involvement. In short, our enemy's influence on the surface was not only contained, but in retreat. Heaven's Base was recognized as a major strategic stronghold, but there's more than one way to deal with such a fortification. Several on this Council had even suggested one such method; naval blockade. With the enemy's naval assets in the Atlantic Ocean so severely reduced, establishing and enforcing such a blockade with our available forces would've been more than feasible."

Jesek sagely nodded. "Our substantial number of Vosgulov-class carrier/submarines alone could've anchored said blockade, providing both naval and aerial mobile suits. Reinforced with surface warships including the new carriers, perhaps even the Minerva, and the enemy would've been hard pressed to break it. Their naval assets in Iceland itself were insufficient; they would've had to launch the dreadnought herself, revealing their secret weapon to the world on our terms."

"Even if we still lacked the means to defeat it at the time," Clarzec said, "the bulk of our forces could've retreated, and we would've suffered far fewer losses compared to the frontal assault that was launched. We would be in a far better position to regroup and deal with the new threat, rather than having to rely on a hastily-organized joint operation."

"A joint operation that included the third party you deemed a wild card, Councilor Leitner," Orberg pressed, her narrowed eyes staring daggers at both the Junius City representative and Durandal himself, "While they may not be a confirmed ally, based on their behavior in the war thus far, I'd say that they're at least a force that agreements can be made with."

"They're certainly more reasonable than the government they're revolting against," Kasim deadpanned.

"That's a low bar to clear," Kazaefsky muttered.

Durandal inclined his head. "While this resistance's actions have demonstrated that they are indeed an enemy of our most dangerous foe, it is premature to consider them an ally. We must not forget that they've arisen within a political climate where voices that call for our extermination still hold national power. Even if they have taken a stand against the ideologies of LOGOS and Blue Cosmos, and are willing to risk their lives in open rebellion against that regime, who's to say that there aren't factions within this resistance inimical to our people? Anti-Coordinator sentiment remains a potent force in North America, and while it may not infect the current leadership of this resistance movement, what if its 'lesser strains' influence them should they take power?"

"Those sentiments will hardly disappear from the Americans overnight," White noted with a scowl.

"That's a matter which can be addressed when the time comes for us to negotiate with them," Orff remarked, "Given the state of the war, I can't see that happening anytime soon."

"We're certainly no closer to it now than we were before the Iceland invasion," Kasim fumed, "If anything, we're even further away from that point, given the losses we sustained. Our enemy was emboldened by their victory against us!"

"They were only emboldened while they had that dreadnought," Leitner countered, "Now that it's been destroyed, they're back to where things stood before; waging a civil war in their homeland and a multi-front war abroad. They're weakened, even if it's not to the extent that we'd hoped for."

"They are, but so are we," Orberg shot back, "and our newfound weakness is largely self-inflicted! Again, we come back to this point; was the Heaven's Base assault truly necessary when we had alternate and readily available means for dealing with that stronghold?"

"Sustaining the sort of force required to blockade Iceland would've been no small task," Schreiber pointed out, "The commitment of ships and mobile suits, maintaining a rotation, attritional losses from the inevitable attempts to break the blockade; the costs would mount swiftly."

"Yet those costs would be far less than what we suffered in this operation," Clarzec argued, glaring daggers at his colleague, "Even if the enemy didn't have the dreadnought lying in wait, the defenses we could confirm remained substantial. Was Iceland a prize worthy of the casualties required to surmount those defenses? I cannot see it as such."

"It was a strategic position," Schreiber argued, "Taking it would've solidified our dominance in the North Atlantic."

"Dominance we already de facto enjoyed," Adaman countered, "The Atlantic Federation fleet stationed at Iceland was no match for our naval forces in the region, and the enemy's bases on the eastern side of the ocean were destroyed before."

"Yes, but it would put us in an even stronger position," White shot back, "Between it and Gibraltar, we would own the Atlantic Ocean in all but name."

"Combine it with our hold on Suez, and we could cripple trade from the Atlantic all the way to the Indian Ocean at will," Leitner added, "It would be another valuable card to hold in peace negotiations."

"And it is a bastion of LOGOS," Durandal chimed in, "Several known members of the cabal retreated to Heaven's Base after civil strife within North American intensified into armed conflict. As fortified as it may be, it would still be far easier to capture or eliminate those oligarchs there as opposed to those who managed to escape Earth."

"They would've been trapped at Heaven's Base," Orberg stated, "Iceland has no mass driver; any members of LOGOS who took shelter there would've had no way to escape if we'd blockaded the island. I can understand the desire to capture them so they can stand trial for their many crimes, but isolating them at Heaven's Base through naval blockade while the Atlantic Federation homeland consumed itself in civil war would be far less costly in lives and material."

"The civil war that broke out in North America made Heaven's Base one of their few remaining secure surface locations," Kazaefsky argued, "Taking that would show LOGOS that they had nowhere to hide on Earth. It would force the rest to flee into space, falling back to their strongholds on Luna and at L2. More to the point, a victory at Heaven's Base would demonstrate to the Earth Sphere that the Atlantic Federation is finished as a surface power. If their most fortified stronghold on the planet can fall to our might, then nowhere on Earth is safe for them."

"If only that was what actually happened," Kasim grumbled.

"It might as well be, now," Orff said, "With the dreadnought's destruction, Heaven's Base is rendered impotent as a threat. Their naval and shipping assets are destroyed, so any evacuation can only take place by air, and where would they go? Only Anchorage remains secure territory for them in the Atlantic Federation mainland, and they're only holding it to keep their line of retreat to outer space open. Once the last of LOGOS's ruling elite escapes into orbit, that defensive position will likely fold. They'll almost certainly destroy the mass driver on their way out."

"Leaving any stragglers at Heaven's Base to be dealt with once our forces have sufficiently recovered," Lee added.

"But our forces would not have to recover had they not been ordered to undertake the assault in the first place," Clarzec growled, "Heaven's Base should've been isolated and left to wither on the vine."

"So, you would let those who seek our kind annihilated escape justice?" Leitner snapped, "You would let the LOGOS leadership hiding in Iceland remain at large? I thought your resolve was stronger than this, Clarzec."

"My resolve is to protect our people," Clarzec replied, glowering at the Judicial Committee chair, "Not lead them into pointless slaughter."

"Bringing a few rotten oligarchs to justice is not worth the losses we just suffered!" Kasim bitterly added, slamming his fist on the table for emphasis.

As the verbal salvos intensified between the two camps, Durandal ironically allowed himself to relax. Despite the tense atmosphere, the continuing back-and-forth between his supporters and detractors had given him a gauge for where he stood with the Supreme Council, and it affirmed his boasts to Talia earlier that day. His colleagues had been badly shaken by the defeat at Heaven's Base, but the divide in this session still played roughly in his favor. If a confidence vote was held today, he would survive it.

However, that did not mean he was completely out of the woods. His support bloc might have held this time, but it was clear that even members of his faction had underlying concerns which would not vanish when the session was concluded. If Durandal did not play things very carefully here on out, he could suffer defections in a future session, when he could least afford it. He could not take the continued solidarity of his support bloc for granted. If his opposition strengthened further, they would only have to tempt a few members of his coalition to alter the balance of power. Durandal needed to reinforce his political foundation…

…and be sure his contingencies were in place should that fail.

….

Was it possible for a man to age a decade over just a few days? Given the whirlwind of events that had transpired since the Iceland invasion, Grand Admiral Rainer Brinkmann certainly felt like he had. The Chairman of the Defense Council could have sworn he was seeing streaks of grey in his onyx hair that had not been there last week, and he definitely had spotted some new wrinkles around his steely grey eyes, to say nothing of the incredible weight that had fallen upon his shoulders once the enormity of the Heaven's Base debacle finally set in. He had been braced for considerable losses even in the best-case scenario, but to see the staggering number of casualties suffered in this defeat was nothing less than a gut punch. It was cold comfort to Brinkmann that Durandal had immediately denied his attempt at resignation once the scale of the disaster became clear; the Supreme Council Chairman's continued confidence was not shared by the Grand Admiral himself.

I suppose the luxury of resignation is not what I deserve, he bitterly mused, not when the operation I signed off on condemned so many of our valiant men and women to their deaths. For better or worse, the Chairman's deemed me fit to see this war through to the end…

Brinkmann was not the only member of the Defense Council who had tried and failed to fall on their proverbial sword; as the respective planners of the ground and oceanic naval aspects of the Heaven's Base assault, Field Marshall Lindile Yam and Marine Admiral Ray Cosgrove had likewise offered their resignations, only for Durandal to flatly deny them. Likewise, Field Marshall Bikram Singh, head of the Surface Intelligence Bureau, had been refused upon offering his resignation. The four men now shared a somber sort of kinship, each bearing the weight of ZAFT's greatest catastrophe since the First Bloody Valentine War.

The sole consolation Brinkmann and his colleagues could take was that Sovereign and her new Mobile Dolls, the greatest culprits in that defeat, had been defeated earlier in the day. In fact, most of the screens along the back wall of the Defense Council's chamber were streaming news footage of the dreadnought's destruction. While ZAFT had played a role in this latest battle, Brinkmann knew that the victory had been a combined effort. He was more than grateful towards Terminal, the Eurasians, and the North American resistance for their crucial roles in the hastily-organized operation, but the knowledge that ZAFT alone could not defeat the Atlantic Federation's new weapons was a very bitter pill for the Grand Admiral to swallow.

That Chairman Durandal had not even signed off on the joint operation was another concern for Brinkmann, and not in the way that his superior would have likely thought. The Grand Admiral had no problem whatsoever with local ZAFT forces seizing the initiative, and he silently applauded Captain Gladys for making the most of her FAITH authority to send the best pilots and mobile suits available to take on the dreadnought. Rather, Brinkmann's bone of contention was with Durandal himself for refusing to approve the operation at all, only granting his endorsement after the fact. Yes, the Chairman had hastily praised Sovereign's destruction to the media before being whisked away for the Supreme Council session, but Brinkmann knew what the press did not; that Durandal had only ordered the Heaven's Base assault survivors to return to Gibraltar, and that ZAFT's participation in neutralizing the dreadnought came without his authorization. Brinkmann himself had wanted to send reinforcements to Gibraltar, beefing up the base's defenses considerably with the eventual goal of taking on the dreadnought once they learned how to deal with its defenses, but the Chairman had refused to sign off.

I can understand hesitation to send new troops to the surface in light of the recent casualties, Brinkmann thought, but Sovereign was an immediate threat that needed dealing with by any means necessary. Our refusal to act meant we relied on outside actors to formulate a strategy and take the lead. I know fallout in the political arena from the Iceland debacle would've made it difficult for the Chairman to publicly justify new orbital drops, even if they were framed as just to reinforce a strategic position, but the case still could and should have been made. The Chairman's no stranger to bold action and gambling, so why balk at throwing the dice now? Was he spooked that badly, or is the threat to his position greater than I've been led to believe?

His rumination was disrupted by a long exhalation from Cosgrove as the auburn-haired man tapped a key built into his section of the conference table, his silver eyes lingering on the now-paused images of the dreadnought's destruction. "Well, at least we can consider our recent losses somewhat avenged… a pity the Navy was denied the chance to properly support the operation, though."

"A naval asset was still the launching point for our strike team," Singh noted, the tan-skinned man running a hand through his dark hair, his grey eyes heavy with weariness, "I would've preferred the SIB be given a chance to prepare an actual briefing package before sending our best pilots and mobile suits against the beast."

The raven-haired and emerald-eyed Admiral Anastasia Gorshkov, head of the Fleet Intelligence Service, gave her colleague a sympathetic look. "For what it's worth, I don't think any of our services could've offered much. The Minerva's pilots and mercenaries were the ones who first encountered the dreadnought and its unmanned units; anything a briefing from us could tell them, they already knew. Let us be thankful that they were intelligent and skilled enough to apply that knowledge successfully."

"True enough," Yam conceded as the dark-skinned Field Marshall leaned back in his chair, shoulders slumping as his brown eyes fell in shame, "Our army units in Gibraltar and Diocuia could've scrambled BABIs and DINNs to offer support, had we been given authorization… but seeing just how badly those Mobile Dolls mauled us in Iceland, I have to wonder just how much help our assets would've been."

Admiral Jaime Delgado, the tan-skinned, brown haired and brown eyed head of ZAFT's combined military R&D sections, reluctantly concurred. "While I'm sure our strike team and their allies wouldn't have turned down whatever reinforcements we could offer, the harsh truth of the matter is that they wouldn't have been worth anything more than fire support at this point. Our understanding of these Mobile Dolls is limited; my analysts are still combing over combat data from the Iceland engagement, and there's only so much we can glean from outside observation. ZAFT's elites might be capable of challenging this new threat, but our rank-and-file pilots? No disrespect to them, but I fear that they're woefully outmatched."

"Not entirely," countered Admiral Valter Girardelli, the blond haired and brown eyed head of ZAFT's Home Defense Force, "The purpose-built Mobile Dolls were formidable, but data from the Heaven's Base attack showed that our pilots could still counter the mobile suits which were converted to unmanned units on a roughly equal footing."

"True," Delgado admitted, "but even then, they had a tough time adjusting. If converted machines make up the bulk of Mobile Doll squadrons encountered in the future, then that's a manageable threat. However, I see no reason why the Atlantic Federation wouldn't go all-in on the purpose-built models now, with the converted units simply being a stop-gap until production fully ramps up. Should that be the case, then our situation is dire. The deployment of these Mobile Dolls represents a turning point in this war, one akin to the Atlantic Federation's first deployments of their own mass production mobile suits during the last conflict."

"Not to be a downer," Singh chimed in, "but I'm afraid that this turning point could be worse than the last. The Atlantic Federation's mass production mobile suits gave them the means to stand up to our forces on equal terms instead of relying on numbers or advanced prototypes like the Strike. The purpose-built Mobile Dolls that we saw unleashed at Iceland are high-quality units, and the battery-powered ones at least seem perfectly suited for mass production. If they can scale up manufacturing, they'll have a weapon that provides quality and quantity."

"One that can outperform all but our most elite pilots," Gorshkov added, shaking her head, "The loss ratios at Heaven's Base against the new models were appalling."

"Reminds me of the old GINN-to-Moebius ratios we saw in the last war," Cosgrove noted with bitter amusement, "Now the script's been flipped."

"Not completely," Yam said, leaning forward, "According to the data we've reviewed, the purpose-built Mobile Dolls rely on agility. The battery-powered ones lacked Phase Shift Armor, and those will almost certainly be the most common type encountered in the future. Limiting their maneuverability will be key to countering them."

"Rapid fire weapons and saturation tactics would be the easiest for our troops to adopt," Delgado suggested, "For any battles on Earth, attacks from above that keep the Mobile Dolls against the ground would be ideal, though our forces wouldn't always have the altitude advantage. Missile salvos from a distance to break up their formations would be useful. Above all, the focus should be on isolating these units so they can be quickly overwhelmed."

"While keeping our units cohesive," Brinkmann interjected, "Hardly an easy thing to do when their morale's at the lowest point it's been since the war started."

"The dreadnought's destruction should grant a much-needed boost on that front," Girardelli pointed out, "Especially since she was believed to be invincible before."

Brinkmann grunted. "No foe's invincible; no matter what their defenses, there's always a vulnerability. The trick is finding it."

"And having enough firepower to exploit it," Gorshkov amended, folding her arms, "Respectfully, Grand Admiral, that's a severe problem when it comes to the enemy's positron deflectors. The allied forces in today's battle required the combined firepower of the Gundam Albion's Twin Buster Rifle, the heaviest weapons of Destiny, Morgan Sorceress, and that blue Gundam from Terminal's team, and a previously completely secret directed microwave beam cannon possessed by the North American resistance. I would note that the most powerful of those listed assets are not in our inventory."

Brinkmann conceded the point. "That's unfortunately true. For us to replicate what our strike team and their allies pulled off today, we would require an entire fleet, with its battle groups perfectly coordinating their fire against the dreadnought from multiple angles to overwhelm the shields. A tall order, even under ideal circumstances."

"And no battlefield presents ideal circumstances," Yam quipped.

"Not to derail things here," Cosgrove interjected as he looked at Gorshkov, "but the beam that was fired from orbit during the battle; are we sure it's a directed microwave weapon? My understanding is that neither us nor the Earth Alliance have ever been able to implement such a device, despite considerable R investments towards that end. I find it hard to believe that an underground resistance movement could succeed where the wealthiest nations in the Earth Sphere failed."

Gorshkov shrugged before gesturing at Delgado. "Energy signature scans taken from our mobile suits' combat logs indicate as much, but if you're seeking confirmation, I suggest you ask the relevant subject matter expert."

All eyes turned to Delgado, who cleared his throat. "Obviously, we know that the Atlantic Federation pursued microwave weaponry; we found out the hard way when they unleashed the Cyclops System at the Battle of Endymion Crater, and they would've detonated a second one on us at Alaska if Wing Zero hadn't destroyed it. Seeing as the Cyclops System itself was the only known microwave-based weapon used in that war, and that they haven't deployed any other examples of the technology in this conflict, it stands to reason that any further efforts by the Earth Alliance to advance the technology were fruitless. As for our side, Project: Hertzian Fire was ZAFT's foray into the field of weaponized microwave energy. Unlike the Atlantic Federation, our effort was focused towards a directed energy weapon from the start. Unfortunately, our scientists were unable to solve the containment and directionality problems. The project was cancelled, with the personnel and resources involved reallocated to work on what ultimately became GENESIS."

"An interesting history lesson," Cosgrove deadpanned, "but it doesn't answer my question. This new weapon, Admiral Delgado; have you confirmed it's a directed microwave beam?"

Delgado nodded. "Based on analysis from the combat data we received earlier today, I'm confident that it is. How the resistance accomplished this is something of a mystery. My best guess would be that they managed to poach Atlantic Federation scientists who were involved with the original Cyclops System research. It's possible that defectors approached them with the data along with theories for advancing the technology. Perhaps the Earth Alliance had an abandoned project like our own Hertzian Fire, and personnel involved who defected to the resistance were then able to make the breakthroughs that we could not."

Brinkmann clasped his fingers together. "How they got the weapon is academic at this point. They have it, and it's functional. So far, they've only employed it against the Atlantic Federation, but we must operate under the assumption that it could someday be turned against us."

Yam raised an eyebrow. "Seeing as the resistance has been firmly focused on fighting the Atlantic Federation and LOGOS, it seems a bit premature to consider them a potential future enemy. They may not be our friends, but I find it hard to consider them our foes under the circumstances."

"We would all prefer that they be an ally rather than an enemy," Gorshkov said, "but it is prudent to plan for all eventualities. Our understanding of this resistance is mostly surface-level; we cannot say what the future holds for our relations with them over the long-term."

Yam conceded the point. "I suppose that's fair enough, though that's one confrontation I'd much rather avoid."

"Wouldn't we all?" Delgado said, "As for the resistance's microwave beam weapon, it only fired once during the battle. Granted, that one shot was all they apparently required for the operation, but it may also have been the only shot that they could take. The energy requirements for such a weapon are immense; there's a reason why the Atlantic Federation could never miniaturize their Cyclops System. While the resistance may have been able to create and power the directed microwave beam that we and the Earth Alliance could not, based on the amount of energy that was detected in the shot, I'm willing to bet that a substantial recharge period was required. Aligning and containing all that energy would be an extremely difficult process; our failures with Project: Hertzian Fire show as much. It's likely that after firing, the weapon requires a high degree of maintenance, perhaps even swapping out critical components between shots. Right now, we obviously have no proof, but my hypothesis is that the weapon has a serious downtime requirement after each shot."

"A saving grace, then," Brinkmann noted, "Of course, the only way we'll be able to confirm that is observing it in combat again."

"Patrol Fleet assets were able to detect the energy spike from a considerable distance," Gorshkov remarked, "Should the resistance use it again, they would be giving away the weapon's position and enable us to track the ship carrying it."

"A microwave energy burst is quite distinct," Delgado added, "With some adjustments to existing equipment, we could devise instruments capable of detecting that burst from even further away.; practically anywhere in the Earth Sphere, in fact. It would be little trouble to equip some of our Recon GINNs with these modified instruments."

Gorshkov clasped her fingers together. "We could put together a unit dedicated to tracking this weapon based around those modified Recon GINNs… and eliminating it, should the need arise. Send me whatever technical requirements you have, Admiral Delgado; I'll set aside the appropriate scouting assets."

Gorshkov then turned to Brinkmann, who readily nodded. "Should we have to hunt down and destroy this weapon, speed will be of the essence. The latest batch of Nazca-class destroyers from the yards are due for commissioning into the fleet tomorrow. Get me your force requirements before then, and I will reallocate whatever vessels you need, along with the necessary mobile suits."

Gorshkov inclined her head. "Thank you, Grand Admiral."

Cosgrove cleared his throat. "While I can appreciate the urgency of tracking the resistance's new microwave weapon, the Atlantic Federation's new dreadnought is a greater concern. While I'm as grateful as the rest of you that it was destroyed today, we have no way of knowing if it's the only one of its kind. We would be wise to assume that there are others waiting in the wings."

"Are there any signs of such?" Gorshkov asked as she and the others turned towards the head of the SIB.

Singh seemed to sink slightly in his seat. "At present, no, but… well, seeing as we missed this one, I'm reluctant to draw any premature conclusions."

"There are precious few places remaining on the surface where the Atlantic Federation could keep such a large construction project hidden," Brinkmann noted, "If one was hidden in their homeland, I imagine they would've deployed it by now against the ongoing uprising. Granted, given how vast the North American interior is, it's entirely possible that another is still under construction at an as-yet undiscovered subterranean base."

"Given the sheer scale of the unrest that's overtaken the continent, any ongoing construction would almost certainly be halted by now," Yam argued, "if only by virtue of it being far more difficult to securely ship necessary components and materials to the facility in question."

"Not to mention supplying and maintaining the required labor pool for such a large project," Singh added in a thoughtful murmur, "The logistics chain could suffer disruption due to the ongoing internal conflict…"

"There's still Alaska," Gorshkov pointed out, "Rebel activities have been observed there, yes, but that territory's vast; plenty of space to hide a secret project or two. JOSH-A was constructed up there for several reasons, not the least of which being the relatively sparse local population concentrated in only a few areas, leaving vast swaths of wilderness ripe for military exploitation. That made it far easier to build the Cyclops System underneath the base in such secrecy; they didn't have many prying eyes to worry about out there."

Singh nodded. "Given the Atlantic Federation's current circumstances on Earth, if a second dreadnought is being constructed down there, I would lean towards somewhere in Alaska being the build site. However, apart from the concentration of forces around the Anchorage mass driver, the SIB has noted very little activity out there. Some units were redeployed to guard the Atlantic Federation's side of the Bering Strait after hostilities with the Eurasian Federation commenced, but that's been the only notable development outside of reinforcing Anchorage. Of course, the region's vast, so I'm reluctant to rule anything out. As Heaven's Base so brutally demonstrated, there's always the chance we've missed something."

Brinkmann saw Delgado scratching his chin. "Hmm… I wonder…"

The Grand Admiral cleared his throat. "Spit it out, Admiral Delgado, even if it's mere speculation."

"It's concerning the dreadnought's design," Delgado explained, "Given the vessel's size and mass, it's frankly a miracle that the Atlantic Federation could make that thing fly in atmosphere. Something that large strikes me as far better suited to operations in outer space than on Earth."

Brinkmann turned to Gorshkov; as head of the Fleet Intelligence Service, outer space was her domain. "Your thoughts?"

Gorshkov was quiet for a long moment. "It's possible… perhaps even likely. Certainly, it'd be much easier to construct and field such a leviathan up here than down in Earth's gravity. Such a vessel would be very useful in orbital battles. I imagine the design's potential utility in that field has not escaped its creators. Construction costs would still be immense, given the mass and advanced technologies involved, so any potential units should be limited in numbers… at least, one would hope that's the case."

"Possible building sites?" Girardelli pressed.

"The most obvious would be the L2 shipyards," Cosgrove answered.

Gorshkov shook her head. "I can understand the logic, but not if it involves a top-secret project. The L2 yards are heavily guarded, but we've been able to slip probes in before. The drones inevitably get caught, yet each time they've returned valuable data before their destruction. L2's busier than ever with wartime construction orders, but everything we've observed there up to this point in the war has been conventional; Agamemnon-class carriers, Nelson-class battleships, and more of the new Typhoon-class destroyers. They've pretty much phased out production of the Drake-class escort ships, though they built so many of them that we'll be seeing that model in their fleet for some time to come. A few larger vessels were spotted as well; they appear to be sister ships of the new model carrier, Victory, which was destroyed when we repulsed the attack on L5. They're in the final fitting out stages, and I imagine they'll be commissioned soon after rushed trials given wartime demand. However, nothing matching the profile of Sovereign has been spotted at L2, and I don't think we're likely to find any leads there. The L2 yards are geared towards mass production; experimental and classified units don't get built there."

"That leaves Luna, then," Brinkmann surmised.

Gorshkov inclined her head. "My thoughts exactly, Grand Admiral. Apart from Copernicus City and its internationally recognized space zone, most of Luna is firmly under Atlantic Federation control. We know that Arzachel Base took over as their primary stronghold on the Moon after Ptolemaeus was destroyed, but it's hardly the only one. Patrol Fleet scouts have spotted military transports and warships slipping around to Luna's dark side; I'm certain they have at least one major base there. If the enemy has a spaceborne equivalent to Sovereign at the ready or under construction, it's on Luna. I'd stake my commission on it."

Yam threw up his hands. "Then there's nothing we can do but wait for her to deploy, if she even exists. The Lunar Perimeter is right up there with the L2 shipyards and L5 as one of the most heavily guarded sectors of space in all the Earth Sphere. Even if by some miracle we were able to confirm another dreadnought being built on the Moon and narrow its construction location down to a single base, mounting an attack would be suicide."

Brinkmann kept his gaze focused on Gorshkov, who nodded in reluctant confirmation. "I'm afraid the Field Marshall is correct, sir. If a spaceborne variant of Sovereign exists, we won't have confirmation until she's out in the open, unless the enemy gets sloppy and hands us a signals intelligence coup on a silver platter. Based on the most recent Atlantic Federation space naval force deployments, launching a successful attack on any Lunar base would require us to severely deplete L5's defense fleet… and our losses would be so high that any victory would by Pyrrhic at best. Our only realistic option is simply to wait and see. If a spaceborne Sovereign reveals itself, we will have to engage and defeat it in the field."

"There's nothing at our disposal that we can use to locate it?" Brinkmann pressed.

"Our latest ground-penetrating radar sets are potent enough to find any subsurface facilities on Luna," Delgado replied, "and they can easily be fitted to our Recon GINNs. However, the problem is that those GINNs would still need to fly over Luna to use them, and even at the maximum effective range, they'd still be well within the Atlantic Federation's patrol zones. They'd be found and destroyed or forced to withdraw long before accomplishing their mission."

Brinkmann took a deep breath; it wasn't the answer he wanted to hear, but he preferred painful truths over comfortable lies. "I see. That's unfortunate, but it cannot be helped."

"For now, the best countermeasure against a potential second dreadnought is awareness and training," Gorshkov advised, "Our analysts can circulate new simulation packages across both surface and space forces based on combat data from the Iceland and continental Europe engagements. Our mobile suit pilots and warship crews will still have a tough fight ahead of them, but advanced knowledge of what to expect can at least help them begin devising new tactics."

Brinkmann nodded. "I'll leave the details of that in your capable hands, Admiral Gorshkov. In the meantime, we must plot our next step forward."

Cosgrove nervously cleared his throat. "Begging the Grand Admiral's pardon, but is that not somewhat premature given the Supreme Council Chairman's present circumstances?"

Gorshkov rolled her eyes. "You fret over phantom concerns, Marine Admiral. There's no serious risk of the Chairman being ousted at today's session."

Yam arched an eyebrow. "You seem remarkably confident of that, Admiral Gorshkov. Do you have information we lack?"

"If I didn't, I'd be a poor Fleet Intelligence Service head," Gorshkov quipped before shaking her head, "Jests aside, I'm more attuned to the political winds than you are, Field Marshall. The Chairman will take a proper licking before the Supreme Council today, of that I have no doubt, but a confidence vote's not in the offing. Some of his supporters have concerns, but not to the point of withholding their backing."

"Regardless of Chairman Durandal's political fate," Brinkman interjected, "it is prudent for us to consider what lies ahead. If the present Chairman retains his position, then we can proceed with his policy preferences baked in. If he's ousted, then we'll simply have to revise our plans according to whoever his replacement is. Either way, we must have an eye towards future campaigns."

Singh ran fingers through his hair. "How we might proceed on the surface is difficult to say. Even after the Iceland survivors return to Gibraltar, we'll barely be fit to guard our European strongholds without reinforcements. Our forces in the Pacific remain intact, but they suffer a dearth of targets; the Atlantic Federation's naval assets in that part of the world have been all but wiped out. Carpentaria is now our strongest surface holding, and we're not in danger of losing it anytime soon. Maintaining a defensive posture there is easy, but if we seek to retake the initiative on the surface, Carpentaria's force is rather poorly placed."

"Should we make a play for Hawaii?" Yam asked, "The Pacific Fleet has been reduced to coastal defense of North America, and even a base as important as Peal Harbor only sports a handful of vessels and the island's garrison for protection now. It's never been riper for the plucking."

"We wouldn't even have to dispatch a particularly powerful force to do it," Girardelli added, "With how depleted the enemy's strength in the Pacific has become, we could take Pearl Harbor and still have more than sufficient force remaining to defend Carpentaria and support major actions in the western Pacific."

Singh shook his head. "Striking at Hawaii would not be a good idea. Militarily, the forces stationed there could not stand up to a large-scale assault, but there's a catch; the forces there do not belong to the Atlantic Federation. Not anymore. The North American resistance is in complete control, and they have been for some time now."

Girardelli's jaw dropped in stupefied astonishment. "The Atlantic Federation lost Pearl Harbor?"

"They did," Singh confirmed, "Remember that strike the base suffered early in the war at Terminal's hands? Well, the base's dedicated leadership were apparently killed in the attack. New officers were assigned to take over, but it seems that their loyalties were not to the current regime. From what the SIB's observed, the resistance has full control of the facilities, which means any ships our observation assets have spotted in or around Pearl Harbor are theirs, not the Atlantic Federation's."

"But those ships aren't sufficient to repel an assault from us, right?" Yam pressed.

Cosgrove frowned. "No, but I would expect them to make a much tougher fight of it than the Atlantic Federation's local remnants would. More to the point, attacking them would make us new enemies, hardly something we want. It's operationally feasible, but at this point, Carpentaria's naval forces might be needed more for deterring the Eurasian Federation and Republic of East Asia rather than offensive actions against Pearl Harbor. Orb Union forces and Terminal are also a concern."

Gorshkov eyed Cosgrove, her lips curling downward. "Don't tell me you've lost your nerve, Marine Admiral."

Cosgrove glowered at her. "Nothing of the sort. The Eurasian Federation's Pacific Fleet is now operating just outside Orb's territorial waters. They supported Chief Representative Athha's restoration to de facto power, and Moscow has since signed a security agreement with the Orb Union. Even if both nations have withdrawn from the Earth Alliance, they are still legally in a state of hostility towards ZAFT, and their military power in the region is formidable. Terminal's battleships are strongly suspected to be lurking submerged in Orb's territorial waters, so any clash with the Orb Union and Eurasian Federation forces in the area would almost certainly involve Terminal as well. While the fleet at Carpentaria has local numerical superiority, the firepower and skill of these potential adversaries are such that we cannot afford to take them lightly. As for the Republic of East Asia, they've continued to keep their powder dry. With their rivals depleted, now would be an ideal time for them to move aggressively."

"Beijing is a land power first, an air power second, and a naval power at a distant third," Girardelli scoffed, "As long as we don't go poking around their territorial waters, we need not concern ourselves with them."

Cosgrove scowled. "It's true that the Republic of East Asia has never enjoyed great prestige as a naval power, but they still have a potent and intact oceanic navy. That's worth more than the shattered one of the Atlantic Federation, and deserves far greater consideration. Just because they've been reluctant to deploy it beyond home waters before doesn't mean that pattern will continue."

Singh concurred. "Prime Minister Pengfei Peng's reputation is that of a coward, and that's not entirely without merit, but he should be considered a cautious opportunist. If any of his rivals show weakness, he may move to exploit it. He has no interest in alienating his biggest ally; despite the Atlantic Federation's current state of disarray, they've proven themselves more than capable of acting against perceived or actual defiance with extreme brutality, and there's always the chance that the LOGOS regime can turn things around in North America. It's less risky for Peng to act against another power such as us or Moscow. If he senses an opening, he may take it."

"Beijing's navy can't hope to take Carpentaria," Gorshkov argued, "even if we weaken the garrison by dispatching a fleet from there to take Pearl Harbor. The Republic of East Asia could send every ship it has, and the best that they could accomplish is stalemate or Pyrrhic victory. They would also have to pass close to or through Equatorial Union territorial waters, potentially antagonizing another nation. The Equatorial Union's navy may be a lesser force than Beijing's, but it can still cause them problems if they're provoked. Going after Carpentaria simply presents too many risks; Peng wouldn't dare."

Singh folded his arms. "People 'wouldn't dare' many things, Admiral… until they suddenly do."

The head of the SIB then turned to Brinkmann. "If we are required to take offensive action on the surface, Grand Admiral, then Hawaii is a viable target in the strictly tactical sense; whether it's helpful to us strategically is another matter. However, in light of our recent losses in Iceland combined with the ongoing turmoil within the Atlantic Federation, I would consider such an operation ill-advised. Our surface forces are still reeling; even those on the opposite side of the world would've taken a serious hit to morale after learning of the Heaven's Base disaster. Sovereign's destruction does not change that. If we attack Pearl Harbor, we'll be facing a force that, while outnumbered, will be highly motivated and professional in their response. From what we've learned, the North American resistance apparently draws much of its support from military defectors, which has contributed significantly to their recent successes. If we attack Hawaii, we would be wise to assume high-caliber leadership for the defenders; a point as strategically important as the Pearl Harbor naval base demands nothing less. Taking any territory contested or held by the resistance could potentially open another front in this war, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that ZAFT has enough enemies to contend with already."

Cosgrove nodded. "I concur with Field Marshall Singh's assessment, Grand Admiral. We're still licking our wounds from the Iceland debacle. It would be ill-advised to commence any new offensive action on the surface, especially with how volatile the North American situation has become. Holding current ground, reconstituting, and reinforcing our surface units is the way to go. I'm not keen on opening up another front in this war."

Brinkmann considered it for a moment before inclining his head. "Agreed. Unless the Supreme Council orders otherwise, we'll maintain a defensive posture on Earth for the immediate future."

"What about up here, then?" Girardelli chimed in, "Surely, we have more room for maneuver in space than we do on the ground."

Brinkmann looked at Gorshkov, and he saw her brow furrow in thought. "We do, but our options are not clear cut. Since repulsing the black ops attack on Armory One and the fleet strike on L5, our key orbital holdings remain secure. The enemy's made no moves against the PLANTs themselves since the start of the war, and Armory One's defenses have been reinforced. At the same time, major offensive actions for us are constrained. The enemy's most important strategic assets in space are the L2 shipyards and their Lunar bases, all of which are heavily defended. At the same time, the Atlantic Federation's severe losses during their failed nuclear attack has made them reluctant to pursue offensive action in orbit despite still maintaining a notable, though not decisive, numerical advantage. They're still reconstituting, waiting on the L2 yards and Lunar production facilities to make up warship and mobile suit losses. The result of all these factors is that space engagements ever since we repulsed the L5 attack have been little more than skirmishes amongst various scout and raiding flotillas across space. Neither us nor the enemy have dared make anything approaching a decisive move, and it is difficult to say where such a move could be made."

There was a long moment of silence around the conference table before Yam broke it. "The L2 shipyards themselves may be beyond our reach, but what about the resources supplying them? If we can't outright destroy them, perhaps it's enough to starve them for now."

Brinkmann liked the idea, but he was not sure how feasible it was. "Our own practice for securing raw materials has always revolved around towing resource satellites to friendly space, keeping them near the production facilities. The Atlantic Federation's long followed a similar doctrine, and they have the additional advantage of Lunar mining. It's hard to see how we can realistically interfere with their supply chain when their primary sources are so well protected."

"Not all of them are so secure," Gorshkov countered, "Like us, the Atlantic Federation has long-range asteroid survey and mining operations. These typically revolve around large rig vessels designed for carrying out both on-site mining and towing resource satellites back to friendly space. Boaz was originally acquired by the Earth Alliance that way, as was Artemis and other such asteroids that were then turned into bases. We've long carried out operations far from each other, so both our side and theirs tend to leave rigs with minimal escorts. That gives us a window of opportunity."

"I don't like it," Cosgrove remarked, "We start going for their resource rigs, they'll immediately respond in kind. The enemy can afford hits to their long-range mining operations; they have the Moon as a primary source. We lack that luxury."

"We'll have the advantage of initiative and surprise," Gorshkov argued, "That we'll be launching this campaign rather than the Atlantic Federation means we can simultaneously act offensively and defensively. With the casualties that the enemy suffered during the L5 attack, their warship reserves are limited; reinforcing one front is more likely to mean drawing key vessels from a valuable stronghold. Meanwhile, we have assets to spare for a sustained harassment effort, while some of the new production from our yards can be assigned to mining protection. If nothing else, it'll be a good way for our new recruits to gain some basic field experience before they're assigned to more dangerous fronts."

Girardelli smiled. "We could even rotate flotillas from the Home Defense Force to escort our rigs; it would be useful for them to practice something other than patrol in the Exclusion Grid."

Singh looked uneasy. "You would compromise the defense of the PLANTs for this campaign?"

"Hardly a compromise," Girardelli replied, "I'm only talking of a few small groups of warships and mobile suits being assigned to the campaign at any one time. We'll maintain more than sufficient reserves to defend the homeland."

Singh was silent for a moment before inclining his head. "Home Defense is your domain, Admiral. I'll trust that the PLANTs' safety remains in capable hands."

Cosgrove remained unconvinced. "Even if our proposed raids meet with success, they'll only be hitting resource rigs that are at the periphery of the enemy's mining operations. The flow of resources between the Moon and L2 will remain uninterrupted. We'll be using valuable ships and mobile suits to chew away at the margins, nothing more."

"I agree," Gorshkov said, taking the Marine Admiral by surprise, "which is why I would have us target more than just the outlying rigs. While we cannot attack the L2 shipyards or the Moon directly, the shipping routes between those two points are another matter. Recon has shown that the Atlantic Federation's been relatively lax with transport protection along that corridor. There are patrols, but escorts themselves have been minimal and primarily consisting of older units. That provides an opening we'd be foolish to ignore."

Yam's brow furrowed. "That opening is narrower than you make it seem. The transports might have minimal protection, but the fleets protecting Luna and L2 have their battle groups spread far. Initial raids might be successful, but subsequent attacks would be met and repulsed."

"The enemy would still have to divert valuable resources to meeting and repelling those attacks," Gorshkov pointed out, "Where they divert those resources from remains to be seen, but those redeployments could open new avenues of attack down the line."

"Assuming we don't burn too many of our troops, warships, and mobile suits in these attacks," Singh muttered.

"Hit-and-run strikes with flotillas of Nazca-class destroyers remain just a lethal a tactic now as they were in the last war," Brinkmann remarked, "Since we're simply focused on destroying the transports and escorts, we need only place the emphasis on long-range firepower and covering our retreat. The Blaze and Gunner Wizard Packs for the ZAKUs accomplish both goals nicely, and we have them in abundance."

Gorshkov smiled deviously. "We could also take things a step further by minelaying during our initial strikes. A cheap and effective method for sowing additional chaos in the enemy's shipping lanes."

Cosgrove looked less than enthused. "Both sides have largely avoided minelaying in outer space beyond a few key defensive points. If we begin dropping mines in well-travelled regions, it will spark escalation, not to mention lead to costly post-war cleanup."

"The enemy started this war by trying to nuke us!" Girardelli heatedly shot back, "This conflict was 'escalated' to the highest possible point from the outset. Breaking another taboo or two won't make a difference now!"

"Post-war cleanup will be irrelevant for us if we don't survive the war in the first place," Yam added.

Cosgrove turned to Brinkmann. "Grand Admiral?"

Brinkmann sympathized with the Marine Admiral's concerns, but he also understood and agreed with the others' points. "While the drawbacks are clear, this is a war of survival, Marine Admiral. Given what the enemy's used against us so far in this conflict, our escalation through widespread minelaying ultimately changes little. If that can disrupt the enemy's supply chain, then we will use it."

Cosgrove solemnly nodded, dejected but resigned. "Understood, Grand Admiral."

Gorshkov cleared her throat. "While interfering with and sabotaging the enemy's resource gathering and shipping efforts is important, there is another matter that I believe warrants our attention. Grand Admiral, if I may?"

Brinkmann nodded, prompting Gorshkov to begin typing on the console built into her section of the table. The screens along the back wall shifted, with the central one showing a map of the Earth Sphere and all five Lagrange points. Five flashing red dots appeared, forming a rough and uneven crescent arcing around the Moon from its dark side curving inward. The other screens zeroed in on those five individual points.

"Patrol Fleet scouts began showing signs of steadily increasing Atlantic Federation activity at these five points within the past weeks," Gorshkov explained, "Traffic, including transports, construction rigs, and warships has picked up going to and from these points. An accompanying spike in signals traffic has also been observed, though it cuts off soon after one reaches the periphery of these points; I believe intense communications and radar jamming is occurring within the perimeter. Whatever the enemy's doing here, they don't want anyone finding out the details about it."

Brinkmann leaned forward slightly to study the map. "These five points… what do we know about them?"

"Precious little," Gorshkov confessed, "mainly because we've had no reason to take an interest in them before. Each by itself was simply a patch of empty space in the past. A few of them are near established Earth Alliance patrol routes, and we had some skirmishes in those regions during the First Bloody Valentine War, but beyond that, they have no real tactical or strategic significance. Until now, that is."

"What level of traffic are we seeing at these points?" Girardelli asked, "Do we have anything on numbers?"

"Yes, but because we hadn't dedicated Patrol Fleet assets to monitoring these points consistently until recently, there's a great degree of variability in what's been observed," Gorshkov replied, "Anywhere from a few construction rigs to a dozen depending on time and place, for starters. As for warships, we've spotted formations ranging from flotillas to battle groups."

"What do we have on force composition?" Cosgrove inquired.

"The bulk of what's been observed so far is older models," Gorshkov answered, "Drake-class escort ships are in particular abundance, though Nelson-class battleships and a few Agamemnon-class carriers have also been spotted anchoring formations. There's also a handful of the newer Typhoon-class destroyers present, but not in significant numbers yet. Some of the Drake-class vessels are of particular interest."

She tapped a few keys on her console, and one of the wall images shifted. A picture of one of the escort ships in question appeared. Its purple hull, chisel-shaped front half, and upraised rear with the four large missile launchers arrayed in a rough X-shape with mobile suit launcher catapults set between them were familiar sights to the Grand Admiral and his colleagues, but the vessel in this image sported a most unusual modification. Jutting out from beneath the bow and thrusting forward was an angular dark grey spar which lengthened the ship by perhaps more than half again. There were no weapons on the spar that Brinkmann or the others could see, and they were instead confronted by the sight of four long light grey tapering protrusions near the end, along with four yellow bars. They were set over each other in two X-shaped arrays, the whole bizarre setup more reminiscent of a windmill than any sort of military device.

Singh voiced what everyone was thinking. "What the hell is that?"

Gorshkov threw up her hands. "To be honest, that has my analysts completely stumped. We have no idea what we're looking at here."

"Some new sort of long-range sensor suite, maybe?" Yam mused aloud.

"Possibly a communications or electronic warfare array," Delgado chimed in, "Perhaps they're the source of the signal jamming?"

Gorshkov shrugged. "At this point, Admiral Delgado, your guess is as good as mine. I would note that we've so far only seen Drake-class vessels sporting this modification at the five spots shown on the map. That's not to say that they couldn't show up elsewhere in the near or distant future, but as of now, these positions are where they're being deployed. This could suggest that, whatever the purpose of this modification is, it's designed with supporting whatever operation is happening at these five points specifically. However, this is pure speculation."

The issue was concerning, but there was another aspect to the situation that had Brinkmann worried. "You mentioned the presence of construction rigs, Admiral. That implies large scale projects are under development at these points. Do we have any evidence as to what those projects might be?"

"One of our GINN Long Range Recon Types was able to get a distant visual," Gorshkov answered, "Image quality isn't the best due to range, but the object's so big that it hardly matters."

Another of the screens along the wall shifted, this time changing to show a massive dark grey cylinder floating in space with both ends cut open. A few warships positioned nearby gave Brinkmann a sense of scale, and he realized what he was looking at.

"That's a colony section," said the Grand Admiral, "Island 3-type, I believe."

Gorshkov nodded. "It is. Given the devastation Earth Alliance colonies suffered in the last war, especially at L4, there's no shortage of such sections available, even after years of scrappers picking away at them."

"What could such debris offer them other than recyclable raw materials?" Yam asked.

"Foundations for new base construction, perhaps?" Delgado suggested.

"Why build new bases at these points?" Cosgrove inquired, "The two at the upper end of the crescent might make a degree of sense; their position would let them serve as supply and repair facilities to support another attack on L5. The other three, though… I can't see what the purpose is."

"The upper end of the crescent's proximity to the PLANTs is concerning," Girardelli chimed in, "These points being part of some eventual attack plan is not outside the realm of possibility."

"But why array them like this?" Singh pressed, "If the intent is to construct a series of forward operating bases or repair and supply depots to support a new offensive against L5, this is hardly an efficient layout. Especially the bottom half the crescent; it's arcing completely the wrong way if it's meant to support an attack on us. Something about this doesn't smell right."

Brinkmann agreed. "Admiral Gorshkov, you're to continue and step up monitoring of these points. Discovering their purpose is now one of your top priority assignments. Should you determine that they pose a threat, notify the fleets immediately, and whatever assets are necessary will be allocated to attack operations."

Gorshkov nodded. "Understood, Grand Admiral."

Whatever they have brewing there, Brinkmann thought as his gaze lingered on the screen showing the five points, we need to uncover and neutralize it quickly. We cannot afford another surprise like that dreadnought and those Mobile Dolls. The price for them catching us unawares was far too high.

Woe be to us all if we suffer another catastrophic intelligence failure.

….

Several hours later, the Defense Council was set to adjourn, and Admiral Anastasia Gorshkov had a laundry list of items to address. In addition to the points discussed at the meeting, Gorshkov knew there was a stack of reconnaissance reports back at her office that needed review, and she was keen on tackling the workload sooner rather than later.

Shaping up to be another all-nighter, she mused, I suspect I'll have to endure plenty more of those before this is all over.

Before she could leave the Defense Council conference room, however, Grand Admiral Brinkmann spoke up. "Admiral Gorshkov, Admiral Delgado; would you mind staying for a moment?"

Gorshkov and her colleague looked back and forth between themselves and their boss, like a pair of students called out by their teacher. The analogy was perhaps a fitting one; whenever Brinkmann asked a member of the Defense Council to remain after a meeting, it usually meant he was less than pleased about an aspect of their work. However, it was odd for him to have two of his subordinates stay behind together. Typically, the Grand Admiral would have just one stay, so as to avoid an audience for whatever chastisement he had in store for them.

No doubt catching their apprehension, Brinkmann offered Gorshkov and Delgado a small smile. "No need for either of you to fret. There are simply some additional matters I'd like to discuss with you."

Gorshkov did not completely buy the Grand Admiral's reassurance, but she would never say as much to his face. "Of course, sir."

Delgado gulped nervously. "Very well, sir."

Their exiting colleagues eyed them in curiosity, but said nothing; none of them wanted to draw their boss's ire. Gorshkov comforted herself with the knowledge that the gossip which would have resulted from a similar such situation in a classroom or corporation would not be an issue here. Brinkmann had made it very clear upon taking the reins what he thought of such behavior, and none would dare violate his decree, enforceability issues be damned.

When the conference room door was firmly shut, Brinkmann clasped his fingers together before turning to the Fleet Intelligence Service head. "I'll start with you, Admiral Gorshkov. Forces under your jurisdiction were recently involved in a clash with what the official report labeled as 'rogue and unlawful elements' at the L4 debris field. That skirmish took place not too far from a certain abandoned colony. I trust you don't require further elaboration."

Gorshkov shook her head. "I do not, Grand Admiral. The 'rogue and unlawful elements' in question…"

"Were part of Terminal, yes?" Brinkmann surmised.

Gorshkov nodded. "They were. I'm under orders from the Supreme Council Chairman himself to track their various assets, and one was found snooping around L4. I was well within my authority to have forces dispatched for an engagement."

"I am not calling your authority into question," Brinkmann reassured her before his eyes narrowed, "I am questioning the need for engagement in the first place. Your report indicates they were lurking around the ruins of Mendel. They were well clear of Armory One's defensive perimeter, and by all accounts, they don't seem to have been interested in our new colony at all. Would not continuing observation, signals interception, and decryption efforts have been more productive?"

Gorshkov sighed, keeping her frustration in check. "Grand Admiral, may I speak frankly?"

"I insist upon it," Brinkmann replied.

Gorshkov took a deep breath. "Regarding signals interception and decryption, you know that we've had difficulties cracking Terminal's communications since the organization's inception. By the time we've broken a cipher, the information within winds up being severely outdated; that's how far behind them we are in the communications encryption field. As for observation, my experience is that whenever any Terminal force learns it's being watched, they either lose the tail or eliminate it swiftly. Either way, the result is that we lose track of them. Given my orders from the Supreme Council Chairman, I couldn't risk this element we'd found escaping."

Brinkmann nodded sagely. "I understand and sympathize with your concerns, Admiral. This does not change the fact that the target here did escape, and they inflicted far greater damage upon our forces than we did to them. Knowing Terminal's ability to win against numerically superior forces, I'm surprised that you didn't devote greater resources to this operation."

"The flotilla at L4 was to be reinforced," Gorshkov explained, "but the target broke out before those reinforcements could arrive. This wasn't their signature battleships and Gundams; it was a stolen Nazca-class destroyer disguised as a transport, along with older mobile suits. I thought the forces devoted to tracking and engaging them were sufficient. Clearly, I was mistaken. That being said, I would be remiss if I did not point out that Terminal had help."

"So I read," Brinkmann said, "though I have to ask; are you certain that the Scandinavian forces encountered at L4 were there to help Terminal? The official complaint we received from the Kingdom's embassy was that we opened fire on forces that were conducting training exercises. I got quite an earful from the Diplomatic Committee on that matter."

Gorshkov's eyes narrowed. "They were interfering with our operation. They have no right to complain about getting bitten when they stick their noses into business that's not their own."

"Perhaps, but that wasn't my question," Brinkmann replied, "The Scandinavians; you're sure their arrival was no mere happenstance?"

Gorshkov nodded. "Their actions drew one of our destroyers and its mobile suits out of position, creating a gap that the target immediately exploited. There was nothing coincidental about this in the slightest, Grand Admiral. Terminal and the Scandinavians were colluding here; there's no doubt in my mind whatsoever."

Brinkmann was quiet for several seconds before he spoke again. "I see."

Gorshkov waited anxiously as silence fell once more. While she found the Grand Admiral an agreeable boss for the most part, there were times when she wished that he was more expressive. Experience had made Brinkmann a cool and deliberative man who kept his true thoughts and feelings close to the chest. For an intelligence professional like Gorshkov, few things made her more uneasy than someone she could not get a read on.

"I assume the Scandinavians are now a variable you're taking into account for the rest of your operation," Brinkmann eventually said, "They are the reason why you've both allocated additional Patrol Fleet assets and requisitioned units from our regular forces, yes?"

"Amongst other factors, yes," Gorshkov confirmed.

"I suppose I can't blame you for that," Brinkmann continued, eyes narrowing as he seemed to stare straight through her, "seeing as the Eternal was spotted on the move shortly after the skirmish at L4. Interesting timing, though, wouldn't you say?"

Though Gorshkov remained calm on the surface, inwardly, she was sweating bullets. Now the Grand Admiral was probing near her mission's true purpose; the elimination of the real Lacus Clyne. That knowledge had understandably been confined to a very tight circle, and Brinkmann was not in it. Admiral Delgado was, though, which prompted a question; had the Grand Admiral held them both back after the meeting because he was suspicious of them?

First rule of lying, she reminded herself, make the lie as small as possible. If it can be one of omission, so much the better. Camouflage it with facts, and the lie has a greater chance of passing unnoticed.

"Fortuitous timing," Gorshkov said, weighing her every word with the utmost care, "as the skirmish at L4 was part of a larger operation; one meant to lure out additional Terminal assets. With their most powerful ships and pilots confirmed to still be down on Earth, now's an ideal time to trim what forces they've maintained in outer space."

Brinkmann grunted. "With the losses we suffered during Operation: Angel Down, I can't fault the desire for retribution. That being said, is this a front that we can afford devoting additional resources to? I don't question the potential threat posed by Terminal, but I would note that the threat is just that; potential. While they've recently engaged us in this conflict, the bulk of their efforts thus far have been against the Earth Alliance. Even today, their contributions were crucial for the destruction of the Atlantic Federation's dreadnought, and they've savaged our enemy's forces across the Earth Sphere. We've known from the outset that the Atlantic Federation wants our kind exterminated. Terminal's goals aren't so obvious, but given their membership and what their predecessor organization did in the last war, I think it's fair to surmise that they're not out for our annihilation. Given what we've already lost to them, and the Atlantic Federation still posing an existential threat to our people, I find spending precious lives and materiel chasing a potential, or at best secondary threat, to be a dubious investment."

Gorshkov slowly nodded. "I understand your concerns, Grand Admiral. However, as I mentioned earlier, I'm undertaking this operation by order of the Supreme Council Chairman. Dubious investment of resources or not, it is one I'm required to make until he says otherwise."

Brinkmann looked at her for several seconds before inclining his head and turning to her colleague. "So it is, then. I suppose the same would go for you too, Admiral Delgado?"

The head of ZAFT's combined military R&D sections blinked. "Sir?"

"You may not be aware of this," Brinkmann explained, "but I make a habit of personally reviewing the Supreme Council's military appropriations approvals. As we are now in a state of war, ZAFT's budget has naturally undergone a drastic expansion as the PLANTs have shifted over to a war economy. Given that this is a war for our people's very survival, the civilian government has been keen to authorize whatever funding requests ZAFT has made, with little or no question. It's quite fortunate that the Supreme Council still has such trust in the military, given how Patrick Zala couldn't have enacted his agenda without our support. That's especially true when it comes to our R&D efforts."

Delgado hesitated, and Gorshkov bit back a curse; her colleague was much more at home in a lab or test site than he was in any sort of social setting, even a private meeting like this, which meant his ability to lie convincingly on the spot was questionable at best. "Well… ZAFT's greatest advantage has always come through the combination of our people's enhanced aptitudes thanks to us being Coordinators… and how we apply our mental blessings towards technological development. Our R&D process has always moved forward at an accelerated rate thanks to our inherent advantages, and this has resulted in weapons that have saved our homeland. Look at the Neutron Jammer Stampeder, or the nuclear-powered mobile suits and the METEOR support systems from the last war. Granted, the latter were stolen by the Clyne Faction before we could use them, but they were ultimately deployed to save the PLANTs during the last war's final battle. The Neutron Jammer Stampeder saved the PLANTs at the start of this war; you both saw that, as did the Supreme Council. It's… it's only natural that the Supreme Council would so dramatically increase our funding given the results we've shown."

All strictly true, Gorshkov thought, but you could've done with a bit more confidence, Delgado.

Brinkmann grunted. "I'm not one to deny the effectiveness of your division's work; our people would already be extinct were it not for several of your projects. The reason I bring this up is that one of my aides pointed out something curious to me; a substantial portion of the latest approved R&D funding is going towards a single program… one classified to such an extreme length that even I can't access all of it. Tell me, Admiral Delgado; is Project: Messiah truly so vital to this war that it's worth the concentration of so many prized researchers and valuable components? The physical construction costs aren't bad, though I would note that they'd just about fund building another Minerva including equipping her with a conventional mobile suit complement, and I'd much rather have another one of her right now than wait for whatever it is you're building. However, the research and testing expenses are amongst the highest I've seen since the last war. Not to mention the warships, mobile suits, personnel, supplies, and munitions being devoted to its security…"

Delgado stiffened slightly. "I understand your concerns, Grand Admiral, but I assure you that the project is of the utmost importance. It is worth every credit and man-hour of investment."

Brinkmann studied him for a moment before inclining his head. "I might disagree, but I can see that you, at least, firmly believe in it. I hope that when the project comes to fruition, your high hopes for it are proven right."

Delgado's postured eased with notable relief. "Thank you, Grand Admiral."

Brinkmann looked back and forth between the two Admirals for a moment, prompting Gorshkov and Delgado to share brief but very anxious glances. Was their boss about to dismiss them, or was there a proverbial shoe that had yet to drop?

"You're both very talented in your respective fields," the Grand Admiral eventually said, "ZAFT is fortunate to have your services, as are the PLANTs. Normally, I wouldn't be one to tell you how to do your jobs. Nevertheless, allow me to offer a bit of unsolicited advice."

Gorshkov blinked; where was her boss going with this? "Sir?"

Brinkmann's eyes narrowed. "Be wary when your work begins to mix with politics."

Delgado looked flummoxed. "Grand Admiral?"

"With all due respect, sir," Gorshkov carefully replied, "our work as soldiers is inherently political. War is politics by other means, after all. The most savage form of politics, if you will."

Brinkmann nodded and, to Gorshkov, it seemed like a slight shadow had fallen beneath his gaze as his tone gradually dropped to something just above a menacing growl. "True enough. Perhaps I should rephrase it, then; be wary when a powerful politician takes such a close interest in your work. I don't know exactly why the Supreme Council Chairman has seen fit to draw you into his circle. You're both adults, so it's not my place to say anything about who or what causes you personally support as long as it doesn't interfere with your duties. I know receiving the Chairman's personal attention is a great honor, and I won't begrudge you the boon to your careers. Even so, I would remind you that you serve more than your personal ideology or individual politicians. You serve ZAFT. More importantly, you serve the people of the PLANTs. The moment a politician's influence compromises your work, it compromises the defense of our people. Don't forget that."

Delgado hastily nodded. "No, s-I-I mean, yes, sir!"

Gorshkov was more measured in her response. "Of course, sir."

Brinkmann then leaned back slightly, and to Gorshkov, he suddenly looked utterly exhausted. "That is all. You're dismissed."

Gorshkov and Delgado traded brief looks before acknowledging Brinkman in unison. Quickly exiting the conference room, they headed their separate ways. While things had not gone nearly as bad as she'd feared, Gorshkov knew that Brinkmann's words were a shot across the bow. He knew that she and Delgado were serving more than one agenda, and it was not hard to read between the lines; should their work for Durandal threaten the safety of the PLANTs, Brinkmann would move against them.

I'll have to notify the Chairman, Gorshkov thought as she set a brisk pace towards her office, although… I wonder what he'll ultimately do. I imagine the world we seek to build would be to the Grand Admiral's liking. Perhaps the Chairman will take this as a signal that we should now bring the Grand Admiral into our circle… or will he simply determine that the Defense Council needs new leadership? We shall see.

….

I never imagined gladhanding with PLANT high society would be any kind of reprieve, Durandal thought as he forced a smile for yet another well-wisher, but I suppose it beats another grilling before the Supreme Council.

He could take some comfort in that it was not a large crowd, but that was down to location more than anything else. A penthouse suite in Glenn Spires might be considered downright palatial to the average PLANT citizen, yet even the spacious combined living and dining area where the impromptu get-together was being hosted could only hold a little more than two-dozen people before becoming stiflingly overcrowded. The place had been largely cleared of furniture for the occasion to make extra space, with only a handful of small, scattered tables and chairs available in the main area. It was hardly standing-room early, but even Durandal, who had attended more than his fair share of these support group gatherings ever since stepping into L5's political arena, found the setting somewhat cramped.

Given that he had returned to Aprilius One under an ignominious cloud following the Iceland debacle, it undoubtedly would have struck a casual observer as odd for Durandal to attend an event like this. Wining and dining with industrialists and financiers after so many of the Coordinator people's young and valiant soldiers had given their lives in a disaster of a battle was hardly good optics; Durandal himself was perfectly aware of how callous it appeared, and he'd in fact been rather reluctant to accept the invitation. However, given that the assorted attendees were valuable supporters, he could hardly afford to offend them.

Especially now, Durandal mused as his gaze swept across the crowd, each member dressed in finery as if for a night on the town, when my position with the Supreme Council has become so precarious. If my formal support within the government wanes further, I'll have to lean further on informal support outside it. Not a position I like being in, but one must adapt to circumstances. Talia… you'd no doubt give me an earful for being here today while you and so many of our brave soldiers risk your lives for our people… and I could hardly blame you for it.

Poor optics and timing aside, the gathering was a necessity. When Durandal had decided to throw his hat into the race for Supreme Council Chairman, building up his public profile to match and compete with the other candidates had been crucial. While already well-liked by the people of Aprilius One thanks to his work on the capital's local governing council, entering big league politics meant he needed more than just grassroots popular support. He needed allies within the elite who could not just promote his candidacy, but also provide crucial backing and connections when he won to help his agenda become reality. Now, those allies required reassurance that they were still backing the right horse.

Said allies were who had thrown together this gathering on such short notice, and Durandal had little choice but to play along. The list of attendees read like a who's who of the PLANTs' socio-economic upper crust. The Integrated Design Bureau's chief designer and the head of its Central Committee were both present, as was the chief operating officer for the largest shipyards of L5; the military industrial complex was well represented. Leaders of the resource mining and energy sectors had come, as had heads of the largest construction contractors. The CEO of Starlight Transport Corporation, one of the top dogs in L5's shipping industry, had taken time out of his busy schedule to be present, and he was hardly the only corporate executive in attendance. Leadership of the PLANTs' top two banks had come to call, keen to measure the continued security of their investments in the various public works of his government, not to mention air concerns over the accumulated financial costs of the war. Media and entertainment figures were also in the crowd, including the directors of the largest news outlets; they'd been harassing Durandal earlier for a chance to interview 'Lacus Clyne', and diplomatically extricating himself from that situation had been no small feat.

They have no idea that she resides in this very building, Durandal thought with wry amusement, which just goes to show how effective our security measures have been.

"Well, I was wondering when I'd get an opening," a male voice said from behind him, "The corporate vultures are so insistent on monopolizing your time."

Turning around, Durandal's previously-forced smile became slightly more genuine as he beheld a middle-aged man in a relatively plain business suit. His gray hair was in the process of rapidly thinning out; he'd likely have a bald dome before the year was over. More than a few wrinkles were in his face, but his blue eyes remained as sharp today as when Durandal had first met him so many years ago.

"Doctor Hall," Durandal replied, holding out his hand, "It's been far too long."

Mathis Hall, a renowned expert in the field of DNA analysis, smiled as he firmly grasped Durandal's hand. "Indeed, it has. Look at you… I can still recall your days as one of my humble lab assistants. You rose rapidly back then, and went on to even greater heights since. Glad to see you're not down and out yet."

"I can hardly afford to be," Durandal remarked, gesturing at the nearby window and the gleaming urban landscape of the capital beyond, "Far too many are relying on me."

Doctor Hall nodded sagely. "They are… both here and beyond, though they know it not. Their futures, and those of their descendants, are all inextricably tied to yours."

The slight dip in the doctor's tone was all the hint Durandal needed. "Doctor, might we take this back to the office? I've already made the appropriate small talk and boilerplate speeches, so I'm sure this esteemed crowd can do without my company for a few minutes."

Though Durandal did not own the penthouse himself, he was on good terms with the man who did; the backroom office was always available for whenever he needed a private conversation at these gatherings. Of course, this was only after Durandal's security team had thoroughly and repeatedly swept it for bugs. So, the Chairman and Doctor Hall withdrew, politely reassuring anyone who asked that they would be returning soon. On the way out, he cast a covert gaze at his aide, Amber, and the brunette returned the slightest of nods; she would continue mingling with the crowd as his proxy, quietly listening in on every conversation she could track. Heading down a short hallway and then entering a door on the left, they found themselves in a modestly sized and appointed room with a desk, a computer, a few bookshelves, a handful of seats, and a small table off to the side by the sole window. While Doctor Hall settled in at the table, Durandal went behind the desk, popped open the lower drawer, and pulled out a bottle along with two long-necked glasses.

"You're still partial to red wine, yes?" Durandal inquired as he came back to the table and sat across from his colleague, "The owner of this place keeps an exceptional stock."

Doctor Hall nodded, though he seemed a bit hesitant. "Of course, but…"

Durandal smiled reassuringly. "If you're concerned about offending the owner by partaking in his stash, don't be; he has far more tucked away where this came from."

Doctor Hall then rubbed his hands eagerly as he eyed the bottle's label. "In that case, fill us up. My, my… is that a Junius Seven vintage?"

"It is," Durandal confirmed as he loaded up their glasses, "Bottled February 10th, C.E. 70… and shipped out a day later."

"Mere days before the Bloody Valentine Tragedy," Doctor Hall remarked, "Just about any Junius Seven vintage goes for six figures easily at auction these days, if not more. One bottled and shipped out just before the attack is nearly priceless. The collectors' market can be downright vicious… not for the faint of heart to partake in."

"The owner has particular tastes and a strong stomach," Durandal said as he set the bottle down and idly swirled the contents of his glass, "Somewhat morbid, perhaps… but I'm hardly in a position to judge. What shall we toast to?"

Doctor Hall raised his glass without hesitation. "To the only thing that matters; destiny."

Durandal clinked his glass against his companion's before taking a long sip. That Doctor Hall had placed emphasis on 'destiny' as his toast signaled the true reason for him being here today, along with the level of urgency.

After a hearty sip of his own, Doctor Hall set his glass down, his expression becoming grave. "I know time is short, so I'll get to the heart of things; what's the current risk to the Plan?"

Durandal considered his words carefully. Though it was just the two of them in this office, what was spoken here would not remain confined within these walls. Doctor Hall might have been an influential figure in the PLANTs' scientific community, but Durandal knew the man was only here as an intermediary. He was representing another faction of Durandal's backers, one that would not be so bold as to move in the open and attend a party like this. Depending on his words, that faction might be convinced to actively intervene, which was the last thing Durandal wanted at this time. He knew what the price for their aid would be. The world was not yet ready to learn of them…

…and Durandal would not share power.

"The situation's precarious," he eventually said, "but enacting the Plan is still eminently feasible. There are simply some adjustments that need to be made in light of recent events."

His colleague leaned forward. "Adjustments?"

Durandal tapped his finger on the table. "When we eventually go public, I'm expecting greater resistance than was initially projected. A more forceful implementation will unfortunately be required, both in space and on the surface. The latter is what presents a challenge."

Doctor Hall nodded. "Because of the casualties suffered in Iceland, right?"

Durandal sighed. "Yes. The failure of the Heaven's Base assault and the resulting losses has made the Supreme Council much more reluctant to sign off on new planet-side offensives. Public opinion is likewise in the negative."

"The public rarely knows what's truly good for it," Doctor Hall scoffed, "They lack the vision and stomach to grasp the necessity of sacrifice to secure a better future."

Durandal would not argue the point. "You and I understand it, but we long ago grasped the larger picture and what needs to be done. Most people, alas, are emotional creatures, enslaved to their short-term desires and impulses. Unfortunately, the public's souring attitude on the war is reflected in their representatives on the Supreme Council. My support bloc has not yet been compromised, but erosion is taking place. Marshalling support for future surface offensives in this environment is looking to be hard sell. If the Plan is to be brought to life, it won't be through consensus on the Council. I believe it's time to steer events down another path."

Doctor Hall's eyes narrowed. "That path being?"

Durandal's gaze darkened. "One where consensus on the Council is no longer required."

A long silence hung between them before Doctor Hall broke it, his expression grave. "You seek to claim emergency powers, then. The threshold for doing so… well, you'd know that better than I. How do you intend to clear it?"

Since the disastrous reign of Patrick Zala, the Supreme Council had instituted reforms to mitigate the risk of another figure like him seizing de facto dictatorial power. Permanently barring the Supreme Council Chairman from simultaneously chairing the Defense Council was one such measure, while another had been modifying the threshold for claiming emergency powers. Originally, it had been a two-thirds majority vote, but when Patrick Zala had seized his majority during the last war, he'd intimidated any remaining neutral figures behind the scenes into supporting him. Now, in order for the Supreme Council Chairman to claim emergency powers, it had to be demonstrated before the Judicial Committee that the Council itself was compromised to the point of threatening the PLANTs' security itself.

Durandal steepled his fingers together. "Simple; I'll give my opposition enough rope to hang themselves with."

Doctor Hall looked momentarily confused before his eyes widened in comprehension. "The old Clyne Faction's allies and proxies… you're monitoring their communications."

"As much as my intelligence and security services can," Durandal confessed, "Admittedly, the explicit contents of those communications are well-protected; they're hardly fools, after all. However, where their various transmissions are being sent is enough to build a case, seeing as they can be traced to suspected agents of Terminal. The more messages they send and we detect, the stronger a case they build for us."

Doctor Hall's brow furrowed. "Perhaps, but without the explicit contents being decrypted, isn't it a case built on circumstantial evidence?"

"For a matter of national security, quantity has a quality all of its own," Durandal countered, "The sheer number of tracked messages will give me all the grounds I need to make a move."

"Only if the law enforcement and judicial apparatus is willing to play along," Doctor Hall pointed out.

"Leitner's amongst my strongest supporters," Durandal replied, "and she heads the Judicial Committee. Whatever lingering doubts she might have, assuaging them will not be difficult. As for law enforcement, I've already ensured that the deck is thoroughly stacked in my favor. The head of the Interior Ministry is fully supportive of the Plan, as are the department chiefs beneath. I need only wait until the right time to call upon them."

Doctor Hall frowned. "Given that the very future of humanity is at stake, wouldn't now be the right time?"

Durandal shook his head. "I understand and share your sense of urgency, but you must take a step back and look at the political ramifications. The Supreme Council Chairman making a play for emergency powers and having his detractors arrested immediately after a Council session excoriating him for the disaster in Iceland and threatening his position? I would be viewed as nothing more than a petty tyrant seeking payback against my opponents on the Council. I'd be less sympathetic in the public eye than even Patrick Zala, whose extremism was at least driven in no small part by vengeance for his wife and the others who perished in the Bloody Valentine Tragedy. The people would almost certainly turn against me, and we'd be facing the threat of insurrection, perhaps even civil war. No, my friend; the timing is critical here. I cannot be perceived as making such a move merely for power and political retribution. We must guide events so circumstances align to bring public perception over to our side; the people must believe that this is all for a greater good."

Doctor Hall leaned back, taking another sip of wine. "If I take your meaning… then that move must come at the same moment as you unveil the Plan to the world. Am I right?"

Durandal nodded. "Yes. That moment we've long waited for is fast approaching. In fact, the enemy may have unwittingly aided us in that respect."

Doctor Hall arched an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Their attack on Paris was meant to spread fear," Durandal elaborated, "and it was quite successful, even if the instrument of that terror was destroyed shortly after. Such wanton brutality plays into our broader strategy; a world so traumatized by global warfare that its inhabitants become desperate for security and stability. The Atlantic Federation's latest atrocity is yet another reminder to everyone of mankind's cruelty. When we reveal the Plan, the poor and battered souls of this world will finally have what they never realized they truly wanted; an escape from humanity's pointless cycle of barbarism perpetuated against itself."

Doctor Hall was quiet for a moment. "I suppose you have a point there. How many times did you and I discuss the same point; that only a humanity pummeled to a pulp, horrified of its own depravity, will accept the salvation we offer?"

Durandal smiled. "Precisely. While the governments of the world, my own included, righteously condemn the Atlantic Federation for their latest crime against humanity, the truth of the matter is that their crimes are quite useful for advancing our designs. Humanity, Coordinator and Natural alike, have witnessed horror after horror in both this war and the last. They're close to the breaking point. We need only make the right pitch at the right time, and the masses will embrace the future we offer."

Doctor Hall grunted. "The masses, perhaps, but I expect their leaders will be loathe to relinquish power. Hence the need for additional surface campaigns."

"An unfortunate necessity," Durandal confessed, "I can already think of a few key figures who will balk at our vision. Whether by lust for power or the naïve-yet-genuine belief in freedom for all, the results will be the same; resistance to mankind's only viable future. They will have to be dealt with by force. There's simply no other way."

Doctor Hall sighed. "An unfortunate reality. I suppose that goes for the Ultimate Coordinator, too?"

Durandal nodded. "I know you were hoping that we may yet find a way to bring him over to our side, but I'm afraid that ship sailed long ago. What our colleagues at Mendel hoped would be a guiding beacon for the future of humanity instead fights to preserve the status quo. There's no choice now; he must die so the new world can be born."

Doctor Hall grunted. "A pity… but it can't be helped. So much wasted potential… that boy has no idea what he's throwing away by siding against us."

"Yet one more tragedy added to Mendel's legacy," Durandal concurred.

The two men finished off their wine before Doctor Hall rose. "Well, I shouldn't keep you longer, then; your schedule's far busier than mine. Bumps and detours aside, the Plan still seems roughly on track. I look forward to seeing the day you unveil it to the world and make it reality."

"It will be a day long remembered," Durandal remarked as he stood up, "Perhaps we'll mark it as an official holiday when the war's finally over."

"One that'd actually be worth celebrating," Doctor Hall quipped before his gaze darkened as it met Durandal's, "Just remember this, old friend; failure is not an option. Difficulties are one thing, but if the course of events deviates too far, our other friends will eventually step in. I'd prefer the Plan be implemented under your stewardship rather than theirs, but I will serve regardless of who the overseer ends up being."

Durandal inclined his head, taking the warning in stride. "Of course. It was good to chat again, old friend."

….

At the checkout counter, Rosemary blinked several times when she saw the final tally for her groceries. Outwardly, she continued smiling and engaging in friendly small talk with the cashier and the clerk as the latter loaded up her bag. Inwardly, she was running the numbers in her head, comparing this week's bill with last.

Up again, she thought grimly before bidding farewell to the staff and headed for the door, I don't know how many more of these price hikes we can manage…

Rose was not accustomed to worrying about how mundane items such as groceries would impact her family's budget. Her husband's work with Maverick Security Consulting, combined with her own substantial salary as a professional counselor, meant that she and Jack had never lacked for money in the past. However, the PLANTs' shift over to a war economy since the outbreak of hostilities was making its impact felt on all families in L5, regardless of how well off they were.

The situation was not as bad as those dark months following the Bloody Valentine Tragedy, when strict rationing had been imposed until the food supply chains could be properly reconfigured and output from the other agricultural colonies increased to compensate for Junius Seven's loss. However, the steady price hikes, brought on by the substantial shifting of resources over to the military once the new war began, almost functioned as an informal rationing policy. All of Rose's friends were cutting back their spending however they could, and it was not just food or drinks that they were tightening their belts on. Everything from consumer electronics to fabrics was climbing in cost.

Exiting the store, she headed for the bus stop and checked the schedule; the next arrival was mere minutes away. Squeezing onto the edge of the crowded bench, Rose's gaze drifted to the large screen on the building across the street. A news broadcast was currently playing, with the focus still on the aftermath of the devastating Paris attack. Rose suddenly felt a twinge of guilt about fretting over something as mundane as grocery prices; there were people down on Earth who had things way worse than her right now.

Her phone buzzing provided a welcome distraction, and Rose's eyes lit up as she saw the source; a text from her friend and neighbor, who was watching John for her while she did her grocery shopping. She smiled as she read the contents, pleased that her son was getting along well with her friend's. The two boys were apparently utterly engrossed in a video game, mercifully distracted from the concerns of the wider world.

It would not be so easy to distract him starting next week, when the winter holiday break came to an end and the kids were all back in school. Granted, John and the other kids his age were far too young to really understand what was happening beyond the walls of the colony, but the faculty was another matter. Though the adults tried to discuss the war only in hushed tones when they thought the kids were not listening, Rose knew firsthand that children could be incredibly observant when they wanted to. John was sharper than most his age; he truly was his father's son in that regard.

Moving the text aside, Rose brought up her email. Her inbox had a few recent messages from her husband's boss; Boris knew just how much she worried for Jack, and he'd provided her with every update he could on his status whenever possible. The latest was little more than an add on from what she'd gotten the day before, noting how much further the vessel he was on had travelled and when he'd be back at Gibraltar. Rose would not feel truly at ease until Boris confirmed Jack was on base instead of at sea, but it was at least comforting to know that her husband was further away from enemy territory now than he'd been before.

The bus she was waiting for soon pulled up, with Rose and the others quietly filing in and taking what few seats were left. Surreptitiously glancing at the other riders, her counselor's instincts kicked in. All of them showed various signs of anxiety and tension, with hardly anyone uttering so much as a peep to each other. It was such a stark contrast from the rides Rose experienced before the war. To think that just a few months ago, these same passengers were so much livelier.

The turn in mood was to be expected, though. With just how massive the recruitment spike had been at the start of the war, especially after the thwarted nuclear attack, almost every family in the PLANTs had a member, often multiple, in ZAFT. That meant any engagement with heavy losses, especially one as catastrophic as the Iceland assault, impacted a substantial portion of the population. Whether it was confirmation that a family member was killed or wounded, or simply worrying over where a loved one was currently deployed, everyone in the PLANTs had ample reason for dread. Then there was the Paris attack, which only served to reinforce the knowledge of just what they were up against; if the Atlantic Federation was willing to unleash such an atrocity on a previously allied nation, then there was no limit to the horrors they'd visit upon the Coordinator people if they had the opportunity.

You'd think we'd all be numb to it by now, she mused, since they tried to exterminate us in the last war, too. I suppose it's a background fear, now. You can become accustomed to it, but that doesn't mean it goes away.

Living with such knowledge meant it was hard for Rose or any of her friends to imagine just how the war would end. The last time around, the hardliners on both sides had been killed or arrested, and the survivors signed the peace treaty. Now, though? According to the Supreme Council Chairman's public address, Blue Cosmos utterly owned the Atlantic Federation thanks to the backing of LOGOS, meaning there were no moderate figures waiting in the wings who could step in and negotiate a peace. The enemy was firmly committed to the annihilation of all Coordinators, so where did that leave the PLANTs? As far as Rose or anyone else in L5 knew, the war was set to go on indefinitely.

As a professional counselor, such an environment meant that Rose never lacked for patients these days. If anything, she was having a hard time fitting in all the appointments. She felt bad every time she saw her waiting list; it just kept on growing week after week. While the job security was welcome, Rose could hardly rejoice at the circumstances. Behind every name on that list was someone deeply struggling with their inner demons, with simply processing what was happening in the world, and they all deserved her highest quality of work. Her dedication to providing the best care for every patient was well known, which had ironically gotten her into this mess; her reputation meant everyone who knew of her wanted to be a client.

Maybe I should reach out to the university, she thought, see if any of my old colleagues there could lend a hand. Their credentials would still be good… but I'm sure they all have their own plates full, too. I could hire another assistant; the budget's got plenty of room for at least one more on the payroll. Then again, every practice is gobbling up help as soon as it becomes available, not to mention we're all competing with the government for qualified personnel. It's a mess all over…

Putting her phone away, she leaned back in her seat and watched as the cityscape rushed by. Civilian traffic inside the colony had dropped noticeably since the war began, and while the grim reason for that was the amount of people being recruited and deployed by ZAFT, a silver lining of it was the substantial cutdown on commute times. It was not just the streets that had cleared up, either. The shopping district that Rose frequented was normally bustling with foot traffic, but the sidewalks had much more open space on them now than they had before the war. No PLANT colony was a ghost town, even in the war, yet Rose still found the quieter city unsettling. Even without the increased military recruitment, the streets and walkways should have still been fairly busy at this time of day. That they were not meant people were either staying home more or working longer hours, the latter depending on their individual professions. Rose knew that it was particularly bad in the arms industry; more than a few of her patients were employed in that sector, and she'd heard stories of workers all but living at the factories now. Even if they were being well paid for their labor, the sheer workload to keep up with ZAFT's production orders was burning people out.

Rose could sympathize; while her job might not have been as physically demanding as that of a laborer manufacturing munitions or mobile suits, the mental strain of a counselor's work during wartime was no joke. Keeping track of her various patients' issues and progress, managing her assistants, balancing the schedule backlog, fielding upset calls from clients on the wait list… there were days when she did not even want to get out of bed, knowing what was waiting for her. Just thinking about it could be overwhelming, and that wasn't even counting her fears for her husband and son. Rose would not complain, though. After all, she didn't have to look far to find people who had things much worse than her.

By chance or fate, she saw one of them a few seconds later. As the bus entered a residential district, Rose could see the local park that she often took John to. A few people were currently present, adults sitting on benches while their children played on the various structures I the center. Rose recognized one of the adults, a woman with short-cropped black hair and brown eyes, dressed in simple jogging sweats. She lived a few doors down from Rose's residence, and they had struck up friendly conversations in passing before. Rose had seen her at this park before, along with her child, but unlike before the war, where she'd always seemed so vibrant, now there was a distant and guarded air to her. The reason was as simple as it was tragic; her husband had perished when defending the PLANTs against the Earth Alliance's opening assault of the war. There were plenty more like her, and Rose could count several of them among her patients.

There would only be more as the war went on. The question, of course, was how many more there'd be before the war finally ended.

If it ever ended.

….

When the average person thought of the PLANTs, what immediately came to mind were the gleaming hourglass-shaped colonies. This was for good reason, but these colonies were far from the only structures situated at L5. Military and civilian shipyards were quite numerous, as were asteroid resource satellites. Among the latter, many had already been completely stripped clean of whatever ores or precious metals they'd possessed, but the Coordinator people had long ago learned the value of recycling absolutely everything they possibly could, and that included these huge space rocks. Some were repurposed as military facilities, some became essentially giant floating warehouses, and others were transformed into research installations.

Yogachara was one of the latter. Vaguely resembling a melon that had a few bites taken out of it, Yogachara had been acquired a decade before the First Bloody Valentine War. It was quite large, coming in at roughly 3.5 kilometers long, 3.1 kilometers wide, and 2.9 kilometers tall if one approached along the established transit lane. Completely mined out two years prior to the last war, it had then been purchased by ZAFT and given over to the R&D section as a top-secret laboratory. As much of the work carried out there was decidedly not the kind of research that ZAFT was proud of, considering it a necessary evil to say the least, the chunk of rock was well removed from any of the colonies or shipyards. Security was low-profile but thorough; while only a handful of warships were stationed nearby, intense active jamming and other electronic warfare measures were in place.

Sitting in his office, Doctor Escobar Peron was leaning back behind a desk, rubbing a hand over his weary eyes. He really should've been asleep right now, but the grisly nature of his work meant that he could usually only keep his eyes shut for an hour or two at most before well-deserved phantoms forced him awake. The Hispanic First Generation Coordinator may have only been in his in his mid-thirties, but he felt much older. His dark brown eyes had lost that vibrant spark colleagues had once remarked upon, and his black hair was sporting some quite noticeable streaks of grey. He wagered that he'd have quite a few more before this war was over, assuming he didn't put himself out of commission before the conflict was over.

If I had any shred of human decency left, he bitterly thought as he leaned down to pull a bottle of tequila and a shot glass out of the bottom desk drawer, I would've offed myself the second Durandal put me in charge of this project. I just had to chase the allure of discovery and forbidden fruit… if Hell is real, I deserve everything it has to offer and more when I get there.

Unfortunately for Peron, the reprieve of the underworld was not for him just yet. Though he had become disgusted with his own work, the grisly reports he'd received about what had been found in the Earth Alliance's Lodonia laboratories only reinforced its grim necessity. Peron could not help but muse on the fact that the scientists behind those horrors would be remembered as the monsters they were, but since his horrors were being committed for what he still believed was the winning side, those who by rights should be trying him for crimes against humanity would be persuaded by the government to look the other way.

A chime from the console before him snapped Peron out of his ruminations, and he sat up straight as one of his assistants, a raven-haired man with bright blue eyes in his mid-twenties, appeared on the screen. "Doctor Peron?"

Peron grunted. "What is it?"

"You asked to be notified when Alpha 07's latest simulator session was completed and the data compiled," the assistant replied, "I just forwarded everything to your email."

Pulling up a new tab, Peron checked his in-box and saw that a new file had indeed shown up mere seconds ago. "Ah, very good. Anything I should be aware of?"

"No abnormalities," the assistant said, eyes gleaming with excitement, "Alpha 07's performance was exemplary. According to the technicians, the system will be ready for implementation in the prototype tomorrow. We'll finally see Alpha 07's full potential; he won't be held back any more by these modified units!"

Peron grunted. "Maybe, but don't neglect the modified units; we still need them in working order for the other pilots, and the Chairman has high hopes for their combat debut."

The assistant hastily nodded. "Of course, Doctor!"

"Anything else I should be aware of?" Peron inquired.

The assistant shook his head. "No, Doctor. I'll leave you to your work."

The video call ended, prompting Peron to enlarge the email tab so that it filled the screen's entirety. Opening the latest message, he found the attached data file and delved in. He skimmed the contents until he found what he was really looking for; the simulation footage. There had been multiple simulator sorties this session, so the doctor picked the earliest timestamped video to start with. Peron watched intently as the screen shifted to a split display, with each half showing the same thing; the cockpit view from a Blaze ZAKU Phantom. The unit in each screen was alone, with the simulated engagement set in outer space. Opposition consisted of a single Drake-class escort ship in the refit configuration that the type had gained once the Earth Alliance began fielding mass production mobile suits. In this case, four Windams, two in the basic configuration and two with the Doppelhorn Pack, had already deployed from the ship and were moving to intercept the ZAKU.

Must be the warm-up round, Peron mused, otherwise, there would be heavier opposition. Alpha 07 should have no trouble here.

Alpha 07's footage was on the right, while the left belonged to a ZAFT Red who had been selected as the baseline for comparison with the test subject. The Red in question was a veteran of the last war, one that Peron knew the military undoubtedly would've preferred be deployed on the front lines right now rather than running exercises in a top-secret research program.

Peron watched intently as the simulated engagement got underway. On each screen, the Windams split up, with the two standard units moving forward and opening fire with their beam rifles while igniting their sabers as the Doppelhorn units hung back to provide ranged support. The escort ship oriented itself so that its bow was facing the oncoming ZAKU, unleashing swarms of missiles from its four launchers.

How both ZAFT pilots tackled the onslaught was informative. The ZAFT Red played things cautiously, initially pulling back and letting fly with missiles from the launchers on his Blaze Wizard Pack to overwhelm the two approaching Windams while evading missiles from the escort ship or picking them off with his beam rifle. By contrast, Alpha 07 took a much bolder approach, slamming the throttle to the max while weaving a dizzying path through the enemy's opening barrage, picking off a Windam with a snap beam rifle shot before engaging the next with the ZAKU's beam tomahawk, batting the foe's saber aside before plunging the axeblade into the cockpit. As the second Windam exploded, Alpha 07 dived to avoid fire from the Doppelhorn Windams before charging again, moving forward and up, beam rifle blazing. The escort ship filled space with fire from its 75mm Vulcans in support of the Doppelhorn Windams, but Alpha 07 slipped through the steams of shells with ease. Within seconds, the Doppelhorn Windams were both destroyed by beam rifle fire, with Alpha 07 then racing over the escort ship before diving and plunging his beam tomahawk into the vessel's bridge.

"Impressive," Peron murmured, observing that the ZAFT Red had only just begun engaging the Doppelhorn Windams while Alpha 07's run was already over, "Most impressive."

He spent the next few hours reviewing the rest of the footage, and the results were the same; Alpha 07 outperformed the ZAFT Red by a considerable margin in every single engagement. Both machines were all but identical, and the ZAFT Red had the advantage of experience, yet Alpha 07's instincts and reaction times were clearly superior. The movements of each Blaze ZAKU Phantom were like night and day; the ZAFT Red, while skilled, could barely have been picked out on the field if surrounded by rank-and-file pilots, while Alpha 07's machine moved with a fluidity and precision that was almost akin to a professional dancer. The latter's movements looked so much more natural than the former's, and it was vindication of the system that Peron had dedicated his life and soul to perfecting.

Ālaya-Vijñāna.

The ultimate man-machine interface. The perfect link-up between pilot and mobile suit, only made possible by violating every ethical standard in scientific research. Only a Coordinator like Doctor Escobar Peron, willing to damn himself for the sake of defending his people by any means necessary, possessed the brilliance and determination to see such a project through to fruition.

When the new war had begun, the rejection rates for the implants that were so crucial for making the system work had been forty percent, and they'd been much worse prior. As his designation indicated, Alpha 07 was a test subject from the first generation of the program.

A generation whose survival rate was less than ten percent.

Peron shook his head. No, not Alpha 07. He'd told himself before that he would use the subjects' actual names, not their program numbers; even if he'd sacrificed his humanity, he had no right to do the same to theirs. The fact that he was instinctively going with their numbers was not a good sign. Despite his efforts, it meant he was going numb to the human cost. He could not allow that to happen.

"Not Alpha 07," he murmured as he exited out of the video files and pulled up the pilot's dossier, revealing the face of a blonde-haired young man with piercing green eyes in his late teens, "Not merely a number. None of them are. Especially not you…"

"…Fareed."

….

"How was the conference, ma'am?" Eileen Canaver's driver asked as she climbed into the back seat of the black sedan and shut the door.

"Productive," she replied with a sigh, "though somewhat tiresome. I swear, the reps from September Two and Five will squabble over the tiniest of things. Keeping trade between their colonies open while those two constantly bicker over port fees is a miracle in and of itself."

Her driver chuckled. "Like herding cats, eh?"

Canaver smiled wearily. "Cats with egos bigger than space colonies."

"My sympathies," the driver quipped, "So, home, then?"

Canaver shook her head. "Not yet. The Greek Fireball, please."

The driver arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Been a long time since you were last out that way. Special occasion?"

Canaver shrugged. "Feeling nostalgic, and I need a good drink after that headache of a conference."

"As good a reason as any," the driver said as the car slowly moved forward, "I'm a bit rusty on the Greek Fireball's part of town, so bear with me."

Canaver leaned back and closed her eyes. "Take your time."

As the car pulled out of the parking lot and onto the main road, Canaver took a moment to consider her earlier words. Strictly speaking, she had not lied to her driver; the meeting between her and the other September City colony representatives had been a fruitful if contentious affair, but not in the way that she had described. The conference's official business had concluded swiftly, allowing Canaver and the others to proceed with the real reason for the meeting.

Mobilizing the dormant members of the old Clyne Faction.

So many of us moved on to local politics after the last war, she mused, content with quiet public service while new blood took center stage. We became complacent, but we're not down and out as Durandal would undoubtedly prefer. It just takes a bit of work to put the old band back together, as it were.

Opening her eyes after a few minutes, she looked out the window and watched as the gleaming cityscape of September One's downtown government and business district gradually began giving way to a more rough-and-tumble region. Popular belief among outsiders was that the PLANTs were as close to utopia as one could find in the Earth Sphere, but that was not reality. Just like the nations of Earth, the Coordinator homeland had its share of shady neighborhoods and unsavory establishments. One just had to know where to look.

Situated in a working-class residential area that had fallen on hard times as many of its denizens had joined ZAFT and shipped out, the Greek Fireball had a certain charm to it in Canaver's eyes because not once in its long and very checkered history had it pretended to be anything other than what it was; a first-rate piece of shit dive bar. Its dull grey outer walls were a mismatch of patches painted over to hide the latest batch of graffiti, and the glowing orange-red sphere that was its logo flickered and sparked as aged wires and lighting begged for the sweet release of mechanical death. Leaving her driver with instructions to come back in two hours, Canaver strolled inside to find that the establishment's interior had not changed a bit from her last visit. Just like the outside, the bar's inside was a mess of stained stools, chipped and worn tables and chairs which had suffered more than their fair share of collateral damage from drunken brawls, and cracked and dusty windows dimming the light filtering in from beyond.

It was early evening now, so the dinner crowd was filtering in. Canaver knew that her long overcoat and dark blue pantsuit made her stand out a bit in the more decidedly rugged crowd, but she was not worried. Of all the establishments favored by the Clyne Faction's September City members, the Greek Fireball was the one they frequented the least. They kept it in their back pocket, as it were, patronizing more well-to-do watering holes in the nicer downtown districts on a regular basis to keep the security services Durandal doubtlessly had monitoring them convinced that any subversive activities would be planned there. However, when any matters of real consequence needed to be discussed face-to-face, it was dingy and dirty holes-in-the-wall like the Greek Fireball where the proverbial action took place.

The bartender, a dark-skinned and bald man with swirling black tattoos dominating the left side of his face and head, nodded in greeting as Canaver took a stool across from him. "Been a while. What'll it be, ma'am?"

"Mojito," she said, "with extra mint."

The bartender's eyes narrowed. "Odd season for that. Might not have the mint leaf in stock."

"I'm sure there's a box in the back," Canaver insisted.

The bartender nodded again, slower this time; the first password requirement had been met. "I don't think in back, but maybe upstairs. I'll go check. Julio, mind the counter."

He sauntered off, while one of the waiters took his place. A couple minutes later, the bartender returned, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb at a staircase in the back corner.

"Got some, but you'll have to share with another customer," he said, "Hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," she replied, "Down here or up there?"

"Up," he said, "The guy likes a quiet drink."

Canaver smirked; the second password requirement was now met. "I can relate."

The upper floor of the Greek Fireball had a private lounge in addition to storage rooms. It was not much to look at; a few tables and chairs, a small bar along the back wall, a window currently shuttered, and a door leading to a hallway that went back to the aforementioned storage rooms. Canaver found only one of the tables occupied when she entered, in this case by a tall man dressed in a long black coat over a simple business suit, possessing short-cut grey hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and light brown eyes. A simple black cane was leaning against his side of the table.

He looked back and forth between the drinks on the table and Canaver herself, grunting as she took the seat opposite of him. "Still got a soft spot for Caribbean drinks, I see. You haven't changed, Canaver."

Canaver smiled as she took one of the glasses, and raised it. "Nor have you, Leitz. Good to see you again."

Manfred Leitz cracked a small smile and tapped his glass against hers. "Likewise."

As Eileen Canaver had been Christa Orberg's predecessor representing September City on the Supreme Council, Manfred Leitz had preceded Canaver. A highly influential political figure in his own right who had headed September One's governing council before moving on to the Supreme Council, Leitz was now in many respects a relic of a bygone age. He had come up in the world with the likes of Siegel Clyne and Patrick Zala, helping them establish ZAFT and its forerunner organization, the Zodiac Alliance. Leitz, better than most, understood the struggles of organizing against powerful interests, in his case mobilizing the people of the PLANTs during their campaigns for autonomy and eventual independence from the colonies' original sponsor nations on Earth. After stepping down from the Supreme Council, he had gone on to establish several NGOs that remained active in the PLANTs and the wider world even now, ranging from civil and labor rights advocacy to charities and international diplomacy.

The two of them took long sips of their drinks before setting their glasses down, with Canaver taking the lead. "Much as I'd love to catch up, I'm afraid this isn't a social call."

"I figured as much when you recommended this place," Leitz remarked, gesturing at the dingy and dusty lounge around them, "None of the memories I have here were ever associated with good times."

"Good times are few and far between for people like us," Canaver noted.

Leitz nodded. "True. Such is the price any public servant pays. We both knew that going into this line of work."

"Quite so," Canaver concurred, "I understand that you're putting together marches in all the PLANT City capitals for soldiers' families. They're supposed to kick off tomorrow, right?"

"Yes," Leitz confirmed, his gaze falling, "I've been trying to organize them for some time, but it was difficult recruiting meaningful numbers… until quite recently. It only took a complete bloodbath for the floodgates to open."

"Amazing how easy it becomes to mobilize people once they start fearing they could lose," Canaver quipped, "and once loss hits them personally."

Leitz shrugged. "That's politics for the average person; an abstract background concept until it gut punches them. It's been that way since we were throwing spears at each other, and it'll be that way until the heat death of the universe."

"A pity," Canaver remarked, taking another sip of her drink, "Greater involvement from ordinary people can change the course of history for the better."

"You and I know as much," Leitz replied, "and that's why I agreed to meet with you today. The information you give me will impact our strategy for public mobilization going forward."

Canaver sighed. "I would only say to keep doing what you're doing. The Supreme Council session went as expected; Durandal's wounded, but not mortally. Christa's continuing to press for opening diplomatic overtures with anyone remotely palatable to the government and the wider public, but the current administration won't budge, and she doesn't have enough pull on the Council to force a course change. Not yet, at least. A public protest campaign like the one you're organizing hits them from a different angle. We need to build up pressure wherever we can. The more visible the pushback against Durandal's administration is, the more willing previous fence-sitters may become to join us."

Leitz grunted. "Right up until the Chairman's songstress charms them back into complacency and obedience. I'm surprised he didn't deploy her the moment he returned to the PLANTs. Probably giving her a bit of vocal rest before putting her back on center stage."

His eyes then narrowed. "I've kept my mouth shut, as promised, but I still have to ask; why have we not gone public with the fact that the Chairman's 'Lacus Clyne' is a fake?"

"When we go public with that knowledge is the real Lacus Clyne's decision to make," Canaver answered, "She knows better than you, I, or anyone else the power of her image, name, and voice. If you or I go public without coordination with her, it gives the Chairman an opening to counter by painting us as desperate opportunists grasping at straws or conspiracy theories. That's something the genuine article has taken into account. When she goes public, she will do so in a manner that will be impossible for Durandal and his propagandists to refute. More importantly, she will do so in a manner that maximizes the public relations backlash Durandal has so unwittingly been cultivating. Think of it as a time bomb combined with a pressure cooker; the longer we let it cook, the greater the impact when we finally detonate it."

Leitz was quiet for a moment before eventually loosing a heavy exhalation. "I can't say that I agree with the strategy; I believe detonating that bomb now, in the immediate aftermath of the Iceland disaster, would be more effective for our cause. However, if this is Miss Clyne's decision, then I will respect it."

Canaver graciously inclined her head. "That's all her and I can ask."

Silence few for a few minutes as the two of them savored their drinks before Leitz broke it. "What does he want, Eileen? What's he really after?"

Canaver's brow furrowed; Leitz never used her first name unless he was really concerned over something. "You mean Durandal?"

Leitz nodded. "I've been puzzling it over a great deal as of late, and I can't pin his endgame down. In the beginning, it was easy enough to buy the public line about this being a war of self-defense and survival, even if several of his pre-war policies arguably helped fuel this blaze. Even conquests like Suez and Diocuia could be justified as taking strategic points for leverage in later negotiations. The campaign for Iceland, though… even without the catastrophe it became, going for outright conquest of the island instead of blockading and isolating Heaven's Base was a giant red flag. Combine that with outright refusal to enter negotiations with Moscow and the Orb Union for cessation of hostilities and a non-aggression pact at the very least, and it points to a grander design that's so far been left unspoken. I don't want to accuse the man of following in Patrick Zala's footsteps, and yet… something about all of this reeks to high heaven. What it is, though, I cannot place. I'm missing a crucial piece of this puzzle, I'm certain of that much."

"Our mutual friends have been digging into that from another angle," Canaver said, "They've been investigating his prior work at Mendel. The piece we're missing may yet be found."

Leitz closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, his gaze was grave. "It must be. You cannot defeat an enemy if you do not understand them. We must grasp what Durandal's end goal is if we are to successfully counter him. If we cannot, then I fear we have already lost."

….

Having politely bailed from the party shortly after his conversation with Doctor Hall, Durandal had quickly and quietly returned to his office. While his colleagues on the Supreme Council had all retired for the evening, and the Chairman knew that he should be doing the same, being a workaholic politician who also fancied himself a visionary meant that a full night's sleep was rarely in the cards for him. Even so, Durandal was keenly aware that his mental and physical stamina had their limits, which was why he had pulled out the simple cot he kept tucked away in his office's closet upon returning, setting it up behind his desk. Popping open the bottom drawer, he pulled out a bottle of bourbon and a shot glass, poured and downed the contents in a manner more befitting a college student rather than a dignified statesman, before laying down and setting the alarm on his phone to go off thirty minutes from now.

It felt like his eyes were only shut for a few seconds before the darkness began to shift and swirl. The blackness of hoped-for peaceful slumber was replaced with a surreal landscape the likes of which Durandal had never seen before. He was no longer laying down, but instead standing upright on a pathway covered in snow. Stone lanterns flanked both sides, each of which held a flickering crimson flame. Dead trees also lined the pathway, with shadowy figures moving amongst them, scarlet eyes gleaming like ghastly beacons as they all glared at the Chairman. The sky above was filled with roiling storm clouds, and he saw sparking embers floating on the wind. There was a coppery taste to the air, one that Durandal immediately recognized as belonging to blood. It was rather fitting, seeing as red-tinged mist obscured the path ahead.

"What is this?" he murmured while looking around.

Start "Voodoo"

A male voice whispered from the distance, and the mist ahead began to part, revealing more flickering lights and shadowy figures further up the path. "Come and see… old friend."

It was a voice Durandal knew all too well, but this time, the Chairman had not summoned it willingly.

"I'm not in the mood for a game, Creuset," he grumbled.

"Not to worry; there's no chess board this time."

The last thing Durandal wanted to do was humor this unwelcome phantom, but no matter what he tried, he could not bring himself back to reality. Resigning himself to this twisted dreamscape, he began walking forward. Immediately, he detected something new that was amiss. Each step elicited a chorus of ominous cracking and crunching sounds; it was not just snow he was walking on. Brushing aside some of the powder with his foot, a chill went down Durandal's spine as he saw what lay beneath.

Bones.

No, not just bones; brushing more snow aside, Durandal realized that he was walking on a path paved with entire skeletons. His eyes went up and down the walkway, a dark pit forming in his stomach.

"Is this Hell?" he whispered.

"Where else would you expect to find me?"

Durandal scowled; he needed precious rest, not banter with the hallucination of a man whose machinations had brought humanity to the brink of Armageddon. He tried to leave the path, but when he attempted stepping left, right, or even backwards, his legs would not respond. Eventually, he took a step, confirming that this dream would only let him go forward. Steeling himself for what lay ahead, the Chairman strode forth. If his mind intended to trap him with a demon tonight, he would face it head-on. A man of destiny should at least show dignity when meeting the devil, after all.

As he progressed down the path, he heard a dull clamor that slowly grew louder with each step. The closer he got, the more details Durandal could make out; twisted laughter, agonized moans, and a deep drumbeat underpinning it all. The acreage of dead trees on both sides of the path began to thin, and the bloody mist receded further. Eventually, Durandal reached the end, and found himself confronted by what his mind could only describe as danse macabre.

The pathway had culminated in a broad, circular clearing, ringed with stone lanterns illuminated by flickering scarlet flames. The thin veneer of snow was completely gone, revealing a field of corpses. These were not the skeletons that Durandal had seen before, but bodies in various stages of decomposition, all wearing ZAFT uniforms. Just a cursory glance revealed several familiar faces. Patrick Zala was one prominent figure, and Heine Westenfluss was another. Dancing atop the corpses were several half-rotting figures, men and women, also wearing ZAFT uniforms.

And holding court before them all, seated upon a throne of skulls, was none other than Rau Le Creuset. The dreamscape had done Durandal's old friend no favors. His mask was gone, but the portion of his face that it would have covered had completely rotted away, leaving only white bone and empty eye sockets staring back. His blond hair was knotted and frayed, and while the lower half of his face still possessed flesh, it was rotting to the point that Durandal could see his jawbone and teeth through a few holes. Curiously, his uniform was red rather than white, but a dripping sound showed Durandal why; a constant stream of blood was flowing from Creuset's clothing, pooling at the bottom of his throne.

As haunting as Creuset's visage was, Durandal quickly found his eyes drawn to a far more horrifying sight. Laying in the blood pooling at Creuset's feet was another familiar figure. Her once-white uniform was stained red, her blue-grey eyes possessed with a distant and almost lifeless stare, her normally neat and forward-swept brown hair disheveled, but there was no mistaking her identity.

"Talia…" Durandal whispered.

"She's quite lovely," Creuset remarked before gesturing dismissively, "A pity that she's just another sacrifice for your ambitions."

Durandal could not keep his hands from becoming clenching fists in mounting fury. "That's the last thing I consider her to be!"

"Yet it's the fate your vision condemns her to," Creuset replied, rising from his throne, and stepping on Talia's gut, eliciting a weak groan before she sunk into the pool of blood and disappeared entirely, "It would've been better for her had my vision come to fruition. At least then, she would've died from my machinations rather than those of the man she loves. She deserves better than a man as cruel as you."

"The world my plan creates will be salvation for her along with everyone else in the Earth Sphere," Durandal declared resolutely, "When this is all over, she'll have the peaceful life she deserves. Humanity will know peace. Lasting peace."

Creuset chuckled cruelly as he came up next to Durandal, placing a hand that was all bone on his shoulder. "Still lying to yourself, I see. You think that just because your plan gives everyone a preordained destiny it will be enough to arrest mankind's perpetual motion of violence? That slotting everyone into their own little place within your new order will halt the tides of history?"

"Not halt," Durandal argued, "but guide it down the proper path. Mankind needs direction to achieve its true potential, and I am the one who can provide it. Once the new order is established, humanity will finally break with its past and move forward into the future. The cycle of self-destructive violence will end."

Creuset sneered, blood dripping from between the corners of his lips. "Fool. Mankind's true nature won't vanish just because you've caged it. All your schemes come down to this; you're going to place a lid on an eternally boiling pot, and the pressure will simply keep building until the inevitable outburst. The self-destructive violence of our species will not be denied."

Durandal turned to face the phantom, his eyes narrowing. "Spoken like the man who completely gave up on humanity."

Creuset cackled with sadistic glee. "Gave up? I accepted the truth of our species! Our insatiable greed, our Olympian vanity, our overwhelming fear of change, our deep-seated hatred of those we deem different, our utter short-sightedness; I came to terms with all that and more long ago. I simply followed it all to its logical conclusion. Humanity is doomed to destroy itself. It deserves to destroy itself!"

Durandal shook his head. "You're the only one who's ever believed that."

Creuset smirked. "Am I?"

The pool of blood that Talia had sunk into bubbled, and another figure emerged. This time, it was a young man with long blond hair, blue eyes, and a ZAFT Red uniform with a FAITH emblem on the left lapel. Durandal instantly recognized him, which made the man's tortured gaze as his head turned towards him more painful to behold.

"Chairman…" Rey whispered in ragged breaths, "why… why did humanity create me… just to have me… wither away… so quickly? Why…"

"Why was I born with no future?"

"Rey…" Durandal murmured.

He reached out, but the gesture was futile. The blood pool bubbled once more, and Rey slipped back into its depths.

Durandal was now well and truly seething, and he immediately rounded on Creuset. "He is not you!"

"Oh, but he is," Creuset chuckled with malevolent satisfaction, "right down to his very DNA. I know you've tried your best to look out for him, to give him a greater purpose to strive for, but you can't change the fact that he was born with the same curse as me. I'll admit, it's touching that you think you can make up for your failure with me through him, yet that doesn't keep such sentiments from being utterly delusional. With each precious second that ticks away, with the knowledge that he has far less time than his peers, the resentment within him inevitably grows. Eventually, he'll reach the same conclusion I did, and why would it be otherwise? Like me, he was robbed of his future before he was even born. How could he not come to despise a world that considered him disposable before he could even take his first breath?"

"Neither of you were disposable!" Durandal protested, "Yes, you were both born on borrowed time, but look at what you accomplished with so little of it. You manipulated the world's greatest powers into a war of annihilation, and almost succeeded in their mutual destruction with them being none the wiser! Your mental capabilities were beyond measure; just imagine what you could've done with them had you moved beyond your nihilism. Rey still has that chance, and I will not let your curse rob him of it!"

"It already has," Creuset shot back with mocking laughter, "and you just refuse to see it! You've seen his file; his deterioration's accelerating! He'll be lucky to see the end of the war, let alone the so-called utopian future you're trying to build for him. How long can he maintain his skills when his very body is betraying him? How long before the talents that you've worked so hard to nurture within him are turned against humanity once he embraces the truth of his existence? Clock's ticking, Chairman."

End "Voodoo"

That last word echoed, in both Creuset's voice and another. The second voice was female, and vaguely familiar, but it was coming through very muffled. At the same time, the dreamscape began to shake, with the macabre scene becoming a swirling mess of black, red, and white. It was only then that Durandal felt a pair of slender hands on his shoulder; someone was waking him.

His eyes fluttered open, and he found himself back on the cot in his office. Amber, his aide, was kneeling to his right, and a wave of relief washed over her face.

"Thank goodness," she sighed, "I'm sorry for barging in and disturbing you like this, Chairman, but you weren't answering, and there's someone here who insists he must see you. I've tried everything short of calling security, yet he won't budge. He claims it's a national security matter of the greatest urgency; a compromise within FAITH."

Durandal blinked as his bleary mind worked to compose itself. "Who is he?"

"His name's Yakim Bogdanov," Amber answered as Durandal sat up, "He's a senior analyst with the SIB. If you need more time to rest, I call security to send him away."

Durandal rubbed his brow before pulling out his phone. Checking the timer, he saw that only ten minutes had passed since he'd closed his eyes. He was tempted to have Amber send the analyst packing so he could try to get a brief nap in, but the hellish dreamscape he'd just experienced came rushing back into his mind's eye, and he swiftly dismissed the notion.

"Oh, fuck it," he whispered to himself, "I'm not getting sleep after that any time soon…"

Amber's eyes widened, probably taken aback more by his word choice than anything else. "Chairman… are you alright?"

Durandal forced a smile as he stood up and reclaimed the seat behind his desk. "Yes, just… tired. It's been a trying day."

Amber smiled as well in earnest sympathy. "I can well imagine. Say the word, and I'll clear your schedule for the evening. If you don't mind me saying so, you really could use some sleep."

Durandal chuckled ruefully. "I appreciate the thought, but I'm afraid restful slumber will be elusive tonight. I might as well be productive. This analyst… Bogdanov, you said? What's your read on him?"

"Anxious," Amber replied, "though whether that's from the prospect of meeting you or the intel he has is unclear. He did strike me as sincere regarding the matter's urgency. Distressed… dismayed, even. Whatever he found regarding FAITH, it was not a pleasant discovery for him. Take that as you will."

Durandal inclined his head. "Thank you, Amber. Please, send him in."

Amber nodded. "Right away, Chairman."

She departed her office, and the door slid open again a moment later. In his aide's place was a surprisingly young man given that Amber had described him as a senior analyst; he looked to be in his mid-twenties at the oldest. His blond hair looked hastily combed, there was an almost frantic look in his brown eyes, and his green uniform had more than a few wrinkles in it. Clearly, this was a man more concerned with duty than appearance, something that Durandal could respect.

"Analyst Yakim Bogdanov, reporting, sir!" the young man said as he immediately bowed, "I apologize for the late hour and my brashness, sir!"

Durandal smiled and held out his open palms. "At ease, Mister Bogdanov, and no need for apologies. Please, have a seat."

Yakim blinked for a moment before his mind seemed to register the Chairman's words, then he awkwardly came forward and took one of the chairs in front of his desk. He looked down, and Durandal saw his hands shaking nervously.

Must not get outside the SIB offices much, Durandal mused, I've heard that socially awkward types have outsized representation in our intelligence services… I suppose he fits that mold well enough.

"Relax, Mister Bogdanov," he said after a moment, "If you need a moment to compose yourself, take it."

Yakim slowly nodded. "Thank you, sir."

Durandal waited a few seconds before leaning forward. "I understand that you come bearing grave news regarding FAITH. You claim it has been compromised. That's a very serious allegation."

"I'm aware of that, sir," Yakim replied, "but I wouldn't make such an allegation if I didn't have just cause. I'm not here to besmirch the organization, but to help it remove a traitor."

Durandal's eyes widened slightly. "A traitor within FAITH's ranks? Who might that be?"

Yakim took a deep breath. "Athrun Zala."

Durandal blinked as he processed that. "Athrun Zala… what leads you to believe he's committed such a grave offense? Also, why haven't I previously been informed that the SIB was investigating him? FAITH operatives report directly to myself or the Supreme Council, and there are protocols in place for investigating any breach of military conduct on their part, yet I have received no such notifications through the channels set up for this purpose."

Yakim coughed nervously. "Well, the thing is, Chairman… the investigation isn't official. I'm the only one who's been conducting it."

Durandal folded his arms. "So, you're acting outside your authority, then."

Yakim raised his hands. "Chairman, I didn't have a choice! I tried reporting my concerns to my superior, but he brushed me off as being paranoid."

"Then it is on you to convince me that you are not being paranoid," Durandal remarked, "So far, you've yet to present any compelling evidence. I'm a patient and open-minded man, Mister Bogdanov, but make no mistake; my capacity for both has its limits. If you have a case to make, then do so."

Yakim took a deep breath. "Right. Will you permit me to provide a bit of context first, Chairman?"

"I insist upon it," Durandal said.

Yakim inclined his head. "I'm a member of the SIB's Combat Analysis Division. Our mission is to study combat recordings and instrument data collected by our troops during engagements on Earth. We review findings, note trends, and disseminate reports to the various field commanders so that they can fine-tune their tactics for future battles. I was placed in a section tasked with carrying out this work for operations involving mobile suits that are based aboard the Minerva."

Durandal nodded. "Go on."

"My personal responsibility within that section was to review data from any machine piloted by Athrun Zala," Yakim continued, "As he's an experienced and highly skilled pilot, naturally any combat data from his sorties is valuable, both for showcasing potential counters to enemies as well as a teaching tool for new recruits. His service in every battle has been exemplary, but within his past few major engagements, some irregularities began to surface."

Durandal clasped his hands and leaned forward. "What's the nature of these irregularities?"

"Odd use of the Saviour's CIWS," Yakim answered.

Durandal was nonplussed to say the least. "That's it?"

"It'd be easier to show first," Yakim replied, pulling out a small data drive, "I have relevant footage here."

Durandal accepted the drive and took a moment to examine it. The tiny device was a standard issue ZAFT model; compatibility with his workstation was not an issue. However, there was a brief pause as Durandal considered the possibility that Yakim might be trying to pull something. Could the drive contain malware of some sort?

Amber's assessment was that he's sincere, he thought, and she's always been an excellent judge of character. Besides, he's in the SIB; their vetting's thorough enough to weed out saboteurs. The risk is minimal, and I need to see this for myself since it concerns FAITH.

"Very well," Durandal said before inserting the drive, "Let's see it, then."

Short video clips of two engagements appeared on his screen. The first was of the Berlin battle, and the second was from Operation: Angel Down.

"What exactly am I supposed to be looking for?" Durandal asked as he studied the footage.

"CIWS on any mobile suit are best used for missile interception, destroying small aircraft like helicopters, or eliminating unarmored ground vehicles," Yakim explained, "Their utility against other mobile suits is extremely limited. However, Athrun employed them against the Destroy in Berlin, and again against the Freedom during Operation: Angel Down."

"Both engagements were against difficult opponents," Durandal noted, "I imagine a pilot would try any of the weapons at their disposal to see what impact they'd make."

"True enough," Yakim conceded, "However, there's more to it. Look at the footage again, sir, and focus on the timing of the shots."

Durandal did so, and it didn't take him long to realize what he was seeing. "The sequence of shots… I'm no expert, but this doesn't seem like how a normal pilot, let alone one as skilled as Athrun, would fire."

"It's not," Yakim concurred, "I studied the timing and ran a few comparisons. It's Morse Code, sir. Athrun Zala was communicating with the Freedom's pilot in both engagements. In the Berlin battle, that communication was simply an assurance that he was on their side for that fight. During Operation: Angel Down, it was a request to neutralize him while making it look convincing."

Durandal let out a heavy exhalation. "I see… that explains your urgency, then. This is indeed most concerning."

"There's more, sir," Yakim said.

Durandal braced himself. "Go on."

"After the Heaven's Base battle," Yakim continued, "Athrun Zala was recorded as extracting combat data from the Destiny. That sort of action is allowed to pilots; they'll typically review it during debriefing. It normally wouldn't raise any flags. However, in light of what I'd previously discovered about Zala's behavior, I have cause to believe he took things a step further and somehow got the data over to Terminal. Combat data from the engagement where Sovereign fell shows that Terminal's pilots were prepared for the Mobile Dolls, matching their capabilities, and eventually destroying them. At the same time, they had already conceived a plan to destroy the dreadnought. It's all far too convenient, sir."

Durandal nodded. "I'm inclined to agree. While I greatly appreciate you bringing all this to my attention, I must ask this; why are you the one making this report to me rather than your superiors?"

Yakim sighed. "My immediate superior thought I was being paranoid, seeing things where nothing existed. I couldn't convince him otherwise no matter what I presented; he said my speculation didn't have enough concrete evidence to back it up. Granted, he's not completely wrong, but still… I couldn't just let this slip through the cracks, sir."

Durandal smiled. "You did well to continue pursuing the matter. You've exposed a dangerous security leak, one that must be addressed immediately. Rest assured that I will see to it."

Yakim inclined his head before fidgeting anxiously. "I'm glad to hear it, sir. Uhm… if it's alright to ask… how will this be reported to my superior? I've broken protocol in bringing this directly to you… he's not going to look kindly on that."

Durandal reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a gleaming silver-white wing-shaped emblem. "When you leave this office, you'll no longer be reporting to that superior; you'll be reporting directly to me."

Yakim's voice caught in his throat for a moment, his eyes widening as Durandal passed him the emblem. "F-FAITH membership? F-For… for me?"

Durandal nodded. "Indeed. You've shown invaluable initiative and intellect, Mister Bogdanov, which are just the sort of qualities I want in the people who work for me. Your insights and tenacity in pursuing them have helped us identify a major security risk, and I wish to put those traits to good use. Don't worry about how any of your superiors will react; I'll make sure they understand the new arrangement. I want you to continue monitoring the combat data from the Minerva's pilots, and you're to notify me of any other abnormalities you find significant. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Yakim enthusiastically answered.

Durandal then gestured towards the door. "Then you're dismissed for now. Thank you again for your diligence, Mister Bogdanov."

Yakim bowed and quickly departed, leaving Durandal alone with his thoughts. On the one hand, it was disappointing that things had come to this; he'd had high hopes for Athrun, and the young man's performance upon rejoining ZAFT had been stellar. With the war entering a new phase, ZAFT needed all the skilled pilots it could get, and one of Athrun's caliber was priceless. Finding another that could bring out the Destiny's full potential would be a tall order. However, Yakim's conclusions were unfortunately sound; Patrick Zala's son had once again betrayed the PLANTs.

I'd prefer eliminating him quickly, Durandal thought, but sending an execution order to the Minerva could cause a backlash. Athrun's worked well with the crew; no doubt they've grown attached to him by now. Talia would almost certainly raise issue with a summary death sentence. We'll have to handle this delicately.

He tapped his keypad, and there was a chime before Amber answered. "Chairman?"

"I need you to send a message to the Minerva," Durandal said, "Athrun Zala is to be detained in the ship's brig. Upon the Minerva's return to Gibraltar, he is to be taken into custody by the base's MPs and held for court martial on charges of treason."

Preview for next time!

By Chairman Durandal's order, Athrun Zala is imprisoned in the Minerva's brig shortly after his return from the battle against Sovereign. His detention is poorly received among the crew, with Meyrin and Lunamaria plotting to break him out. Wufei, incensed by the injustice of Durandal's latest action, finally breaks with ZAFT and joins the Hawke sisters in their scheme. Meanwhile, ZAFT's forces in outer space have caught up to the Eternal. Kira and Duo manage to make it in time to intervene, but even Freedom and Deathscythe Omega can't stand against the enemy's overwhelming numbers for long. With his long-serving machine heavily damaged in the fighting, Kira's brought aboard the Eternal, where he finds a new Gundam awaiting him. Next time, on "Destiny's Call", Episode Thirty-Six: Flights to Freedom.

"When the night ends, it's not over
We fight through to get closer
Like a silver bullet piercing through
I throw myself into you"

Silver Bullet, Devil May Cry 5

Author's Notes: So, about that scene with Durandal and Creuset… that's what happens when my eccentric music tastes, the vice of choice that keeps my depression manageable, and my hobby crash into each other, go on a bender, and have a really freaky three-way. Yup, that whole sequence was inspired by a trip on the happy grass! I usually try to keep my writing and my psychedelics separate for obvious reasons, but every once in a while, I get a flash of genius/insanity during a high, and I just had to run with this one. If you want more products of my twisted mind when it has a good buzz going to make an appearance in the story, let me know! Just don't say I didn't warn you about the twisted bit. My head's a pretty fucked up place.

I name dropped Ālaya-Vijñāna way the hell back in Episode Ten, figured twenty-five chapters later was as good a time as any to circle back to that long-dormant plot thread. Yup, McGillis Fareed is the first Iron Blooded Orphans cameo in this fic, and he won't be the only one. Got a pretty fun mobile suit design ready to go for him, looking forward to when I finally reach the point where it gets put to page.

The chapter in general was a lot of fun to work on. I mean, they all are, but this one was a really nice change of pace for me in that I got to delve deep into the politics of the PLANTs and ZAFT. As much as I enjoy writing big mobile suit battles, the sort of intrigue and maneuvering that took place in this chapter scratches the political science itch I've had since college, and the plot threads introduced here will definitely be getting follow-up later on, so watch this space.

Hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Feel free to review, stay safe, and I'll see you all next time!