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Soldier of OZ: Walker's Account

Chapter 27: Departure from Earth, I

Summary:

Walker and his comrades depart for Outer Space, while others in OZ consider what to do after Zechs.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

In a quaint university town in the North American southeast, F/O Ali Kijana Mazuri and P/O David Ackerson Bishop sat with three other OZ officers undergoing recertification at the local university's tiny space pilot school. While they waited, they found themselves in an unrelated building elsewhere on an expensive campus.

"So when do you think you'll get your results?" one asked Dac from across the table they shared.

"The hell if I know," Dac admitted between a mouthful of oily crisps taken from communal bowl. "God, it couldn't be soon enough."

"I won't be here to help you, I'll be in Algeria with the division by the end of the week." Mazuri gave a sigh.

He looked at the three others. "So, remind me why we're doing this instead of going out drinking again?"

He was talking about the papers arranged all across the table. Dac was sorting through them, while the officer sitting next to him played around with a small random number generator.

"That's all we do in Georgia, isn't it? God, I don't know how the locals or the flight instructors do it, but if I spend another night drinking, I'm going to literally be sick, everywhere. My mother said drinking every day was no way to live, apparently she was right," he complained.

"Forget I asked," Mazuri mumbled, taking one of his papers.

"You could drink," he pointed out. "I'm not your mother."

"Sure but…come on, is there anything sadder than drinking alone?"

"Apparently even a notorious player like you has limits," Dac mumbled as Mazuri dismissed him with a grunt.

"Come on, guys, we didn't drag you to LeConte Hall to hear you complain about certification. We dragged you here to hear you complain about a role-playing game. Now set up."

They shuffled their papers about a bit more, helped themselves to cans of soft drink from a crate on the floor of the classroom, then tried to continue their game.

"Who's turn was it again?"

"Mine, I think," Dac said, shuffling through his stack of papers, looking for one.

Mazuri leaned back on his plastic chair, checking his wristwatch. "So this is better than chess?"

"I hate chess," another officer said.

"You hate chess, and call yourself an OZ officer?"

"Sorry, found it!" Dac unfolded a piece of paper, ran his hand along it, and then reached for the random number generator when his mobile went off, buzzing very loudly.

"I'm sorry about this," he immediately apologized, taking out his mobile. "This is Pilot Officer Bishop."

The others in the room made no effort to hide the fact that they were listening in on his conversation. "Really? I passed? That's…that's great! Am I still in time for reassignment to the Seventh Division? Thank you so much! Thank you!"

He pocketed his mobile, grinning ear to ear at the other officers. "Well? Don't keep us in suspense!" the narrator asked sarcastically.

"I passed the shuttle piloting course! So hah! And I'll see you losers later!"

Practically knocking over his chair, Dac darted out of the room, leaving Mazuri to take a can of pop and begin shaking it vigorously. In less than a minute, the door opened again and Dac leaned into the room.

"Mbeki, would you mind driving me to my dorm, and then to Epps?" he asked, just before Mazuri sprayed the contents of the can all over him.

II

On 2 August, Flight Lieutenant Oswald Walker was instructed to transport his mobile suit, which had just been overhauled, from Brussels to the Hammaguir Cosmodrome in Algeria, where the new 7th Strategic Aerospace Division was standing by for deployment. There, he would transfer it from the reduced 7th Order of the Red Banner Airborne Division to the 40th Canadian Victoria Cross Division, which was resupplying well out of its normal zone of operations.

Walker sat in the familiar cockpit of his OZ-07AMS 'Aries', still smelling of the factory refurbishment, holding his chin. The autopilot gave him a few hours alone with his thoughts, which he decided not to squander.

Zechs is M.I.A., and now the situation in Outer Space looks like it's going to escalate. I suppose now is as good as any time to leave Earth. The alternative—staying with what's left of the old Seventh Airborne—sounds a lot worse when put that way.

He heaved a sigh and adjusted his goggles. There's no going back, in any case.

It was late evening when he arrived at Hammaguir Cosmodrome, which seemed like the only escape from an Algerian summer. The facility, much smaller than Lake Baikal or other major sites, was lit up against the desert with massive torches and spotlights, so much that standing in the middle it felt like daytime.

His machine touched down at the shorter of the two runways at the supply aircraft airfield, next to a number of other Aries mobile suits in the same OZ livery. Disembarking and pulling up his goggles, he was greeted by a young noncommissioned officer already carrying baggage, probably not his own.

Walker shook a suitcase in front of him and shook his head.

The other gave a sigh of relief. "Let me thank you, sir. If I run into another F/L asking me to move his tuba or something, I was going to do something unprofessional."

The NCO porter ran off, leaving Walker to nod oddly as he spotted another Mobile Suit Troops officer.

"Are you William O'Brien?"

A young F/O nodded. "Can I help you, Lieutenant?"

"Flight Lieutenant Walker, reporting to for transfer to the new Seventh Division, Space Forces Mobile Suit Troops. Accordingly, I'm delivering my vehicle to the Fortieth Victoria Cross Airborne."

O'Brien, who was holding a bulky military radio in one hand, set it down and took a clipboard from a nearby folding table, scribbling with an attached pen.

"I acknowledge your delivery to the Fortieth Division, Lieutenant."

O'Brien handed him the clipboard, which Walker took and signed quickly. Returning the clipboard, he shook O'Brien's hand.

"It's in great shape, sir."

"It should be, I haven't flown in combat since the end of the Xinjiang Campaign." Walker stared up at the 17-meter-tall war machine.

"I'm going to miss it," he admitted wistfully. "I spent most of my career in an Aries."

"Me too, sir."

"Use it in good health, O'Brien." He took another look up at the black-and-grey machine. I've used these machines for five years now, but if I think about it, I couldn't say exactly how I came this to this point, could I?

O'Brien looked over at hi, then back at the mobile suit.

Zechs, Noin, Treize, Une. No, not at all.

III

Even without the 40th Division, the Continental American Air Army, which represented the bulk of OZ's fighting troops in in the Rocky Mountains, was still a force to be reckoned with, claiming number of high-strength airborne divisions along with several specialized battalions. It was headquartered at Wentworth Airbase, a massive air field outside the city of Fort Worth. It was there where the mobile armor OZ had captured intact in Colorado was transported for analysis.

"So, let me get this straight: you've had the machine, designated EA-00MA, for more than a week now and you haven't actually operated it?" The question was posed by Lieutenant Colonel Brooks, in an encrypted transmission to the officer in charge.

"Please understand, Colonel, we've held off on dismantling it for just that reason. But this was a massive mobile weapon intended for specialized, even strategic use. You can't just pop the hatch open and run off in it."

"Make it work, Officer."

"Yes sir!" Brooks' transmission ended and the flight oficer exhaled deeply, before glancing back at EA-00MA. "I guess I couldn't just tell him the obvious: that if the Alliance ever designed a machine independently of OZ, we couldn't simply bend it to our will immediately."

The officer leaned over the railing around the machine pit where the mobile armor sat, curious engineers prying away at it. He gave a sigh and threw his hands up into the air. "It's probably worthless anyway!"

At the other end of transmission, Lieutenant Colonel Brooks sat in the Brussels International Guesthouse, in the same neighborhood as the Royal Castle of Laken, residence of the Belgian Monarchy, which Brooks could see through the window on the second floor window.

Just as the Royal Castle served its purpose as the home to the kings and queens of Belgium, the newer, more modest International Guesthouse served the Romefeller Foundation. For our benefit, it also serves as a more civilized residence for soldiers of OZ. Brooks much preferred it to the barracks, as any sensible officer would.

"So what do you make of this?" Lieutenant Colonel Sedici asked, his scarlet dress coat hanging from a nearby baroque chair. He held a digital tablet with the technical data from EA-00MA on its screen.

"It's fascinating stuff, certainly," Brooks replied. "Even with our assured victory over the Alliance, it's entirely possibly we severely misjudged the old order's dependence on OZ."

Brooks glanced at him. "I'm sorry, did you mean the machine, or Zechs Merquise?"

Sedici gave a friendly laugh and tossed the tablet onto the nearby tea table. "It's true for either of them, isn't it?"

"It looks that way." Brooks sat down opposite of Sedici. "I suppose with the deployment of the Seventh Division, you'll be anxious to return to the Marius Plant."

"That I will," he replied, relaxing on the couch.

"Spoken like a real Lunarian," Brooks mumbled, resting his arms on his knees. "I will never understand how you can tolerate factory life."

"Well, it beats the battlefield," Sedici offered. Brooks couldn't tell if he was being sincere, but didn't press the matter.

IV

Later that same night, Walker stood in front of a mirror in a dimly lit washroom at the main office at Hammaguir, fixing his new uniform which was largely indistinguishable from his old one except for the exchange of the small Earth Forces insignia for that of the Space Forces. He was having some trouble fixing the Eurasian Armed Forces medal he'd received so that it stood straight on its red-and-white ribbon.

"See, this is why I don't wear medals," he mumbled to his own reflection in the mirror.

"Hey, comrade, you better hurry up, the assembly's about to begin," a voice warned as someone leaned into the washroom. "Whatever it is…Walker?"

He turned in the direction of the voice. "Dmitry?"

Dmitry Alexandrovich Chernenko, with his trademark smile, broad scar, and a cap with the armored knight insignia of OZ Space Forces, leaned at him. He stared for him for a few seconds, as if to confirm it was in fact him in the darkness.

"Oswald Walker, it is you!" The Ukrainian strolled up to him and struck him on the shoulder. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"Likewise," Walker mumbled, still fidgeting with the medal. "I still haven't seen the rest of my flight, but it's good to see you."

"Here, let me," Chernenko interjected, taking the medal. He wore the same decoration, awarded for the same campaign in Xinjiang, around his maroon-and-gold collar. "There's a trick to the Order of the Red Banner."

Walker nodded. "Which is?"

"There we go," he told him, fixing his collar and patting him on the epaulet. "Looking sharp, now let's go."

Turning away, he spotted Walker in the washroom mirror before turning back to him.

"Something wrong?"

Walker looked back at him. "Is it that obvious?"

Chernenko rubbed his face, a nail against his scar. "In all the years I've known you…you've never been one to…despair."

"Despair?" Walker asked, sounding alarmed.

"Chort zabīraĭ!" he admitted in an embarrassed tone, looking away. "I knew that wasn't a good word for it."

Heaving a sigh, he held himself on the nearest sink, shaking his head. "I meant…with what happened to Zechs, where we've come, where we're going…" he began, trailing off again.

Walker stared at Chernenko, with his head bobbing from side to side nervously, and cleared his throat. "So, Dmitry…what was it?"

Chernenko looked back at him. "What was what?"

"The trick, from earlier."

Chernenko stood up from the sink, looking more than a little relieved "The trick? Oh, the trick is you can't be a nerd from engineering." He gave him a big, scarred smile. "Now come on, let's go."

In the main hall in the front of the building, the 7th Strategic Aerospace Division's lieutenant colonel stood before them, larger than life, flanked by two OZ Space Forces banners. He was prepared to address the pilots and crews of a dozen squadrons and a number of supply, intelligence and communications battalions.

"Adriti! That is what I call you men and women! You are the daring ones, the best pilots from the Seventh, Nineteenth and Twenty-Third Divisions. Your daring is now needed in space, where you will fight in the greatest conflict of the human species…"

While the lieutenant colonel gave his speech, F/O Kaneshiro glanced over her shoulder at the flight lieutenants and other senior officer standing in the back two rows before looking forward again. Next to her, the much shorter Bishop stood, and just past him stood the slightly taller Mazuri.

The speech went for a few minutes, the colonel making dramatic, forceful gestures as he spoke. His adjutant dismissed them the whole assembly and they all dispersed, Walker's subordinates located their commanding officer.

"Everyone, it's good to see each other again," he told them dutifully, shaking everyone's hands rapidly.

"It wouldn't be Squadron One of First Company without us," Kanna told him. Dac stared at her blankly. "That's our unit, smart guy."

She turned to Walker. "Did you hear? Davy-boy didn't pass his space MS certification. He's going to be our shuttle pilot instead."

"Well, that's very convenient."

"Please don't call me that," Dac mumbled softly.

"In light of everything, Dac, I'm glad to hear this. At best you were going to be our reserve pilot anyway, and it'll be good to know there's someone in the carrier vehicle we can trust."

"Thank you, Walker," Dac replied, shooting a look at Kanna. "Walker, are you all right?"

"Why, is there something wrong with me?" he asked, adjusting his goggles on his cap and straightening his collar.

Dac cocked his head and was about to answer when Kanna slapped his back with enough force to cause him to jump. "So wants to see the H.L.V.s?"

In actuality, neither Mazuri nor Dac were that interested in the heavy lift vehicles, but they went to see them anyway. They were just in time to see the last of the black mobile suits be loaded aboard, five to each H.L.V., alongside other cargo bound for MO-II, OZ's staging ground for Outer Space.

"So we're not taking these up?" Dac asked.

"No, though I can see why you might think that. The mobile suits go to MO-II, while personnel go to Luna. Then our individual carriers will rendezvous with Barge or whatever ship or colony each squadron is stationed on."

"Cool," Mazuri said. Dac gave a sigh of relief.

"You were worried?" Kanna asked.

"I know it's going to sound stupid, but I wasn't looking forward to sitting on a hundred tons of solid rocket booster and nuclear engines just to get into Outer Space."

Kanna, Walker, and Mazuri simultaneously made understanding-sounding but otherwise meaningless chatter in response, as Dac rolled his eyes and leaned over the guardrails of the catwalk overlooking the H.L.V. launch site.

"Save your sarcastic sympathy," he growled back.

"This will be your first time in space, isn't it, Dac?"

By this point, Dac's waist was resting on the guardrail and he was holding his head in his arms. "Yes. My sister and I were supposed to go as children to visit some colony or another, but I got the flu at the last moment and missed the trip."

"If it makes you feel better, I've never been in space either," Mazuri assured him. "I spent my 'holiday' running high-altitude interceptions over the Arctic out of Monino. In a Leo."

He turned around and rested his elbows against the guardrail. "I thought free-fall interceptions, along with zero-g training, might be the best preparation for actual space combat."

Kanna laughed at the two. "Wow, what a bummer for you two! I keep forgetting that me the F/L are the only two who've actually fought in space."

"Lieutenant Walker?"

"Combat engineers out of Barge," Walker explained. "A few years back, I pulled a shift with the Thirty-Seventh Engineers Battalion. The Alliance's 'policing action' was complicated, blockades always are. Double-pay for any OZ-certified engineers."

"Why'd you leave?" Dac asked.

"It wasn't permanent, and it wasn't easy work either. After a few weeks out I was spent and rotated out like all the other Speciali. And I had a tough commanding officer."

"Who?"

Walker thought about it. "Clarkson was his name, if I remember. He's probably back in space."

"Well, if he is, you'll see him when you get there."

The four of them turned to see Chernenko approaching jauntily, leading the two flight officers and the P/O to salute him. He had some interesting information to share.

"Inaugural ball, sir?" Kanna asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's the one big function in Outer Space that we soldiers actually get to attend. One part publicity mission, one part reward for our valiance in coming up here to help the colonials." Chernenko cocked his head. "I'm sure Mr. Mazuri and Mr. Bishop are looking forward to it."

"Yes sir, we are, sir."

Chernenko gave a nod—not the usual nod, but the sort of nod a ranking officer was expecting to give his subordinates every so often—and rested his white gloves on the guardrail.

"Officers of the Military Commissariat will be there too," he pointed out softly as a last Taurus was loaded on the nearest H.L.V. and the conveyor belt pulled back and the massive door.

After a minute of silence, Kanna leaned in his direction. "And so what?"

Chernenko gave a half-snort, half-chuckle. "You might not realize, Ms. Kaneshiro, but your commander has some history with the Commissariat."

V

When they needed to be, OZ could be particularly efficient. Barely a few hours after the speech, all of the 7th Division's personnel—several thousand men and women—were loaded up onto large transorbital shuttles or the H.L.V. themselves and preparing for launch.

Shuffling through the aisles to his seat, Walker had to make his past a number of flight lieutenants trying to stow their instrument cases—this was not the first time he'd seen a number of officers carrying oboes, clarinets and bassoons—before sitting down next to a flight officer who was cleaning his glasses with a soft cloth.

Walker acknowledged him with a quick nod before buckling his seatbelt. A thought occurred to him and he turned back to him. "Sernan, isn't it?"

The officer replaced his glasses and turned to him—he had thin features and a tall but short nose and a military haircut. "Yes sir! Sorry, sir, but you are?"

"Walker. I think we met in Nairobi, right before 'Daybreak'."

Sernan visibly searched his mind. "Yes, I remember that!" He extended his hand, which Walker shook. "Flight Lieutenant Walker, was it?"

"Flight Officer Sernan," Walker nodded.

"Actually, it's just Lieutenant Lon Sernan, of the Engineering Battalion," he admitted. "Same rank, different job title."

He sighed. "Just as well, I was a middling pilot."

"There are worse things than a middling pilot," Walker offered helpfully.

"Perhaps not, sir. Better to be a good engineer than a middling soldier. Hell's full of middling soldiers," Sernan lamented. Walker thought this was actually quite witty and chuckled at his remark, as their shuttle began to move into takeoff position.

A few thousand kilometers to the east, deep in the Indian Ocean, a elderly "entrepreneur" by the name of Mike Howard sat in main office aboard one of the fleet of vessels that made up the naval salvaging company he'd operated for almost twenty years. He'd left his oceanic headquarters on one of his larger salvaging ships, heading west to an island chain off Madagascar.

With slowly, easy movements he changed the screen on his computer, originally a desktop wallpaper with the slick—at least in his mind—corporate logo of his commercial venture, the Sweeper Group. Blinking his tired eyes, he stared at the short message delivered to him to him not long ago: Lightning strikes at Reunion.

As it happened, it wasn't nearly as cryptic as he might have otherwise seemed: Reunion referred to the island of Réunion, a French overseas possession near Madagascar. And it was the Lightning Count, Zechs Merquise, whose mobile suit had washed up on its beaches, as their recon seaplane that had gotten their first had confirmed. What Howard still didn't know was where the message had come from, though the nearest his computer "guy" could discern it originated somewhere in the OZ military network—understandable, since news of the battle had not yet been revealed.

He expected that, in a few hours, OZ would make an announcement concerning Zechs and the evidence of a rather epic battle, considering, as far as Howard could tell, only involved one mobile suit from OZ. While he was able to discern the rough details of the battle himself, the computer guy had told him something else that mildly worried him.

"If it did come out of OZ's military network, you can be sure that OZ is aware of it."

As Howard was pondering this particular issue, the Military Commissariat in the heart of OZ's European military districts for was putting the last touches on the rather sparse acknowledgement. This issue: the passing of one of its highest officers, the first lieutenant colonel to be a casualty of the May Revolutions.

Count Zechs Merquise, formerly Lieutenant Colonel of the OZ Terrestrial Mobile Suit Troops, has been listed as missing in action and likely killed, following a battle with ex-Alliance Navy warships and mobile suits in the Indian Ocean.

Sitting in her office, alone, Dr. Eva Cebotari stared at short sentence on the monitor of her notebook computer. There were two officers on the other side of the door, two noisy, unhappy soldiers acting like they owned the place, Flight Officer Bonati and Squadron Commander Albert Broden.

Eva saw F/O Bonati as a curiosity. He was not a particularly proficient officer—he was older than thirty, promoted from a noncommissioned officer in the Alliance Army Mobile Suit Troops. Though he was certified in both, he was not a particularly proficient as either a Leo or an Aries pilot. Obviously, at his age, he's not going to be a Zechs Merquise or a Soris Armonia. But nor is he an Albert Broden. He isn't even an Oswald Walker or Lucrezia Noin, with their decent skills and their tenacious ability to survive what should have been near-impossible situations.

Bonati was a modest pilot, with modest capabilities. And yet Treize keeps him and others like him around. Why? Maybe this was would shed some light on it.

She tapped a key, ejecting a tiny plastic diskette from her computer, small enough to conceal in the center of her palm. Running a hand through her hair, she put on her most uninterested face, opened the door and stepped through. In the bullpen, both Broden and Bonati were busy accessing a desktop computer, awkwardly punching in commands on the keyboard.

She'd been too quiet, so she made herself known. "My, my, my. My day is just filling up with all sorts of unpleasant interruptions," she said, leaning against her open door, arms crossed.

Like his comrades, Bonati had a strong distrust for the Military Commissariat. "Who are you?" he asked sharply, only briefing looking up.

Broden looked longer. It was easy to make that mistake—while the two of them wore their full hunter greens, she'd traded her uniform a solid black, strapless dress and cut in the center down part of her chest, along with long opera gloves and high heel boos.

Despite this, neither looked pleased to see her. "Wait a minute, I know you. The political officer reporting to his Excellency." His beard twitched. "What are you up to now?"

With one eye hidden under her a long bang, she peered at him. "What are you talking about?"

"How about I call the boys downstairs and have you dragged out?" Officer Cadet Perez, in uniform, growled angrily from the other side of the bullpen, hand rapidly opening and closing over his mobile.

Eva chuckled, turned to face them and put a hand against her waist. "I think the one with the beard might want to provoke something."

"I don't mind ma'am," he insisted, putting his mobile up to his head.

Broden kept staring at her, as though memorizing her appearance, still looking rather unhappy. His hands very slowly pushed through some papers until they stopped on one that include a scanned photograph of herself. He looked down at it for a second.

"Cebotari. Eva Cebotari. I'll remember that name," Broden mumbled under his breath before glancing once more at the computer and shutting it off with the tip of his boot against the power button. Keeping his eyes on Eva, he backed out of the office, leaving Bonati behind.

"Flight Officer, catch," she ordered, tossing the diskette over to him as he caught it. "Would you supply that to the Communications Department? My office has some…problems." Like the two MS troop morons ransacking it.

Bonati caught it, still staring at her, before nodding and taking off, with no salute.

"What were they looking for?" Perez asked.

"Something on the computers."

"Like what?"

"Who cares? I have a reception on Luna to attend to." She waved an arm at him as she strolled out, heels clicking with her, and Perez saluted swiftly.

VI

Zechs Merquise woke up to the unfamiliar smell of diesel fuel stored in drums and the sight of an aluminum ceiling fan spinning over his head. Out of the corner of his saw a glint in the shadow of the dim room: the buckle of his military-issue belt and holster.

"So I'm alive," he said aloud. A fragment of time about four seconds of long played in his head: his mobile suit plummeting to shoreline, a flicker of a paper note taped inside his cockpit, and smashing his fist against the large button between his knees.

In case of danger, sir, push this. For a fraction of a second, Walker's smiling, hawk-like features appeared in his mind before he returned to the inside of the dim room and the splitting headache he had, possibly from a concussion.

Near his belt, hanging on a chair, was his scarlet dress coat, dry but a little ragged, polished silver buttons shining from the light from the window. He ignored the blinking LED on the CCTV camera mounted in the opposite corner of the room, along with mumbling voices in the other room.

"Give me a damn minute!" someone shouted as the door opened, showering him with more light. A strange silhouette, strange not because it belonged to a middle-aged man, so much as his unusual choice in grooming and attire. It took Zechs a moment to realize it that he was bald but had combed-out grey hair, wore a baggy flower print shirt and sunglasses.

"You don't look so bad!" the funny-looking man told him. "You think you can stand?"

Zechs sat upright in bed silently. I must be wearing his clothes.

"We found you in a very interesting machine. We managed to recover it as well. You know, I never thought anyone would pilot Tallgeese. Except those kids maybe."

"Who are you?"

He turned around. "A long time ago, I was involved in its construction."

Zechs had not expected that. "So you built Tallgeese?"

The old man laughed, probably at the rather foolish way he'd phrased the question. "Well, I was involved. Howard, Michael Howard, since I already know who you are."

Zechs was less surprised by the fact that he was on an oceangoing platform, probably for light orbital launches judging by the size. Howard was unmistakably eager to show him something very specific and Zechs obliged. Stored beneath the main level, in an open maintenance pit where any recon aircraft or satellite could see it, was OZ-00MS 'Tallgeese', largely restored and now carrying different equipment.

"So why did you save me?"

"Well, it seems you've become OZ's enemy. Zechs Merquise, OZ's greatest hero, on the run. I guess there's no harm in us taking you in."

At that very moment, hundreds of thousands of kilometers above Earth, many of the officers Zechs had known—like Walker—were briefly absorbed in the sight of the cradle of humanity, Earth, from a parabolic orbit. For some, it was their first time seeing Earth that way—Zechs remembered his own experience, which, like so many, he owned to the military.

"Zechs Merquise is dead."

"That's what they're saying now," Howard said, pointing to a pocket computer on the tram they were driving: the screen was showing an online international news portal. He could see part of the headline past Howard's ugly shirt: …listed as likely killed in action, following a battle with ex-Alliance…

"The times are a-changin', and I'd love to see another new era in my lifetime. Ah, here it is!"

The utility lift brought the tram down to the bottom of the maintenance pit, so that they were nearly standing in Tallgeese's shadow. "That's one fantastic machine. No wonder the Gundams are designed off it."

Zechs stared up at Tallgeese. "Those supplementary vernier rockets, are they for atmospheric clearance?"

"To be honest, I was ordered to use them to insure the Gundams got back into Outer Space. Speaking of which, do you think you could do that?" Mounted over Tallgeese's already large vernier engines were a pair of enormous but expendable multi-stage launch boosters, sleek, white and even more massive than Tallgeese itself.

"Go to Outer Space?"

"There's about to be a radical revolution up there. People with your unique skills will be very much in demand."

Zechs gave a relaxed sigh, something he felt he could do out of uniform. Of course, he had also deserted the military anyway. "Somehow, I'm not looking forward to it. How did you find me?"

"Well, that's kind of a strange story too…"

VII

OZ remained committed to its Outer Space initiative, directly targeting the Earth Sphere Alliance's military forces at the Lagrange Points. Even after the disastrous loss of Barge, now a symbol of OZ's stalwart position, those forces represented the bulk of the remaining Alliance military. They had only hardened their military rule over the colonies that remained in their territory.

By comparison, OZ remained careful not to infringe on the newfound liberties they had given to the colonies, while still increasing its military presence overall. Its face remained Lieutenant Colonel Une, Countess of Hanover. Une played a delicate game, not underestimating the political savvy of the colonial elite that had survived nearly two decades of martial law. As both the new de facto commander of Earth's military in space and OZ's official ambassador, she played a dual rule: commander-in-chief and peacemaker. OZ's space divisions were her greatest martial tools while her reputation was her greatest diplomatic tool.

Most of the Space Forces 7th Division's equipment arrived on Space Fortress Barge, as planned. Its personnel, however, was largely diverted to Luna's Marius City, the Moon's industrial heartland and a major population center. It was a longer trip, at about 400,000 kilometers away from Earth, multiple times the distance of Barge's orbit, but it was well within the capabilities of the shuttle group.

"This is…man, this is something," Bishop said, grinning from ear to ear. In the negligible gravity, he was able to amuse himself with folding cap, which he spun in front of him like a top. "Guys, you need to see this," he told his comrades, as he joined his spinning cap with a pen.

"Akisamiyō!" Kanna blurted out loudly as the shuttle began its slow, smooth retrograde burn, deorbiting into Marius City and causing Dac's playthings to fly forward. It was not the surface of the moon that surprised her—it looked exactly like the thousands of photographs and illustrations she'd seen as a child depicted it—but the Lunar cityscape stretched out underneath her.

Sitting next to her, Mazuri tried to pull her away from the window. "Let me see! Move!"

Forward of the officers' compartment, the senior officers watched grey craters pass underneath through the windows. F/O Tycho Nichol floated up through the aisle from the back to Walker's seat.

"I see the gravity hasn't gotten to you," he joked at him, grabbing a seat to stop.

Walker was bobbing a little in his seat, but otherwise unaffected. "Nichol, I thought I'd see you here soon."

"See that?" he said, pointing past Sernan out the window. "The sleek, white bird towards the bottom of the fleet?"

Walker squinted. "I believe so."

"That's Colonel Une's private shuttle."

"What, are they using this as another summit?"

Nichol shrugged, as the weak local gravity began to affect him as the shuttle slowed down. "She is the commander-in-chief. She can go where she pleases."

"Will we see the meet any militia pilots?" Sernan asked.

Nichol glanced at him. "Worried?" 'Militias' was the catch-all term for the colonial guard units that had already existed even during the Alliances' time, but were now being armed by OZ. A few did not need OZ's materiel, but the large majority did, otherwise limited to frigates and fighter craft.

"Yes, though not of them."

The numerous transorbital shuttles descended into a number of small hangars at the military spaceport far south of the Marius Crater itself, intended to service the massive foundries of the No. 13 Mobile Suit Factory. Not all of them were military; Walker counted at least three civilian shuttles that probably had some sort of governmental or commercial role either just arriving or preparing to depart

One thing or another—perhaps the similarity in size—has tied Luna to Earth in a matter unlike the colonies. Thus, Luna was never placed under the same military rule, Artemis Sedici's failed revolt notwithstanding, and the Lunar government quickly aligned itself with OZ when the Alliance was forced to withdraw from here and Barge. Indeed, if it wasn't for the distances involved, Luna might better serve as OZ's seat of power in space than the fortress.

As Walker disembarked and buckled on his spotless white cape, he could see the signs of that transition all around him: emblems of the UESA Space Forces, inlaid in marble walls, sometimes hidden only by OZ's blue-and-yellow banners. There weren't enough of them.

"So this is Marius City?" he heard Chernenko ask nearby. "Not much to look at from the inside."

"Come on, Lieutenant, this is one of the oldest cities on Luna," Sernan told him. "Founded before the Alliance, though back then, it was home to the civic offices and the Lunar Archives."

"My God!" a passing F/L declared. "What is it about you engineers and your explanations?" he smirked, eliciting a laugh from Chernenko as they passed Sernan.

"Sirs, did none of you read the in-flight magazine?" Sernan shouted defensively, which only caused more laughter. Amid the laughing, Walker heard a faint click accompanied by what seemed like a rather weak flash, like that in a cheap camera. He immediately spun in the direction, rather inelegantly, in time to see a body of well-dressed civilians passing by on their way to their transport.. Except for a rather tall woman among themso far, Lunarians seemed like a short bunchthere was nothing strange about them. Must just be a coincidence.

As Walker stood there, still looking confused, a Lunar official was shouting at everyone who disembarked. "Your attentions, sirs, we've got marked trams to bring you into Marius City. The ceremony will be in the Old Opera House's ballroom, you'll find your table assignments there. Please don't wander off, it's easy to get lost in Downtown Marius!"

"This isn't a tram, it's a bus," Dac pointed out as they filed in line towards the nearest vehicle, which except for its roof wasn't that distinguishable from electric passenger trams you'd find on cities all over Earth.

"So?"

He looked back at Kanna. "So why not call it a bus?"

"Frankly, I was hoping for a limousine," Mazuri admitted before climbing on before them.

"That's exactly what OZ needs, a hundred limousines blocking up every street in the biggest city on Luna," Kanna mumbled, following Mazuri. Dac followed immediately. A few vehicles away, Walker climbed into a government sedan along with four other flight lieutenants. The Lunarian chauffeur in a preppy black uniform donned his hat and climbed in after them, smiling.

"Where to, soldiers?" he joked putting the vehicle in drive.

Walker politely sat between two other lieutenants, hands in his laps. The older officer sitting to his left was less cheerful. "Spare us the false brevity, we're late for a party for exactly that purpose."

The much younger lieutenant laughed, then looked at Walker. "Cage," he told him, introducing himself and the other.

"Walker." He stared at the other man for a minute. "You were attached to Colonel Zechs, weren't you?"

"Yes, and you?" Cage said in a more friendly tone.

"Some time ago."

The limousines and trams arrived at Marius City's Old Operahouse at the same time, a large 'building' with a classical façade in the city center, with three major arteries converging in front of it. Like all the other buildings, it was well beneath Luna's actual surface. There was a decent media appearance, though it was not necessarily crowded. Another Lunar official was there to guide them further into the structure.

F/L Cage adjusted his cap as the three made their way through the main entrance and down the grand staircase—fitting with the rest of the city, the Grand Operahouse was built downwards as well as upwards—to the larger levels. The staircase itself was done in the English William & Mary architectural style and four levels down, at the bottom, the floor was filled with hunter green uniforms.

"It's been a while since my last real military party," Cage observed as they descended. "Funny, right?"

"I suppose so," Walker admitted.

"At least things seem peaceful here. Maybe Outer Space isn't as bad as they've led on."

Walker didn't respond. There was a table near the entrance of the ballroom covered with Lunar newspapers, eight stacks in a line. And while he couldn't make out the text, he noticed the same picture on every one: a dark-haired Alliance Space Forces general in full uniform. He'd seen the general before, part of a certain video broadcast from Colony L1-D-120. The chanting audio was still fresh in his mind."Dio salvi l'Alleanza! Dio salvi l'Alleanza! Dio salvi l'Alleanza!"

"It is quite peaceful," he mumbled as the chanting echoed in his head.

VIII

While the officers took their seats in the main ballroom, Ambassador Une escorted a small civilian party—including Marius City's mayor and metropolitan police commander, a mid-level official of the Romefeller Foundation, a spacecraft designer from independent MO-V whom was working with OZ and a representative of the Yuy Foundation. The guest of honor, however, was the Governor-General of Luna, Sir Edmund Wavell. The head of Earth's administration over the Moon had traded his UESA Space Forces Brigadier General's uniform for a pinstriped tuxedo bedecked in medals under a dark blue sash bearing the white insignia of the Lunar government. With her usual warmth, Une personally introduced them to a few titled officers in OZ who were particularly noteworthy.

"May I present the Baroness of Oviedo, Lady Soris, and her younger sister, Chevalière Luna. I'm sure you know them both by reputation."

"Indeed we do, I was very much looking forward to the colonials among OZ's veterans," Wavell announced, shaking both women's hands excitedly.

"It's a pleasure, Sir Edmund," Soris said, speaking for both of them. Luna stood silently, as usual.

"And this is Dr. Eva Cebotari, from the Military Commissariat. She's been ordered by her department to establish an office for the Space Forces, overseeing recruitment and legal procedure."

"It's a pleasure, Sir Edmund," she told him in a low, sultry voice, and offering her gloved hand. She'd immediately gotten notice as the one officer in the line that, like Une, was not in uniform.

All smiles, the governor-general took her hand and kissed it politely.

"And this is my assistant, Mr. Tycho Nichol," Une said finally.

Nichol shook their hands. "It's an honor, sirs."

The inauguration for the 7th Division was like any other even of its kind—half festivities, half obligations—as the officers shifted about and old acquaintances caught up, assuming they hadn't already during the shuttle ride from Earth.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, ma'am?"

An agitated, even exasperated F/L Ogasawara Emi looked down, literally rather than figuratively, at a cheerful F/O Aretha Walker. Aretha was her escort, since it was only her second time on Luna and her unit wasn't invited inauguration.

"That's fine, thanks."

"Are you sure?" she asked, standing between her and F/L Clarkson, whose mustache bristled at her helpfulness. He had not happily accompanied Emi.

"Yes, it's fine, thank you!" Emi snapped, her voice starting to rise in volume.

Clarkson adjusted his white gloves as Aretha vanished into the crowd of officers, scanning the area around him. "So, why are we here again?"

"To be comradely and welcome the new pilots," she told him quickly, her own eyes darting about.

He looked at the much younger lieutenant. "Really?"

"Yes really." She literally pushed him towards the crowd and shot off in a different direction. "Be pleasant and sociable, would you?"

Clarkson watched her take off and held his arms apart, palms open, before drifting in the direction of the open bar.

As the 'party' continued, Walker stood near the bar, watching people help themselves to alcohol to pass the time and loosen up.

"Negroni straight up, and for the lieutenant colonel…an Americano on the rocks?"

Looking over his shoulder, he saw another flight lieutenant next to a lieutenant colonel in his scarlet dress coat and black cape. The lieutenant colonel, an older officer with a strong jaw, black hair and long sideburns, shook his head.

"Straight up then," the F/L said before leaning on the counter to wait. He noticed Walker glancing at him and smiled.

"You must be one of the honored guests," he told him in a friendly tone. "Flight Lieutenant Andretti, Fifth Lunar Guard Division. And this is Lieutenant Colonel Sedici, commander of the Lunar Military District."

Walker looked at the class of ice water he was holding in his right hand and set it down before shaking gloves with Andretti. "Flight Lieutenant Walker, Seventh Strategic Aerospace Division, as you already know."

He turned to Sedici and shook his hand. "It's an honor, Lieutenant Colonel."

"Walker," Sedici replied calmly. Where have I heard that name before?

The bartender delivered the two cocktails while Walker returned to his glass of water. Andretti gestured about with his free hand. "Present company excluded, you have to admit, the types OZ is sending up to Outer Space are only getting stranger and stranger."

"Really?" Walker asked carefully.

"I've been stationed on Luna continuously for…thirty months now," Andretti explained. He pointed to his left with the hand holding his cocktail. "Look at the lieutenant and two flight officers over there. What're air force officers doing on Luna?"

There were three officers sitting at a table nearby in their hunter greens, but with their collars and sleeves colored sky blue rather than maroon—the color of the Terrestrial Air Forces. Walker pondered the question seriously. "Probably to train fighter-bomber crews, if I had to guess. The Colonials used to rely a lot on those."

"Huh. Sailors from the navy for cruisers, pilots from the air force for bombers. What a bunch," Andretti mumbled. Walker could tell from his tone of voice that it was a sufficiently convincing answer.

"Outer Space seems to take all kinds," Walker told him, perhaps a little too sincerely. Andretti smirked and pointed at him, sloshing his glass around.

"So it does, Walker, so it does." He took a deep gulp from his cocktail and hissed. "Ah. Speaking of all kinds…"

He pointed in a different direction, towards the center of the ball room. Surrounded by an entourage of dignitaries and a few officers, Ambassador Une was very slowly making her way towards the front of the room while participating in a conversation with her adjutant Nichol and two upper-class civilian officials. It was immediate apparent that Une was having minimal participation, and the conversation was mostly between Nichol and the male official, while the female official took the occasional sip from her glass of white wine.

"There is life for the Leo yet," the official explained confidently. "On Earth, and now in space with the Colonial militias. OZ jumped the gun by diverting production."

"Well, I'll give you Outer Space," Nichol conceded. "But on Earth? Really? Where, exactly?"

The official, clad in the finery of the Romefeller Foundation, gestured animatedly with his champagne glass. "Before you say it, yes, the catastrophic defeat of the Alliance Mobile Suit Troops hardly boosted the reputation, but the Leo has some life in it yet. Your beloved Aries cannot handle every mission, surely the Ambassador agrees with me," he said, glancing at Une. Une simply smiled back at him, looking just a bit amused.

"Please, your Lordship, don't try and play that card. We've all used the Leo," Nichol explained. "We're all familiar with the hardware. But the Alliance has passed, and so has its preferred mobile suit."

"They look like they're having fun, aren't they?" Andretti asked as all three of them eavesdropped on the animated conversation, making out the rough details.

"I don't think Nichol would pass on a chance to let an official of the Romfeller Foundation know what's on his mind," Walker said, smiling.

"Well, he is Une's deputy," Andretti admitted. Sedici nodded quietly while finishing his Americano. "I just feel sorry for the ladies."

Nichol and the Foundation official continued their conversation, unconcerned with their surroundings.

"Listen, you must appreciate that airborne operations are only becoming more prevalent on Earth, aren't they? You'll need more airborne divisions!"

"What does that have to do with our Leo inventories?"

"Everything! Think Kaohsiung-style airborne divisions."

Nichol sighed and adjusted his maroon cape. "Forgive me, I'm a bit short on my history. Kaohsiung Airborne?"

"Kaohsiung, 'Seventy-Six. The first combat deployment of a Leo battalion by means of airdrop, almost immediately after the opening shots of the Taiwanese Civil War. Even if the war still ended the Republic of China, it did demonstrate the effectiveness of Airborne Leo units. This was years before the Aries appeared."

Une was actually listening closely. She had studied it as a student—the year she was born, the densely populated isle of Taiwan turned on itself after a generation of failed arbitration from the Alliance. The Alliance was much better at military than political solutions, and seeing the South's strategic edge over the North, launched a single operation to knock Kaohsiung out of the war in a single decisive blow. It did exactly that, forcing both North and South back to the negotiating table. Despite favoring Taipei in the North, the UESA Pacific Command promptly returned to its usual stupidity: it ordered an island-wide election between the opposing parties, and promised that, unlike Saigon's sabotage of the Vietnamese elections centuries ago, it would tolerate no deviation. Secessionists outnumbered Unionists ten to one and the electorate voted along ethnic lines. With that, the centuries-old Alliance-favored Republic of China promptly ceased to exist, and the whole island, from Keelung to Pingtung, became the Republic of Taiwan.

Before the end of the decade, Taiwan joined the United Republic of China in order to access Earth Sphere's largest common market. To an outsider, it all appeared rather pointless, but it did demonstrate the tactical possibilities of air-insertion Leo troops.

"Mark my words, ladies and gentlemen," the official continued. "You will need more and more of those very airdrops if you want your decisive victory against the Alliance, especially before the end of this year. And the longer you delay, the more you will need Leos pounding the ground. Thinks haven't changed that much since my time in the military."

Nichol looked unconvinced. Une looked vaguely interested. The other dignitary, a woman just a few years older than Une, looked extremely bored. Her wine glass empty, she gave a soft sigh and looked up at the stage with her right eye—her left eye remained permanently closed. "Lady Une, won't you be giving your speech soon?"

"Oh yes, of course, thank you Ms. Yuy!" Ambassador Une replied, in her trademark happy, bubbly manner. "Please excuse me, sirs."

As soon as Une departed, Shalua Yuy smoothed a crease in her long orange dress before immediately strolling off, leaving Nichol and the Foundation official to continue their little debate. Within seconds, Emi emerged from a crowd of hunter green uniforms, pushing her white leather cape over her shoulder and immediately stood close to Yuy, who'd extended her hand.

"Flight Lieutenant Ogasawara, I presume?" Yuy whispered as Emi took her hand and kissed her gloved knuckles. "I apologize for not speaking to you sooner."

Emi released her hand and her eyes resumed darting around. "We need to talk, ma'am."

Walker was still watching Emi and Yuy when a round of applause came from the crowd and he spun around. Standing on stage, in front of the military band, was Une, smiling so hard Walker imagined it probably took some concentration to maintain it. The 7th Division continued clapping politely for a few more seconds before Une spoke.

"Thank you, all of you, so much," she began, her voice relayed over speakers. "I'm so happy to welcome the pilots and officers of the Seventh Strategic Aerospace Division to Outer Space."

Walker, who had been left holding Sedici and Andretti's glasses, hurriedly gave them to a waiter before taking his place among the other mid-level officers. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Eva, slowly turning a glass.

Dac stood next to Mazuri, finishing his glass before rolling it across the nearby table.

"So this is Ambassador Une?" he whispered to his friend as the speech continued.

"I'm surprised too," Mazuri admitted.

"I don't see it."

He took off his own spectacles, wiping them on his uniform before replacing them. "You'd be surprised the difference a uniform, a hairstyle and a pair of glasses can make."

"Must be a sister," Dac mumbled insistently.

"…we still have much work to be done here, in Outer Space. We know what our duty is, and I can see in all of you the true, correct demeanor of a soldier. I believe there is no one better prepared than the OZ Space Forces to bring peace to the colonies."

There was a general applause.

"And now, I present the commander-in-chief of the Order of the Zodiac, His Excellency, Treize Khushrenada."

More applause, as the lights on the stage dimmed. The ceiling-mounted projector cast glowing lines near Une, which consolidated to eventually form a detailed faux-3D image of Treize Khushrenada, in his trademark dress uniform, hand on his hip. The ballroom was deadly silent, except for the whispers of a few curious civilians.

"I congratulate you, the soldiers of the Order. Having risen to every challenge on Earth, you have crossed the stars to further your cause." He paused briefly, putting his hands behind his back. "And what cause is that? It is not just the cause of peace or justice or righteousness, though we naturally long for those. No, it is the purpose of the carrying on history. Of ensuring this world meets its destiny in due time, instead of writhing in the misery of the status quo."

From dramatic flair, he took a few steps around, the hologram moving with him. "It is too easy to allow ourselves to sit on our laurels, satisfied with our victories…"

Treize's speech continued, slow and steady, while the audience listened in silence. Walker stood near the bar, hands behind his back, following his Excellency's every word. Not far from him, Emi adjusted her well-starched collar.

"No mention of the Gundams," Yuy whispered softly.

"Apparently not," Emi whispered back, even softer.

"…That cause is the continued justification of your existence, of OZ's existence. For without that purpose, there is no reason for us. For this costly, devastating war, and for our continued struggle against the old Order. But with that purpose, we are blessed with one of the greatest gifts of all, the gift of focus. For there is nothing more beautiful in this world than a human, than a warrior, free of distractions. It is the closest thing in our world to God." He reached out of the holograms field and produced a champagne glass. "To the glory of the Order."

Throughout the ball, officers, pilots and soldiers raised their glasses. Lady Soris stood next to her younger sister, near the stage, glasses in hand, a smile on her face.

"For the Order!" a few hundred voices called in unison.

Treize smiled abruptly, almost alarmingly. "In the meantime, men and women of the Seventh Division, please enjoy this well-deserved ball. Good evening comrades and the victor go the spoils."

There was a chuckle through the auditorium as the hologram vanished and the lights returned, a feeling of easiness descended on the crowd. In the middle, Kanna joined the chorus of clinking glasses, toasting the evening with Dac and Mazuri as the drinking resumed.

"Here's to you, Flight Officer Kaneshiro," Mazuri chimed in.

"And you, Ajay," she responded in kind.

As the two sipped, Dac quickly finished his champagne and gave a loud hoot, rasping from the alcohol. "Whoa!" he yelled out. "That burned!"

The two laughed hysterically at him.

"A pretty good speech," Andretti told Walker after finishing his second glass of Dom Pérignon.

"I thought so too," Walker told him in kind after turning to face him.

"Though the question is: if it wasn't, would we know?" the Italian F/L told him. Walker didn't respond, and was thankfully saved by a pat on the back. He turned around again to see the smiling face of Lieutenant Colonel Armonia.

"Lady Soris! Dame Luna!"

Almost too fast, Luna saluted him and he quickly switched hands with his glass and saluted back.

"Sir Oswald," Soris replied, clearly amused at the effort he was making. "You two've met?"

"No ma'am," Walker said. "I just read the dossiers."

Soris laughed at that too. "Well, Lieutenant Walker, this is my younger sister, Flight Officer Luna Armonia," she introduced in her usual sunny manner.

"A pleasure sir," Luna said, very quickly and very quietly, before sticking out her hand mechanically. Walker shook it as quickly as he could manage.

"So you're posted to the Seventh Division?"

"Yes ma'am, lead squadron," Walker replied, watching Luna stare blankly past him out of the corner of his eye. It almost disturbed him a little.

"They should have at least one technical mind around those atomic weapons," Soris gloated. "Luna and I've been juggled around the fleet, but I'm sure we'll be seeing more of you and the Seventh."

The two left as promptly as they'd appeared, leaving Walker to slowly make his way through his first glass. Watching them depart, his eyes surveyed the crowd and stopped abruptly again. Oh, wonderful, her.

There was no mistaking her: strapless black dress and black gloves aside, it was Major Cebotari. Chernenko had been right—contrary to what reason told him, here she was, instead of sitting in Luxembourg, far, far away.

I'm very close to saying something rude.

"Hey, Taichō!" The huge figure of Kanna moved towards him, all grins.

Wonderful timing. "Kanna, welcome to Luna!"

"I can't believe how long it took to find you," she said with a laugh as he very slowly hid behind her. "You know I had a gift for you?"

"A gift?"

"Well, nothing fancy," she said with a laugh, arching her head back. "I mean, it's funny, I think you'll like it."

"Well, I don't get many gifts," Walker assured her. "However, I need to get going, could you please give the boys my regards?"

"S…Sure," Kanna replied, looking a little confused. Walker tapped his goggles atop his cap in that way he did, before heading for the nearest exit. "See you at the after party, F/L!" she called out after him.

Putting her hands on her hips, she watched him awkwardly make his way through the crowded ballroom. "Yeah right," she mumbled with a snort.

The applause grew again as a female celebrity appeared in front of the military band, microphone in hand, to touch off the official inaugural ball dance. Well, this is familiar. I wonder which two officers are going to dance with the ambassador and the governor-general, Dac thought as he leaned over to get a better view of the crowd.

The celebrity from Earth, whom Dac did not recognize, began serenading the song for the slow dance between Une and the much older Sir Edmund, as a few other officers dutifully began dancing with each other or the civilian guests. Mazuri was already slow-dancing with another F/O, whose commanding officer danced with the governor-general.

Even as she slow danced, Emi's eyes periodically darted as she looked around. "I've come as I promised. I hope you'll honor your half of the bargain, Ms. Yuy."

With her high heels, Yuy was able to match Emi's height. She winked at her with her right eye. "Of course I will. There is one name you must know above all."

"Septim," Emi said for her. "Is that what you had to tell me personally?"

The two turned slowly with the music. "Unfortunately yes, look over my shoulder."

Two tables away, Eva Cebotari was dancing with the commander of the 7th Division, his bright red uniform standing in sharp contrast to her dress.

"Her," Emi hissed dangerously.

"Don't stare," Yuy whispered into her ear. "We'll have plenty of time to talk here. She's less threatening in person."

"Like a true political officer," she mumbled back.

"She wouldn't appreciate that," Yuy warned back.

Emi opened her mouth to respond, before closing it again and finishing the dance. Just as the song finished, and Ambassador Une and the governor-general parted from their partners, she gestured with Eva's direction.

Shalua nodded, as Emi sat down at a nearby table, rubbing her gloved index finger and thumb together anxiously. Yuy proceeded to Eva who, upon noticing her, abruptly ended a conversation with flight lieutenant.

"Dr. Cebotari."

"Ms. Yuy," Eva greeted her breathily. "I didn't have a chance to say a proper goodbye to you at Bremen."

She looked over at Emi, who had a grimace permanently affixed on her face. "I'm sure Lieutenant Ogasawara was entertaining you with First Recon's exploits. Should I…?" she asked.

"Actually, I was hoping to speak to you personally," she said, leading her away from the table as Emi watched, fingers still rubbing.

"Of course. How may I help the Yuy Foundation?"

"As I'm sure you know…" Yuy began, as Emi stared at the two strolling away. She did not care that at the same time, Ambassador Une, from her table with the Sir Edmund, was watching her in turn, while a curious Kanna watched them in turn.

"What just happened?" Kanna asked aloud the room, before loudly slurping from her straw, as a much older, mustached flight lieutenant strolled by, stopping upon hearing her. He seemed to be staring at Emi.

"I have no idea," Clarkson admitted, before looking at her. "Young lady, what're you drinking?" he asked, looking at what was left of her bright pink drink.

"Singapore Sling. Sir."

Clarkson looked away and sighed. "Kids these days," he mumbled, clutching his whiskey glass.

IX

Howard sat in the belly of his base, Tallgeese visible through an open office window. The same mobile suit was displayed on a nearby monitor, married to its tall launch vehicle—a pair of powerful engines along with a pair of large fuel tanks and a few other maneuvering engines. More than enough to carry the ten tonnes or so that Tallgeese and its external equipment weighed. It's a small payload in the scheme of things, even for an outfit like the Sweepers.

One of Howard's employees appeared at the door, holding a sheet of paper. "Good news I hope?"

He scratched his head. "Not exactly, boss. Tallgeese is ready for launch any moment now, but in the meantime, when our window will appear is anyone's guess." He approached the desk and smoothed out the crinkled paper printout. "We're still trying to map all of OZ's surveillance satellites. Everything we've seen seems to suggest that OZ has at least eighty percent of the Alliances' network operational."

And if their surveillance of Earth itself is imperfect, they'll definitely detect anything that could reach space. Howard frowned. "So we can't just launch at any time, can we?"

"No, no we can't. You should tell him to get comfortable in the meantime."

He gave a sigh and held his head in his hands. "I guess it's all the same—if we were afraid of war…boy, did we choose the wrong line of work."

Notes:

Here you have my unusually short explanation as to the gap in time between Zechs meeting Howard and his actual arrival in Outer Space.