“So… tell me again why we’re out here.”
Both of his friends audibly groaned, one going so far as to throw a dinner roll at the offender.
A brusque, tanned woman with hair dyed a vivid red, Petty Officer Angela Wilson leaned on one hand. “I’m not gonna explain it again, Al,” she said as she threateningly jabbed her fork at the man in question. “We got briefed before launch, you asked us immediately after that, and you asked again after we left orbit.”
“I know, I know.” Chief Petty Officer Alfonso Banke held his toffee-colored hands up, pleading for mercy. “Just… I don’t get it. All of the Sides have their own thrusters, why can’t they just...” he twirled a finger and rushed air between his lips. “You know.”
“They told us that, too.” Ensign Michael Nowak had his eyes closed, as if in thought. A slight smile played on his thin face, though: “When are you going to start paying attention when they tell us stuff? You’re usually so smart, it’s amazing you can also be such an airhead.”
Alfonso grinned for a split second, then let out a yelp as a fist suddenly collided with his left arm. “Dammit, that hurts!” He started working the muscle with his other hand to take the edge off. “You know I outrank you, right Angie? I could have you court-martialed.”
“As if.” The woman laughed despite herself. “You don’t have the stones, little man. If I wasn’t stuck in a cockpit I’d have overtaken you some time ago by now, I reckon.”
Al grimaced, but kept his mouth shut. Perhaps it was wisdom or perhaps it was luck, because at that moment Captain Bright walked in, escorting the admiral herself.
“Ah, there’s my merry little band of trouble makers,” the cheery captain quipped. The trio rose to attention, but he issued an “at ease” without even bothering to return their salute. “Here they are, ma’am.”
The tiny, olive-skinned woman peered at them closely, piercing each with a gaze that betrayed decades of hard experience: she could not and would not bother to recall how many people she had judged in this manner. Her lips were pursed, as they often were, and her gaze raking them viciously.
There were crows’ feet beginning to make tracks around her eyes. Finally, she had thought when she first noticed them: perhaps the rank and file would take her a little more seriously if she looked older. Officers usually knew better, at least. Admiral Maidza doubted she would get much trouble from these three.
She spent a little time in silence, the pulse-thrum of the colossal aft engines suddenly uncomfortably loud in all their ears. Looking the trio over for anything she didn’t like, she found plenty, but nothing worth commenting on. “At ease.”
Al raised an eyebrow but, mercifully, did not comment that they were already at ease. Mike and Angie both gave an internal sigh of relief at his restraint.
After another second’s pause, the admiral began: “I don’t think I need to impress the importance of this mission on you.” She nodded at the two pilots. “Naturally we’ll have boots on the ground, but Mr. Nowak, Ms. Wilson, you’ll be our only personnel capable of heavy lifting. The Federation just couldn’t spare anymore suits. Mr. Nowak, if you sense anything unusual, be sure to let us know.” She turned to the third member of their group. “Mr. Banke, you’ll be coordinating them while they’re deployed of course.” She narrowed her dark eyes practically to slits, exaggerating her new wrinkles. “I’ve seen your file. No funny business, mark my words?”
“Sir, yes sir!” Al’s response was perfectly confident, almost suspiciously so.
Vaguely satisfied, the admiral turned away without another word. Captain Bright looked back at them with the ghost of a grin, following in her wake.
Safely five seconds after the door was shut, he spoke up: “Okay, just one more time, I promise. Why are we doing this?”
After the last remnants of Zeon had been put down in the Earth Sphere, the principality’s shadow had passed on to Mars and even the newly developed colonies spreading throughout the asteroid belt. Due to their position in the solar system, however, the Belt’s resources and manpower were limited from the start. Fighting could not be sustained nearly so long, nor could the devastating tactics employed during the Zeon conflicts witness a return on this remote front. In less than three years the War of the Belt had firmly ended, though not without members of the Belt suffering for their rebellion.
At the time, few places had seen anti-Federation sentiment brew as strongly as Side 15, more popularly known as New Genoa. On the other hand, few places in the Belt had rebounded like New Genoa after the war ended: while not exactly prospering as it floated near Ceres, it had become something of a beacon in the recesses of human space, a place where those spacenoids too far away from Earth to even see their blue home could still take comfort in the presence of their fellow man.
The problem was that it would be destroyed, in only a few weeks’ time.
“Well, maybe not destroyed,” Angie interjected. “But the damage will be so extensive that it’ll take a long time to rebuild. Years, probably, if it’s just the colonists working at it.”
“Regardless,” Mike nodded, “it’s a humanitarian crisis. The war ended over seventy years ago, but they’ve only just started recovering in earnest. Hell, they still don’t even really like the Feddies out there. So: we come in and evacuate people, save their lives, make the government look good. It’s an easy win-win.”
Al rolled his eyes. “I remember that part at least, but I’m not sure why we need to get involved in the first place. Every Side has thrusters for just such an emergency, right?”
“It’s a resource problem, as it usually is out in the Belt.” Captain Bright had returned absent the admiral, opening the door and casually taking a seat with his subordinates. “They can’t just move out of the way for the same reason that we have so few ships on this mission. Normally we’d have the Upast and Nanshe too, but they got pulled to deal with the Jovian Empire before we left.”
A faint but distinct pall cast over the party at the mention of it: the crisis unfolding near Jupiter had potential to spread. Unlike during the War of the Belt, the resources near Jupiter were generally far more bountiful, and if true conflict emerged it would undoubtedly drag on into the distant future.
Al nodded as if he understood, but Mike could sense that he still didn’t quite get it. “They already expended their Helium-3 last year, during that near miss with Lachesis? This time around, there’s a huge cloud of meteoroids on a direct intercept for the Side.”
“Indeed,” Captain Bright leaned back in his sleek black chair. “Honestly, I’m not sure it would help if they did have fuel: the Perseid Showers look like they’re going to be quite entertaining this year, back home.” He leaned in toward the soldiers, all three paying rapt attention. “The cloud is covering an area of the Belt some several trillion kilometers cubed in size right now, so their only hope would have been to hide behind Ceres as it passes.” The young man’s brow furrowed, and for a second neatly resembled his great-grandfather for whom he was named. “They don’t even have that option, so we’re going to help out instead.”
Angie raised an eyebrow. “There’s a lot of people in New Genoa. Do we have the capacity for them?”
Bright laughed. “I wouldn’t worry about that.”
His ship, the Eurus, was a member of the Ziggurat-class of carriers, and unquestionably the most emblematic of their purpose. The Ziggurats had been introduced to the Federation fleet a little over three years ago, and were a bold break from the increasingly sleek and narrow designs of the last several decades. Enormous, slow, and commonly described as “ugly,” they somewhat resembled giant parallelograms. What they lacked in mobility and aesthetics, though, they more than made up for it in stability, armor, and convenience.
They had been envisioned as a throw-back to ships large enough to be considered mobile bases, but unlike the vaunted Pegasus-class and its successors, the Ziggurat-class was not suitable for extended sub-orbital travel. Indeed, they were equipped with state of the art Minovsky craft systems that could even simulate gravity onboard without the use of a rotating cabin, but the ships were just too heavy and not aerodynamic enough to go at-speed in atmosphere. Instead, the Federation’s engineers had decided to maximize the potential for missions deeper in space, increasing the size of the interior to accommodate greater amounts of people and supplies as the military expanded ever more into the black.
Bright had gotten Myra Mercado, his chief analyst on the bridge, to run the numbers. New Genoa was by far the most populous of the Belt Sides, but even then did not account for more than a few hundred thousand people in its lone colony. The Eurus, specifically designed to handle this kind of problem, was a true monster of a starship, and would be able to handle over a hundred thousand souls herself. The Gluskab and Eir, the other Ziggurats along for the ride, were somewhat smaller but could handle the rest between them.
Captain Bright’s disposition changed truer to his name, and for a second he practically radiated pride in his commission. “It might be a little tight, but we’ll be able to drop the evacuees off at Luzon without too much problem. The hardest part, I suspect, will be getting everyone onboard.”
As the ships docked safely in the glittering port two weeks later, Mike and his friends realized the truth of those words. They had expected to see teeming masses waiting to shuffle aboard, people holding the hands of their family members to avoid losing each other, or suitcases packed with belongings.
What greeted them could barely be called a handful. They looked out over the verdant agrarian patchwork of New Genoa, where farming equipment could be seen diligently working at the crops that were so vital to the Belt communities; it seemed to be business as usual. Here and there were farmhouses, and in the sunward side was a nest of homes that seemed to be the major hub.
Near to the dock was a smattering of people that numbered around 10,000. Only these were prepared to leave New Genoa by the time the Eurus arrived—less than 5% of the Side’s total population.
Captain Bright’s indignation was only hidden by his shock, as he forgot his decorum and let his jaw drop at the sight. The journey out had taken the better part of three months, with plenty of advanced warning given as to the purpose of their coming.
With disaster looming in less than a week’s time, the lack of preparation could be seen as little more than an insult.
Admiral Maidza, on the other hand, did not change her chronically stern expression for an instant. Saying nothing, she promptly departed in search of the administrator for Side 15, disappearing in a cloud of dust as her escort vehicle navigated the winding dirt road.
Al shook his head as he surveyed the pitiful crowd surrounding the Eurus, then cast his eyes out over the lush curves of the Side. He frowned as he saw the tractor trailers in motion, reaping wheat and corn and other assorted food crops. “Why are they still working? We were due to board everyone and leave before tomorrow.”
Mike closed his eyes, feeling out. He concentrated on the masses surrounding their titanic ship: fear rose from nearly all of them, underscored with something more complex. He focused harder, and that subtle feeling underneath became unmistakable: a dark bitterness sat in their hearts.
“They don’t want to leave,” he said softly.
Angie and Al peered sideways at him, then at each other. Newtype stuff.
“Well, I’m not exactly surprised,” Mike continued. “I just didn’t expect their reluctance to be quite so…” he paused, sweeping his eyes over the expanse. “… pronounced. As strong as it is in the people who are here, the sheer sense of resistance I get from the rest of the Side is kind of staggering.” His eyes began to water with the effort, and he closed his mind off to the world.
“I get not wanting to leave their home and all,” Angie acknowledged, “but they don’t really have a choice, do they?”
“As you can see,” said the prodigious councilor, “the people of New Genoa have chosen to stay despite your warnings.”
Martell Lavigne was not a soft-spoken man, and carried himself in a way that showed he knew it. In a fashion, he was a perfect leader for the populace of Side 15: brash and unapologetic. “We have endured hardships like this in the past; we are a strong, hardy people.” He turned to peer down at the tiny woman in front of him.
She looked back up at him unflinchingly: “Clearly, you have not communicated the magnitude of this problem to your people.”
Small but fierce, he noted. “You slander me, admiral. I have done my utmost to inform these good folk of the danger approaching us.” Seeing no real point in putting up a physical front any longer, Martell sat down in his faux leather-backed office chair, which protested squeakily at his putting upon it.
Admiral Maidza did not follow suit. “If that’s the case, then why do so many of them seem to be going on as usual?” Her frown and wrinkles deepened, her expression darkening. “This colony will experience approximately 87% physical damage at best, far too much for life support to continue operating reliably. Our technology has come a long way, but not even self-annealing panels will be able to curtail that sort of destruction.”
The portly councilor laughed, eliciting a brief bit of surprise from the admiral. “Yes, yes, we know. Trust me, I was sure to convey all of that to the rest of the Side.” He leaned back in his chair, dragging more tiny screams from its stressed frame. “I made the risk abundantly clear to every citizen of New Genoa. Don’t think we’ve been idle: we made sure to prepare however we can in the time since the Federation gave us their predictions.”
“Mr. Lavigne, evacuation is your preparation for this emergency!” Maidza’s smoky voice pitched: she could not quite believe what she was hearing. “If you and the rest of this colony do not leave, calamity is a near certainty for everyone here. I am not mincing words with you,” she leaned in close, dropping her words to a deathly whisper. “We are your only hope for survival. I advise you not to ignore this.”
The man only chuckled, waving his hand. “Yes, of course. You have made your protestations perfectly clear.” He leaned forward, dropping his own genteel smile. “Personally, I agree with you. I’ve already prepared my family to leave, and will accompany you.” He spread his pudgy hands in seeming hopelessness. “But, as to the rest of this station, what I’ve told you stands. Only a few will leave of their own accord, and I don’t suggest you try to force the rest to do so.”
The admiral and captain had been arguing rapidly, back and forth, for over an hour now. Their conversation was muddled to anyone outside the office, but for Mike at least the tone was clear: rage, distress, determination.
Eyes still closed as he sifted through the emotional debris, he announced to his friends, “Something has gone wrong.”
“Holy shit, really?” Angie exclaimed sardonically, swiveling her head to look at him. “Look, you don’t exactly need to be a Newtype to notice something’s up right now. Even Al can tell, and I don’t think I need to remind you how long it took him to figure out about the gig line.”
“Well, since we’re not scheduled for anything in particular for a few hours,” Alfonso coughed and interrupted, “Maybe you can put your intuition to good use and find us some food on this giant tin can. It’s been months since we had anything but military rations, I’m ready to eat something that could actually qualify as a meal for a change.”
Mike sighed, not opening his eyes. “Pretty sure I’ve told you that’s not… wait, who am I kidding? You’ll deliberately forget anything I say in the next ten seconds.”
As a cheerful “finally, he gets it!” registered in his ears, he was already moving on. The captain’s quarters were a stormy cloud above the field of human emotion aboard Side 15, though the rest of it was not much better. The closer to the dock he felt, the more irritation he sensed.
Scientific understanding and military training of Newtypes had been progressing swiftly even before the conflicts with Zeon had properly ended. So many decades later, it was common practice to have at least one Newtype of middling ability aboard every ship, and a mobile suit with a Psycommu system installed if they could handle it. In ships suited specifically for combat, the Newtypes and suits one might find were frightening to consider. Unfortunately, one of the few consensuses in literature on the subject was that it’s an inexact process to discover and train Newtypes in ways that weren’t invasive or harmful. Ultimately, it was up to the individual to train themselves and expand their limits.
Mike was nothing terribly special, by his own reckoning: he even had difficulty attuning himself to anyone in particular. The emotional signature of every individual was slightly different, and unless you had a powerful empath who could easily recall that kind of information, it really wasn’t useful except for being able to pick out his friends in a crowd more quickly (though it also made it easy to unnerve them for fun, recognizing them behind his back and such).
Occasionally, though, Mike was the one who found himself surprised by what he felt. Like a static shock to his forebrain, he suddenly realized that he already knew someone aboard this colony. His eyes flew open: “Guys, shut up. I think I just felt Barry.”
Al and Angie both stopped lightly beating on each other and looked at him, blinking in confusion.
Uncharacteristically, it clicked for Al first. “Wait a minute, what? Are you sure?” He let go of Angie’s beige uniform as a smile lit up his face, clapping once. “Can you find him? Where is he?”
“I’m not a dog, Al. Give me a second.” It had been a distant ping, but it didn’t take much effort to confirm that initial feeling.
Without another word, Mike got up to look for transport, his comrades excitedly keeping pace behind him.
Taking a small car from the garage (Myra just shrugged when they asked to take it out for a spin. “Would you listen if said no?”), before long they found themselves ambling up a dusty path on the opposite side of the cylinder, away from the sun.
Barry Gillis had gone through training with them back when they had all joined the Federation army, some years ago. He had frequently been assigned as their engineer, displaying an uncanny understanding of their mobile suits. If Mike wanted something unusual attached to see how well it operated, Barry worked out the kinks and got it going by the next day. If Angie came back from live training with a busted servo or panel, Barry got it replaced pronto.
That all changed the first time they saw a genuine engagement. It didn’t matter that they had purely been on the defensive, that no one on their side had been so much as injured thanks to all their hard work and preparation. All it took was that first explosion, the recognition that it meant a life had ended.
Barry had deserted at the soonest opportunity, and none of the trio heard from him again after that point.
In truth, they silently worried that he would be upset to see them. Though it was obvious why he left, he had never properly said goodbye to them. They had gotten over their shock from first combat much more quickly than he did… if ever. Could there have been resentment for their willing participation in such awful bloodletting?
They just weren’t sure. The possibility gnawed at them, even so much time later.
Crossing the treeline, though, that worry seemed to vanish. They could clearly see Barry working, his cropped blonde hair glistening with a slight sheen of sweat in the amplified light. He was piloting a work suit—of course he would be, Mike thought, and the three broke out in earnest smiles.
The well-muscled man looked out from the undersized open cockpit, eyes squinting to make out the faces of his visitors. Mike could feel the recognition when it hit: the sensation crested with nostalgia, and the awakening of memories forcefully forgotten. It was a rich sensation that threatened to overwhelm them both for a split second, but soon it was replaced with eagerness.
Barry piloted the modest crop mech gingerly out of the seeded rows and near to the road, where his approaching friends parked their car. In mere seconds they each engulfed him in a fierce hug—salutations not needed.
After a few wordless yells and hollering, they settled down just enough to talk like human beings. Al started things off with his signature wit: “Where have you been, man?”
“Well, I don’t know fer sure, but if I had to guess, I’d say we’re in New Genoa right now,” Barry replied with a wink. The twang in his voice had not diminished in the years since they last saw each other. If anything, it seemed to have grown a bit. “How did you guys even find me?” In another second he answered his own question: “Ah, right. Newtype stuff.” They all fell into a fresh fit of laughter.
Angie shook her head, still somewhat in disbelief. “I cannot believe we found you out here, Barry. We kind of thought you had just gone home.”
“Oh hell no,” the tweed man laughed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Earth is fine ‘n all, but the more space I was able to put between me ‘n the Feds, the better. You would not believe where I ended up before I decided to come here.” He shook his head ruefully. “I know this place ain’t exactly Zahn, but compared to Side 19, New Genoa might as well be a slice of heaven.”
“I was going to say,” Mike chuckled, “I knew you liked a more rustic view, but this is pretty far out there. How have you been getting on out in the middle of nowhere like this?”
Barry leaned back on the chassis of his crop suit, jamming his thumbs in the pockets of his dirtied jeans. “Pretty well, actually. I was pretty nervous when I first got here, but…” he shrugged, then his smile widened. “Folk around here were accommodating. They got me set up over here nice and easy.”
“Seems like it,” Al chimed. “It’s only been a few years, but you’ve turned into a regular farmboy.”
“Damn right!” Barry cheered, gently launching himself upright off the mech. “This community’s been great to me, and I’m having the time of my life giving back to it.”
Mike was happy for his friend, sincerely. There was a genuine warmth to him, a gratitude that seemed to suffuse his very words which had not been there when they last saw him.
He was reminded, though, of the more pressing matter at hand. “Speaking of the Side in general, when were you guys planning to get out of here? I figured you’d have at least packed up by now.”
Barry pulled a hand up and waved lazily. “P’shaw. We know the drill. We’re no strangers to stuff punching through the shell, y’know. When you live this far away from the Sphere, you learn to keep an eye out.”
Angie raised an eyebrow, her smile faltering for the first time since they had gotten out of the vehicle. “That’s… exactly what we mean, though. This isn’t your average breach that we’re talking about, you guys could all be in some serious trouble here.”
Barry shrugged again, seemingly unperturbed. “Martelle told us all about it already. The Side all got together when the Feddies dropped the news, and we decided it’ll be fine—so long as we get ready.” He nodded, satisfied in his own explanation. “It’ll probably be a bit rough, but so long as we take care of the damage quick enough and hole up during, we’ll be fine. The folk of New Genoa are here to stay.”
“We can’t just let them stay here!” The usually collected Bright was now positively red in the face, restraining himself from shouting. Already borderline offended at their lackluster reception, he had sputtered at the admiral’s recounting of her meeting.
Maidza, for her part, managed to betray none of her own frustration—for now, at least. “Calm yourself, captain. I don’t intend to let this sit, whatever that man might have said.” Her eyes were skimming the report from the government: scientists estimated they had less than four days remaining to conduct this evacuation.
Even with little to no preparation, if the crew worked in shifts, it should be enough time to get the rest of the Side on board the ships and bring them to a safe distance. It would be a logistical nightmare, but it was possible.
After a few minutes of purposefully letting the man fume, she glanced over: “Captain Bright, prepare a notice. At 1600 hours, we’ll use the Side intercom to announce mandatory evacuation orders. Each family may bring a case of food and each member may bring one suitcase’s worth of items. Nonperishables only.”
Bright’s vexation seemed to vanish almost instantly. “If you’ll permit me to speak freely,” she raised two fingers in acknowledgement, “that’s going to go over none too well. I get the feeling that our presence here, at best, is poorly tolerated.” Just before Maidza’s return, Myra had shared some reports gathered from some of the crew: there had been jeering coming from people who hadn’t boarded the Eurus earlier. There was apparently lot of casual harassment of those who had decided to leave, and a few disturbing threats.
“Your concern is noted,” she responded curtly, not even looking up from the report she was barely reading. “Put the Gundams on standby. I’m sure there will be some rabblerousing anyway, but I believe Ms. Wilson’s presence will be adequate to keep the reaction at a minimum.”
Bright raised an eyebrow. “And if they call our bluff?”
Admiral Maidza paused for a second, then finally looked up at him directly. “I’d rather have these people onboard and alive, no matter how it might rankle with them, than have them end up dead. We’ll proceed with caution, and hope that it avoids escalating.”
“Barry, that’s… absurd,” Al finished lamely. “This isn’t just some storm you can weather like back home on Earth. We’ve seen the figures, everyone here is in legitimate peril.”
Irritation flashed across the farmer’s face, briefly. “We’ve seen the data too, I don’t know what to tell you. This is the Belt, we know the risks of living out here better than the Feddies do.”
Angie and Mike glanced at each other, concern naked on their faces. Her vibrant red hair shook as she turned back to face her old friend: “This is just confusing, Barry. Back on the Titus, your risk analyses were usually better than anyone else’s. What we’re hearing now is…” she shook her head.
“It’s just crazy,” Mike spoke up bluntly. The other three turned their heads to him sharply.
Anger glinted in Barry’s eyes, suddenly cold. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say that. These are good people just trying to live their best out here.”
“That’s not really the point,” Mike began, but before the argument could begin in earnest, the three soldier’s wrist communicators beeped to life: a general hail was calling all personnel back to the ships at port, without delay.
As the neutral voice finished its call, they suddenly realized they were tense, and the four relaxed slightly. Mike shook his head, wondering how this pleasant reunion had been trodden upon so easily. He reached out his right hand: “Barry, I’m sorry: I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just been a long journey out here, and the response isn’t what we were expecting.”
Barry chuckled, shaking without hesitation. “I get ya, no worries.” He thumbed his hands back into his pockets. “By God, it really is good to see you all though. I don’t know how long you’re around, but if you get a chance later, y’all should come back. It would be great to catch up.”
The jovial mood restored, they all parted ways with a friendly wave and a promise to reunite at least before the trio left New Genoa. Something sat heavy in Mike’s stomach, though, and he just couldn’t get around it. He didn’t even properly know what it was.
As Al drove them back, he thought he saw the emotional storm cloud over the Eurus shifting.
Two hours later, the evacuation order rang out over the entirety of New Genoa.
Captain Bright’s clear, commanding voice carried across the rolling hills and forests. It was brief, but authoritative: all souls residing in Side 15 were to report to the dock for disembarkation as soon as able. Soldiers would be making rounds throughout the colony to begin escorting those who were ready, and to urge those who weren’t to hurry, beginning noon of the next day.
Instead, not even one hour’s time brought an angry mob to the dock. Mike, standing on the scaffolding just outside the cockpit to his mobile suit, saw it in his mind like a roiling gale on the horizon—it seemed like half the Side had come, if not more. After informing the captain, Bright commanded Angie to launch preemptively in the Erinys Gundam.
She was to do nothing more than stand nearby and exert pressure on the crowd… at least for now. Mike could feel the outrage of the gathered people like waves on the ocean, rising and falling like a pulse. Their fury was unfocused, tinged heavily with general indignation. How dare the government come all the way out here and try to tell them what to do? How could they even think of interfering in these honest people’s lives?
Things only worsened after Admiral Maidza and Captain Bright emerged from the front entrance, trying to communicate over the ship’s loudspeaker. Despite her appeals to their better judgment, the shouts and cries of discontent only grew stronger.
Bright mentioned the sure devastation that would be caused by the incoming dust cloud, appealing to the members of the Side to see reason: he received a stone to the eye for his trouble, a broken orbital as thanks for the warning. He hissed in pain, turning away from the microphone and shielding his head from anymore thrown projectiles. “This isn’t working. Angie, disperse the crowd.”
The Erinys Gundam buzzed as its many actuators began to work in tandem, limbs moving around the smooth, round joints that her particular model was recognized for. Its gray-painted body moved with the distinct slow-quickness of a seasoned, careful pilot, its angular eyes flashing green briefly as Angie flicked her forward screens on. The powerful AMBAC system whirred as it moved, accounting for every slight movement of the suit; it wasn’t quite top of the line for the Federation anymore, but it was close enough.
The crowd began to shrink back even as she approached, but she activated her contact link anyway, shouting at the gathering: “Move away, everyone. You’ve had your fun, it’s time to go home and cool off.”
The electricity in the air wasn’t quite gone, but it was ebbing away like the tide. Mike nodded as he felt the storm clouds receding, the people slowly but surely moving away from the Eurus and her fellow ships.
Still, he could feel agitation mounting inside himself: this evacuation was going from bad to worse.
Then, before the crowd could truly dissipate, an unidentified red mobile suit, all sharp angles with crests on the shoulders and forehead, dropped from the sky just next to them. The sound of screaming swelled and went away just as quickly, the ground rumbling from the impact of the metal monster.
Back on the bridge, the admiral felt a pang of fear deep in her belly. Is this what the situation has come to? How far are they willing to go to deny us? In half a second, though, Maidza’s instincts kicked in. “Michael, sortie immediately. Myra, Alfonso, I need to know what kind of suit that is.” The bridge sprang to life with soldiers finding their seats and equipment suddenly blaring with beeps and light, the ship’s whooping alarm sending the crew into a flurry of action.
As soon as she had said his name, Mike had climbed into the cockpit of his mobile suit and was angling it towards the launch deck.
“It looks like an older model, ma’am,” Myra called out from her side of the bridge.
“Confirmed,” Alfonso interjected. “It seems to be a type of Gelgoog. If I’m reading this right, it’s… a Jäger, specifically.” He cocked his head at his monitor, frowning. “That can’t be right. The Jäger is obsolete several generations over.” He looked out through the window at the relic facing them. “This thing’s a piece of junk!”
“Well now,” Captain Bright interjected as he walked in, sitting down in the command seat. “I guess we shouldn’t be completely surprised. This was one of the last holdouts during the War.” His injured eye was bandaged lightly, a more thorough dressing not available given the timely threat now facing them. “I don’t think they ever did a proper sweep of these colonies afterwards, either.” He nodded, his own instincts smoothly coming to the fore. “Angie, that suit doesn’t have a chance in hell against you; this is most likely a trap. Wait for Mike first, then close in and issue orders for the enemy suit to shut down. Proceed with caution.”
“Roger.” With the telltale fwshhh, the Gelgoog had drawn its beam saber but made no further move. With a weapon out, the situation had automatically been elevated to combat response readiness. Angie withdrew her own beam saber in turn, striking a defensive pose in case she was rushed.
Mike landed beside her just then, in his Malach Gundam. All smooth blackness, the Malach was a new generation of the Gundam line: while the Ziggurat ships had become bigger and blockier, the Malach on the other hand was smaller and utilized a more round design philosophy. Its limbs were connected and operated through the use of powerful electromagnets alone, making brief moments of separation possible without damage to the unit. In all, it was quite alien compared to more conventional suit designs, but it could do some rather unpredictable things in combat in the hands of a skilled pilot.
The crowd was all but gone, the few stragglers being loaded into cars and whisked away. Aside from the violent hum of their drawn sabers, there was silence in the port once more.
“Angie, the Erinys outperforms the Jäger by three times in raw acceleration, and fully by a factor of six in everything else.” Alfonso checked his screen over. “Mike is standing by in case our friend decides to get frisky, I say go in.”
“Careful, Mr. Banke,” the admiral intoned dangerously. “Notice where our enemy is standing.” On the monitor, the Gelgoog seemed to be standing in a circle of dusty road… just outside the recess where the ships were docked.
“Our sight is limited while we’re stuck in port,” Bright barked. “Still, I’m not comfortable with that thing so close to us: our armor is good, but one unlucky strike will be enough to ground us longer than we can afford. Angie, Mike, do what you can to get that suit away from the ships, and don’t let it harm any of the civilians!”
“Got it!” both pilots acknowledged. Mike moved to keep a constant distance between himself and the Erinys as Angie began to move forward, but the moment her Gundam took one step, the crimson Gelgoog leaped directly at her, at full tilt.
That is, she thought it was going at full speed. The ancient suit was so slow and deliberate in its movements compared to what Angie was used to seeing, even just during training. Almost by surprise, she found herself laughing. “Is this really what Zeon used all that time ago? This barely counts as a mobile suit!”
The captain’s brow furrowed, and he leaned his head forward on his hands: “Al, threat assessment?”
“If they managed to stash away a mobile suit like this, they probably have at least a couple more. They have to know that this tech can’t hold up to modern suits.” Al kept one eye on the suit, trying to discern any patterns. It was just too old, he had no experience with them. “Long distance weaponry was popular out here near the end of the War. They might be luring us out to get a shot off from a sniper.”
“Agreed. Myra, what does the landscape around port look like? Is there enough cover to maneuver outside the docking bay?”
“There’s not much give, captain, but there are some hills on either side of port. As long as both suits stay within 20 meters of the exit, they should be out of sight.”
Bright nodded curtly. “Al?”
“They wouldn’t have been able to set up a position in front of us without us noticing. I think it’s safe enough.” The svelte young man turned back to his screen: Angie so far had been avoiding engagement, merely dancing around the suit which was desperately attempting to assault her. “But you heard what the admiral said earlier, guys. No funny business. If you even get a glimpse of something strange, pull back.”
Despite the warning, Angie was no longer taking this fight seriously. With the Erinys, she could fight a suit like this in her sleep. “Alright Al, I’ll kick our guest out.” On a dime, she stopped dancing with her suitor and grabbed the belligerent suit, throwing it out towards the rest of the Side. With their position the artificial gravity was less pronounced and the offending suit flew quite a distance, but the Gelgoog still wasn’t quite out—it straddled port and the rest of New Genoa.
“Mike, stay close to her in case anything happens.” Beside the captain, the admiral stood with her arms crossed, smoldering eyes fiercely contemplating this development. The crew were responding as well as she had expected, but this spectacle was embarrassing. The Federation had not expected resistance to their presence to be so strong out here.
“No movement detected around the dock,” Al conveyed. “Give him the boot, Angie.”
“With pleasure!” She planned to do just that, positioning so she could deliver a final prompt kick to the Gelgoog’s backside.
Then, horribly, Mike felt another shock in his mind. He hadn’t noticed them with the shadow of the crowd’s animosity still draped over everything but he felt… three, no, four people, their fighting spirit suddenly flaring. Their minds flew much faster than the Gelgoog could possibly go, and they were dashing directly towards the Erinys! “Angie, look out--!”
Four pale green RF Zakus emerged, beam sabers already drawn. They were still far slower than her, should never have been able to touch her, but Angie hadn’t quite registered this change in the scenario. She seemed suspended in time, her laugh suddenly transmuted into a dull “huh?”
She heard the captain and admiral screaming at her to get out of the way, but with this many suits already this close…
The Malach blasted forth: sweat dripped down his forehead as Mike communed with it and through it, thrusters screaming with the effort of trying to reach his friend before tragedy struck. The RF Zakus were far deadlier than a Gelgoog, they could actually kill her like this…
The arc of his saber flashed out almost faster than anyone’s eyes could follow. Through his connection to the suit, Mike was able to maneuver its limbs at a short distance from the main body, and had managed to sever the hands of the attacking Zakus before they could strike. He let out a strained breath—
--and then an ugly, awful scream drowned out his contact link. Before his eyes, horribly, the left arm of the Erinys Gundam exploded.
They had forgotten about the Jäger.
The next day, Maidza and Bright sat quietly in the captain’s quarters. They mulled over the horrible turn their mission had taken, variously somber and furious with worry.
The young yet accomplished man was struggling with a sensation that he had rarely encountered before: the sting of failure was all the more sharp for its unfamiliarity, and he scratched his head for answers to their dilemma. “You’re sure there’s no plan for this?”
“Somehow the scenario never came up,” Maidza sighed. Her shoulders were still wound taught, and she too felt like she was cracking slightly under this unusual pressure. “When we were going over the details, I don’t think anyone envisioned that these people would actively resist evacuation.” For someone with as many years in the game as she had, it was all the more unnerving to find herself in a conundrum of this magnitude again.
“So we’re flying by the seat of our pants,” Bright sighed in turn, leaning back in his soft chair.
“Indeed.” She folded her hands in her lap. “The way I see it, we have two choices.”
“Force everyone on Side 15 to board at gunpoint, or let them die,” Bright whispered. “In which case, it’s more like…”
“… in reality there’s only one choice, strictly speaking,” she finished for him. “We cannot truly force these people to do anything—not only is it outside of our purview, but we’ve seen firsthand what kind of weaponry they’ve managed to keep hidden thus far.”
“There’s no way we could search everyone as they come aboard, we don’t have the time or personnel to handle that many evacuees.” Bright steepled his hands in front of him, biting the inside of his lip. “At best some of the crew would probably be injured. At worst…”
“At worst, no one would make it home alive. As I said, we really only have one choice.”
“… Dammit.” Bright closed his eyes, wincing at the injured one’s movement behind its eyepatch, and quelling the helpless rage that threatened to burn him from the inside out. “Well, what do we do then? We can't just abandon everyone in the colony, it’s unthinkable.”
“I agree, which is why I suggest the following,” she leaned in. “Let us send out another notice. Explicit warning of the danger, so there can be no mistaking what’s to come. We will still evacuate anyone who comes to the ships, but it is no longer a mandatory order.”
Bright nodded along, his good eye focused like a razor on his commanding officer. “I don’t fancy having our only other pilot being taken out of commission.”
Maidza nodded in turn, her lips pursed tightly. “I don’t enjoy backtracking, but it may also show that we understand their resolve and avoid further engagement. It might even be enough to sway any who are on the fence, even after everything that’s occurred so far. Let them know that we will remain as long as possible, departing when necessary to reach safety.”
Bright reached for his phone, hitting a button for the announcer’s desk. “Hello, this is Captain Bright. I need to send out another general notice.” He cleared his throat and waited a second as he was patched through to the Side’s recording equipment. “Effective immediately, the mandatory evacuation order is rescinded. Federation ships will remain at the dock for two more days for any who decide to leave of their own volition. Be advised: the danger to your lives should you choose to stay is impossible to overstate. After the dust cloud has passed by completely, we will return to pick up any who remain and can signal for help. You have been warned.” He pushed a button, ending the recording. “Repeat that message once every eight hours. Thank you.” The thick phone clattered noisily as he put it down.
Maidza had raised an eyebrow at his personal additions. “Nice touches.”
“We’re here to help, after all. I had to make that clear.”
“I would have left it out, personally. After all is said and done, there won’t be anyone here left to rescue.”
The captain grimaced at that. “Didn’t the administrator say they had stocked up for the emergency? I’m sure they’ve distributed normal suits, even if they’re sticking their heads in the sand otherwise.”
“You believed that? They live out in the middle of nowhere.” Her own frown deepened. “They think very highly of themselves for supplying food to the other Sides out in the Belt, but the fact of the matter is they would have starved years ago if it weren’t for the supplies we bring them.”
“Jesus,” Bright said simply. He started rubbing one side of his head gingerly, but suddenly stood up. “I’ve had enough.” He walked over to a cabinet set in the wall and began rummaging.
The admiral found herself surprised. “Are you dismissing me, Captain Bright?”
“Hm? Oh, no ma’am. You’re free to stay.” He sat back at his desk, bringing with him a bottle of cognac and two tall stemmed glasses. “I’m just done working for the day. This is all rather much for me, I’m afraid.” He smoothly poured a modest amount of the amber liquid into each glass, taking one and sniffing at it. “I usually bring a bottle or two on each trip out. If now’s not the time for it, I don’t know when would.”
He tipped some into his mouth, lettings its smooth, rich vanilla taste wash over his tongue, driving his thunderous thoughts away. After giving a small “hmm” of approval, he noticed Maidza had not reached for the other glass. “Do you drink, ma’am?”
The aging admiral looked down at the proffered dram. It listed ever so slightly to one side—the Coriolis effect from the rotation of the colony. Light from the corner lamp glimmered on its surface. It seemed tantalizing, in a way. She pinched the stem between the fingers of her right hand and swirled it gently. “No,” she said, and took a sip.
The left half of Angela’s body was singed and bandaged all over, the forearm up to the hand especially had been seriously burned. She laid on a gurney in the ward of the Eurus, hooked to an IV drip on her right side, with nothing but the beep of the heart monitor to fill the air. There were some shards of shrapnel that had been removed after she was brought in, but they always deployed in normal suits, so there had been less of that to worry about.
Small mercies, Mike thought.
He and Al sat next to her wordlessly, hoping and praying that she would wake soon. He leaned back, sighing and replaying things over in his mind: once he had realized what was happening, things became something of a blur, but the end result was nasty no matter how you sliced it.
They had originally intended not to cause pilot death, and to avoid collateral damage as much as possible. Instead, now there were five blast marks staining the landscape around port, still smoking. Some stragglers who had—evidently—known about the fight and stayed to watch were caught in the suit explosions, losing their lives. Far more had been injured in the fight.
This could now be called nothing less than a disaster.
He thought, too, about what he had felt after the fight. After calming down as much as he was able, he had cast his mind out over the Side. The subtle resentment accompanying their arrival was now unrestrained. They had no more people come by to try and attack the ships or their crew, but neither would they be getting anymore evacuees at this rate.
Worse than that, almost, was when he had looked out at Barry’s property. He saw grief and hatred rising there, like a spire over the field. It was a tower, a fortress, and it meant one thing: their reunion was now tainted, totally and irrevocably.
Al had always been closest with Barry, and so had dangerously gone out alone after the attack to try and speak with him. Mike had specifically avoided sensing out their discussion, not wishing to evesdrop, but in the end he hadn’t even needed to look: Al had returned in the night with his eyes puffy and red.
Suddenly, gratefully, Angie stirred in bed and gave a pained groan at her own movement.
Mike and Al were taken out of their individual reveries, looking up with a small surge of hope. The feeling was much needed after everything the last 24 hours had offered them, and they got up to crowd her.
“Whoa, guys, settle down.” Angie tried to sit up for a second, but quickly gave up on the effort as a bad job. She noticed the bandages wrapped thickly around her left side, and she tried to gauge the damage visually. “I take it my cover wasn’t as good as we thought, then.”
“You weren’t shot, you got jumped,” explained Al, who suddenly looked perilously close to crying. “I wasn’t able to see anything in the readings, we thought you were safe. I shouldn’t have made that call, you could have been—“
“Don’t say it Al, please.” He nodded, but couldn’t help a small sniffle. “What, you gonna squirt me a tear, punk?”
That got a laugh out of him and Mike, and they both felt some of the tension leave their bodies. In the background, muffled through the ship’s thick hull, they heard an announcement.
It seemed Bright was saying that the evacuation was no longer mandatory, which made Mike’s heart sink again. He looked his friends square in the eyes. “These people are all going to die, aren’t they?”
“Yeah, well,” she winced as she tried moving again, “right now I don’t feel too awful about that.” Angie pouted. “Though, we could at least try to get Barry out of here.”
“Al already tried that,” Mike said, the short, mustachioed man having turned away at the sound of that name. “I don’t know exactly what was said, but it didn’t go over well.”
“Like you said before, it’s just crazy,” Al huffed, not looking at either of them. “I can see it in his eyes, he must know, on some level, he has no chance of surviving when the shower hits.”
“Besides, a court martial is waiting the moment the Federation catches wind of him. Given that we’re his only way off the colony, that would happen much sooner than later.” Mike crossed his arms and let his head rest on his chest. “I guess we could appeal for him, but unless he changes his mind, the point is moot.”
“Captain Bright Noa IV.” She tasted the words as they left her lips. The admiral had laid her hat on the desk, and she was leaning back in her chair. It seemed almost to swallow her in its folds. “Your family is heavily involved in the military, but you’re the first since your namesake to reach the same rank he did.”
“Yep.” Bright let out a whoof, then sipped a bit more brandy. He was filled with that pleasant buzz, and on the side, it seemed to have taken the edge off the pain in his left eyesocket. “The old codger might have been happy to see that.”
“He resigned his commission long before I even became an officer, but I had the pleasure of meeting him a few times.”
“Then you probably knew him better than I did. I was pretty young when he finally keeled over.”
“I’m not so sure I did. The man was notably taciturn, especially after his wife passed.” She finished the last gulp of her glass, setting it down on the table. Shakily, she got up to get a pouch of water.
“People say that, but one of the only distinct memories I have of him was quite the opposite.” The descendant Noa fished in his mind for details of the ancestor, nearly forgotten now. “Our family had been invited to tour the lead ship of the Ophelos-class. At one point, he sat down in the captain’s chair. It seemed weird at the time, but…” Bright’s good eye grew distant as it looked off into the past. “He changed, for a minute there.” When his father thought he couldn’t hear, sometimes he would say that his great-grandfather never seemed quite to know what to do, or how to handle himself. “Suddenly, he was in total command. He had poise, he practically exuded strength and confidence.” Bright nodded gently to himself. “It was kind of magical.”
As the decidedly tipsy admiral sat back in her chair, she exhaled heavily through her nose. “I never took you for a romantic, captain.”
“Don’t start, either,” Bright rebuffed her. “After having put a few years behind me, it actually seems kind of terrible. He spent all of his best years beating down one menace or another, and then once things finally calmed down a bit, he didn’t really know how to live his life.”
“Yes, well,” Maidza wavered slightly. “There’s a reason I never married. The military is all I have, and it’ll be all I ever have. I made my peace with that years ago.”
Bright was startled by this turn. “Joelle…”
“None of that, captain.” She firmed up, taking a long draw of water before continuing. “I don’t expect nor want any pity, so keep it to yourself.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Taking a longing look at the bottle, he decided it was probably wise not to pursue this conversational avenue any longer. Instead, he moved to put the rest of the liquor back in the cabinet—he would save it for after they returned to Earth, he decided.
Admiral Maidza couldn’t keep herself stern in this condition, though, not used to the dulling effects of the drink. She let a sigh out, suddenly very tired. “I thought I had grown used to death by now, but this feels different.”
Bright sat back down, heavily. “I believe I know what you mean. It’s one thing, giving and taking casualties in a battle. Even if it’s hard to see, there’s usually a reason for it, some kind of… justification,” he concentrated to avoid slurring. “Here, I just don’t see the why. It feels pointless, and that’s going to make it much worse.”
The petite woman nodded grimly. “War is never kind or pleasant, but I suppose suffering can come in all shapes and sizes.”
“Now who sounds romantic?” he responded pleasantly. Maidza scowled in return, but he could tell she was hiding a smile. “Let’s hope we get a few more people before we leave. There’s not much more we can do than that.”
As it happened, they did welcome aboard more families—among them Mr. Lavigne with his wife and daughter, the sobered admiral noted—but not nearly enough to significantly ease the crew’s discomfort. By the time they were set to leave, they had only just managed to double their evacuees to about 20,000.
More than they expected, but nowhere as many as they all hoped for. Filled with heavy hearts, the gargantuan ships turned and slowly exited port. They were due to hide from the oncoming storm behind Ceres, where they would turn around and wait.
The gray, pockmarked surface of the giant asteroid stretched out beneath them, taking much longer to change in size than New Genoa. The lone colony rotated slowly above the rocky expanse—on their approach it had seemed almost stunning, a lighthouse in the inky blackness of space, but now it only seemed lonely. To others still, the view of Side 15 brought a deep sense of foreboding.
There were still over 300,000 souls in the colony, and in mere hours the vast majority of them would be snuffed out.
In the wake of their departure, Maidza had become almost cantankerous, snapping at anyone who appeared out of order, or at the smallest mistakes she happened to notice. The enlisted dutifully avoided her gaze whenever possible. Eventually, most of the crew simply confined themselves to quarters; with the vehicle bay locked down there was little to do, and none of them wanted to witness what was coming anyway.
There was only one person who was bothering to watch as New Genoa shrank and, eventually, hovered in the distance. Mike stared out the lounge window, sorrow etched in his mind and body. Angie was expected to recover without issue in about a month, which brought some relief. It was harder to take comfort in that against everything else, though.
Barry hadn’t come with them, of course. He had refused even to see Alfonso again, which caused the latter to burst into tears whenever he thought of it. Mike and Angie were both upset, of course, but Al’s grief was immense—it threatened to overwhelm him when Mike bent his mind towards it.
On that thought, almost subconsciously, he reached out to his friends again. Angie was dutifully resting, but Al had left his room, and seemed to be heading in Mike’s direction. Perhaps Al couldn’t bear not to watch, either.
Well, Mike wouldn’t spurn the company by any means.
Then, weirdly, Al seemed to meet up with Bright halfway to the lounge. They floated in place, their emotions bobbing and shifting indiscernibly as they talked. Then, something changed. There was a sense of urgency, and they both seemed to be making double time towards Mike again.
He smiled and continued to look out the window, deliberately not looking around as the door opened. “Hello Al. Hello Captain Bright.”
“We get it jackass, your Newtype powers are cool and mysterious,” Al rolled his eyes.
“Al was sure we’d find you here,” the captain remarked. “I understand, as unpleasant as it will be, that you might wish to view the meteor shower. Most of the crew seem to have holed up, but it’s fine if you remain. I just wanted to remind you that crew members are not allowed in the vehicle bay at the moment. There should be no one in the area until we have returned to Side 15.”
Now Mike did look back at them.
“Yeah, the captain’s right. You should definitely not touch the Gundam right now,” Al cut in loudly.
Bright peered sideways at him with his good eye. “You’re terrible at this, frankly.”
“He’s right, man. Subtlety is not your forte.” Mike crossed his arms, somewhat puzzled. “I don’t get it though. What do you expect me to do with this reminder?”
“Alfonso here told me about your friend on New Genoa, a Mr. Barry Gillis,” Bright explained. “I can understand at least part of why he decided not to leave—the Federation does not look kindly on deserters.” He clasped his hands behind his back and coughed softly. “However, given the scale of the disaster on our hands, it might be possible to grant him passage to another colony without the government learning about it. Or,” he puffed out his chest, “if worse comes to worst, I might be able to vouch for him.”
Mike was openly staring, not sure if he was parsing this correctly. After a few seconds, though, Al’s face pinched and he practically yelled: “Well, what the hell are you waiting for?”
“Ah, good. You’re awake.” The admiral sat down in the chair next to the gurney, taking her hat off and holding it on one arm in the professional manner.
“Hello ma’am.” Angie wasn’t up for much more than a lazy salute, but it would suffice. She wasn’t sure yet whether this was just a courtesy call or something more serious. Apparently the admiral had been ripping into people all day, so she was suitably wary.
“I’m told your recovery will take some time, but the more important part is that you will in fact be recovering fully.” Maidza nodded her head in a precise, fluid manner. “I’m sorry you were put in harm’s way, Ms. Wilson. This mission was supposed to proceed much more smoothly.”
“Well, it’s what we signed up for, after all. I’ve been injured before, it’s just part of it,” she responded. “I’ll feel better once I’m able to get up and move around again, though.”
“Yes, we’re all wishing you a speedy recovery,” the aging admiral nodded again. “I’m not perfectly sure, but we might not be needed in the Jovian system after we drop off the evacuees. I’ve received a laser communique from Earth while we were docked at Side 15 saying things are getting better on that front. Regardless, it would be good to have our pilot up to snuff if the time comes.”
“Don’t worry ma’am, the Erinys and I will be back up and running in no time.”
A small silence permeated the room. The nurses had removed the heart monitor once Angie regained consciousness, and despite how infuriating it was to try and sleep with the beeping, it was spooky how quiet the ship was when the engines weren’t running.
Strangely, the admiral seemed to be lingering; she was looking at Angie, but somehow not quite seeing. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”
“Hm? Ah. I apologize.” The small woman had been excessively mean to the rest of the crew the last couple of days, but even putting that aside, this was rather unusual behavior for her. “I was thinking of a conversation I had while we were still docked.” She offered a small sigh. “I don’t mean to cause alarm, I’m simply waxing wistful, I guess.”
Admiral Maidza, wistful? This was bizarre. “What was the conversation about, if I can ask?”
“I’d rather not answer, but allow me to counter with a question of my own,” she placed her hat on the side table; Angie noticed her curly black hair, bound tightly into a bun, was beginning to show definite streaks of gray, especially at the temples. “Why did you decide to become a pilot for the Federation, Ms. Wilson?”
Angie blinked. This was taking a strange turn. “Lots of reasons, I guess. Not sure what I wanted to do, nothing else sounded good.” She thought about it for a moment. “I wanted to feel like I was doing something helpful, I guess, and this seemed like the easiest way to make that happen.”
“A humanitarian, then.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. I don’t really think of it that way, but why else would we bother doing this if it wasn’t to make things better for other people?”
“It sounds simple, but I feel that’s rather profound. Especially in light of all this,” Maidza gestured widely.
“Yeah, well, things don’t always go as planned. They almost never do, in fact. No plan survives first contact, and so on,” Angie thought out loud. “Can I be honest?”
“Of course, Ms. Wilson.”
“I think that you and the captain made the right choice to pull out. It’s an awful outcome, but—and I’m not just saying this because they burned half my body—clearly they didn’t want our help.”
“Hm.” The admiral’s expression didn’t change, but she appeared to be considering this token of wisdom. “I think that’s an obvious enough conclusion. However, I’m not sure it can be called the ‘right’ choice. The most practical choice, yes, but ethical quandaries like this rarely possess a simple answer.”
“I know what you mean, but in this case I think the practical answer is the most right one. There’s not much we could have done to really change the situation, not without resorting to force of some kind. At that point, the scenario would have changed significantly. We wouldn’t have been dealing with the same kind of situation, and all things considered, it would likely have been worse for us.”
“You’re correct,” the admiral acknowledged, “but I thought you joined the Federation to help others. Sometimes, part of helping others necessitates taking on a certain risk to the self.”
“I’m not exactly a philosopher, ma’am,” Angie grinned. “If I was, I wouldn’t be a pilot. I know what you’re getting at, but I’ve learned not to try and think too hard about these things. You can get wrapped up in the semantics or the consequences of something down the line, but…” she chewed her words carefully, “in the moment, it’s important to still be able to do something.”
“Indeed,” Maidza murmured. At that moment, though, their conversation was interrupted by the startling blare of the ship’s intercom.
“Attention all hands,” Myra’s smooth voice announced, “the Malach Gundam has been commandeered and is launching. All hands, the Malach Gundam is launching.”
“Wait a second, what did she say?” Angie’s eyes flew open.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t hear anything,” she responded quite calmly.
“Oh, I see what’s going on,” the pilot rolled her eyes. “You think this is the first time I’ve seen this play out? I may not be that high in rank but I’ve been around the block a few times.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Maidza replied, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She donned her hat again and stood up to leave. “Anyway, it was a pleasure talking with you. Get some rest, Ms. Wilson.”
As the admiral retreated, Angie yelled at her back: “Well, while we’re openly fudging things, I’d appreciate it if you could change those suits in your report to something a little more impressive. Kind of embarrassed that I got ambushed by some old Zakus, actually.”
Admiral Maidza stepped beyond the door, and it began to slide closed behind her. “Sorry, Ms. Wilson, I can’t hear you.”
Mike had underestimated the distance between the Eurus and New Genoa. He hoped he would make it in time before the first meteors struck the colony, speeding the Malach as fast as he could urge it. Yet, as he approached, he could see that the bombardment had already begun.
In fact, it only seemed to be worsening with each passing second: the Side facing away from the sun had been shredded, with great spouts of debris flying into space as the air inside was blown into the void. He avoided looking closely, with eyes or mind: he knew he would regret it if he did.
He had no time to think as Side 15 loomed once more before him. Avoiding the large rents of metal, the burned and frayed electronics spewing like guts into space, he managed to locate a manual service hatch. Working as quickly as possible, he maneuvered through the corridors, calling on years of training and lessons on the structure of modern colonies to guide him to the interior. The Gundam was already registering reduced air pressure inside—he had a second normal suit packed in the cockpit, but it wouldn’t mean much if Barry was unconscious by the time he got to him.
Finally, the last hatch between him and New Genoa opened, painfully slowly. Somehow, it was even worse inside: the hull rocked with each larger impact, and the central axis of the cylinder was filled with mounds of soil and concrete knocked into the air by impacts, or even dust that had managed to punch all the way through the outer panels. Vegetation, some of it burning, floated freely and reduced visibility.
Nothing was recognizable in this din; Mike knew he could not rely on visuals to guide him. After the briefest hesitation, he flung his mind out—
--and immediately reeled back: the anguish and terror that assaulted his mind was almost paralyzing. So many had lost their lives already, but many more were actively being wiped from existence with every meteor that slammed into the colony. It was the worst thing he had ever felt by spades, and he almost forgot why he had come back.
Then, to his relief, it was not too late: he managed to hone in on his friend. That rage, that hatred from the day of the attack was gone, replaced with the same horror that afflicted everyone still alive. Quick as lightning, Michael Nowak spurred the Malach Gundam on, using its nimbler, smoother frame to dodge between chunks of rock and dirt. Realizing the colony was practically gone already, he started utilizing ordnance to clear a path when going around would take too long.
In a span of seconds which seemed to stretch for hours, he was staring down at Barry’s now ruined farm. The crop mech had been trashed, destroyed totally by an unlucky meteor. The house wasn’t much better, but at its door, Barry was staring out at the destruction. It took a second for his friend to notice the sleek, shiny black mobile suit floating overhead. A flurry of emotions passed through him, until it settled on a mixture of relief and regret.
Wordlessly, Mike approached and opened the cockpit. First came the hiss of air escaping as the seal broke, and then the cacophony that surrounded them became clear. It was absolutely deafening, with metal screeching and being pounded constantly. The shaking continued to worsen, and it seemed that New Genoa might break straight down the middle from the sheer stress.
As he got closer, Mike noticed that his friend was already suffering: the air pressure was below tolerable levels, and Barry’s face and hands were beginning to turn purple. In a matter of seconds, he would lose consciousness as his very blood began to boil in his veins. Hurriedly, Mike lowered the left hand of the Malach to the ground. Seeming almost drunk, Barry managed to stumble into its fingers. Achingly slow, Mike brought him up, resolving to get him in first and worry about the normal suit later.
For a graceful second, things seemed to slow down. Barry was so close to safety, it seemed they might actually get out of there with their lives intact.
As Mike looked at his friend’s face, the capillaries bursting at the surface of the skin, the blood vessels in his eyes puffing up from the drop in pressure, a phoenix rose up inside him. Their parting before had been so bittersweet, the ensuing conflict bringing a hard edge to the surface of their friendships. So improbably they had reunited here, at the edge of human space, and almost immediately flown apart.
Then, something shattered—
I didn’t think you’d come back for me.
Why? Why wouldn’t I do that for you?
I was—we were—so arrogant. We thought we knew better.
That doesn’t matter. People make mistakes.
We were wrong.
We’re all wrong sometimes.
I don’t know what I would have done. What any of us would have done.
It’s okay. I’m here for you. That’s all that matters.
I can’t see the brightness anymore. Why I liked it here. It all seemed so bright before.
There’s no reason you can’t find that again. There are plenty of places like this one.
Are you sure?
I promise. Just a little further, friend.
--and then another meteor spiked through the hull of New Genoa. It struck the left hand of the Malach Gundam at 75,000 miles per hour, instantly blowing it apart into a million pieces.
“Total estimated casualties: 99.99%,” Myra’s quavering voice announced. “We’ve encountered a few survivors who had managed to put on normal suits and avoided the worst of the damage. Most had no suits, were pummeled by the cloud passing through, or were fatally wounded in the process of trying to escape.”
That much was evident. The admiral looked out at the debris field, replete with destruction and death. That anyone had survived at all was a miracle. “Has the Malach Gundam been located?”
“Negative, ma’am. We have survey crews looking, but they’re going slowly to avoid risk to themselves.”
“Very good. Dismissed.”
Myra bowed and left, the door sliding shut silently at her departure.
The admiral and captain remained in silence for some time, neither looking at the other. Then, she spoke up.
“I used to think it gets easier, most of the time. Then something like this happens.”
Bright said nothing, unable to bring himself to look outside. A few more minutes passed in quiet.
“Captain.”
He inhaled sharply, as if woken from sleep. “Yes, ma’am?”
“This is your first time witnessing a catastrophe like this, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“… Me too.”
He looked up at her, their eyes locking. There was something there, under the surface in both of them, something which neither had a name for.
“What do we do now, ma’am?”
She broke eye contact first, then, looking back over the wastes. “I don’t know, captain.”
The Malach Gundam was found, inexplicably, several miles away from the remains of Side 15. The left arm was gone, with various fracture patterns and scoring on the rest of the chassis suggesting it had exploded. Upon this news, Petty Officer Angela Wilson and Chief Petty Officer Alfonso Banke, as well as other members of the crew, broke into celebration.
However, their cheering proved to be unfounded. The pilot of the craft, Ensign Michael Nowak, was nowhere to be seen.