Mobile Suit Gundam SEED - Soldiers of Old

——————————————————————————————————————————

Phase 04 - Kingdom of Blood

——————————————————————————————————————————

“You!”

Cagalli leapt up out her seat, pointing vindictively at the grinning politico.

“My my,” Jona chuckled, “when you don’t want to be found, you certainly don’t want to be found.” He draped one leg over the other, casual and smiling, leaning back. “Fortunately, I am not without a heart. Surely you must be seething over my father’s announcement, and I certainly wouldn’t want to interrupt such a towering rage. But I do have a proposition.” He paused dramatically, relishing the scowling faces on the bridge of the Megami. “You don’t know how much political prestige you have in Orb, Cagalli. Even with this little disappearance of yours, if you should return, you’ll be the closest thing Orb has to a messiah. Imagine what you could do with all that prestige. Imagine the laws you could pass, the changes you could enact, the new way forward you could take…if only you returned.

“Come back to Orb, Cagalli,” he said. “There is much waiting here for you. For example, some time before his death, your father arranged for you a marriage.” His grin widened a little as he noticed the color leave her face. “To me.”

“What makes you think it will be honored?” Murrue snapped. “Cagalli will marry who she pleases. Lord Uzumi would not have had it any other way.”

“Oh, au contraire, le Capitaine!” laughed Jona. “Lord Uzumi was as much an aristocrat as the rest of us. An exceedingly…idealistic one, perhaps, but he was not so unsullied as to not partake in our games of marrying our young off to one another for political purposes. I have it in writing. Come see for yourself, if you like.” He flashed a Cheshire grin at the Megami’s bridge crew, and the simmering blonde at the center. “But let’s be realistic, shall we?” The grin vanished. “If you should return to Orb as you are now— as the knight of Uzumi Nara Athha and his failed policies, as the leader of the terrorist Orb Raiders— you would be greeted as the bearer of Lord Uzumi’s standard, upon which is written his legacy. And his legacy is the first military invasion our nation has ever endured since our nation’s formation. Our census bureau reports that some 14,000 people were killed by the Atlantic Federation’s invasion. Orb citizens, Cagalli. Civilians. Our economy has still not yet fully recovered from our tenure as the Atlantic Federation’s protectorate. All because Lord Uzumi had to stand by his policy in the face of the Atlantic Federation’s firepower. Do you think the people of Orb, who had to rebuild their homes and carry on without their children or parents or friends, see that policy as you do?”

“How dare you talk to me about that policy when you’re the ones who invited them in after the war?!” Cagalli shot back. “You invited Atlantic Federation businessmen, personally, to your own home! You met with them face to face! The ones who invaded our country and burned it down!”

“Come now, Cagalli,” Jona chuckled, “our economy was in ruins. Foreign investment was the key to getting it working again. And they brought with them big money to get our people working and our cities bustling again. There is far more to governing than coming up with a policy and sticking to it regardless of what happens.” The smile returned. “Imagine the alliance of the Seirans and the Athhas if you were to return and fulfill your father’s promise. Imagine the solidarity with which an Athha-Seiran government could move forward. Imagine the steps we could take to truly repair our country and become the envy of the world again. You only need to come back and join me.”

Cagalli glared over at Milly. “Cut the transmission,” she growled.

“You’ll regret that,” Jona warned.

“Not as much as I’d regret bowing to you,” spat the blonde girl. She glared at Milly again. “Cut the transmission.”

The screen went dark, and Cagalli seethed.

——————————————————————————————————————————

“Admiral Tapang,” Lee said in a measured voice, trying to stay respectful, “I understand your concern, but we can handle this ship ourselves. It won’t be necessary to send ships to assist us.”

“I am dispatching my fleet anyway,” the lined admiral in the pristine white uniform said. “We will not allow any compromise of the territorial integrity of the Equatorial Union. The fleet will depart from Singapore in three days. That is all.” The screen went dark.

“Thank you, sir,” Lee muttered, glaring back.

Murphy emerged from the CIC, glancing over at the screen himself, and then back at Lee. “Sir,” he began, “isn’t this a good thing? They‘re reinforcements, after all.”

“If these were reinforcements from the Atlantic Federation, all under my command or willing to cooperate, then yes, it would be,” Lee explained, sitting up in agitation. “But these guys won’t be under my command, and they’ll be from the Equatorial Union. That means a big mess of procedures and protocols, and a political storm, and a diplomatic mess, and all of that paperwork that I don’t need to be dealing with.” He shook his head. “They stuck us with this Extended, then they send a Special Forces unit, now they’re sending foreign troops too. Do they want us to do our job or not?”

“Well, hopefully the commander will be more reasonable than the politicians,” Murphy said with a thin smile.

“Hopefully,” Lee agreed, sighing heavily. “Inform High Command that the Equatorial Union has contacted us. I doubt they‘ll be happy.”

——————————————————————————————————————————

Yzak Jule had watched mechanics repair his trusty Duel Gundam so many times that he could do it himself by now. And he was thus doing exactly that, sitting back in the cockpit with a cup of coffee— Andy refused to allow the crew to drink subpar coffee, though the only thing Yzak really cared about was whether or not it would keep him awake— running diagnostics on the Duel‘s operating system. Usually, he recalled, the mechanics had swarmed over his machine to repair damage incurred by that scourge of the Le Creuset Team and the Zala Team, the unstoppable Strike.

He glanced at his dimmed reflection in the cockpit screen, focusing on the scar still torn into his face. As Andy had said, he had sworn something to that scar…but what did it mean now? Revenge on the Strike? It was Athrun who took revenge— for Yzak’s scar, for Nicol’s death. And by the end of the war, he had problems all his own— why worry about the Strike when his own friend, Dearka, was suddenly in the other side’s trench?

And now, he mused, he was here, in the other side’s trench.

He thought back to his old foe, the Strike, the emotionless machine that fought like a Coordinator and held off four ZAFT Reds. But now he was surrounded by people who knew its pilot— a Coordinator, just like him, but on the side of the Earth Alliance, the enemy of the Coordinators. Why was he fighting? To protect his friends, they said. Wasn’t he aware that he was fighting against his own kind, and for an army that, it seemed, was hell-bent on wiping out his own kind? He was aware, they said. What was he loyal to, to make him so noble?

Well, Yzak reminded himself, loyalty was only as noble as what one was loyal to. The image of his mother’s body in the Duel’s hand, bleeding and broken by vicious assault rifle rounds, was an abject lesson in that.

But that was what he wanted to put an end to, right? That was what Cagalli was trying to retake Orb and topple the Seirans for— to build a little niche in the world where you wouldn’t have to watch your mother die in the hand of a mobile suit. Wasn’t that worth fighting for, worth dying for?

Then again, what was the point of fighting for a better world if you won’t live to see it? You’d lay your life down for the sake of others, but you’d never know if what you fought for really was worth it.

He remembered his mother again, and not much else after that. They had told him that he’d gone on the warpath, putting ZAFT to shame and tearing apart their mobile suits, his rampage ending only when Dearka and Athrun arrived to literally drag him out of the fight— to, as they put it, “get you out of here before you get yourself killed.”

He looked back at the scar. He could get it removed, he supposed…but it always reminded him of the war. It reminded him of the battle where he’d received it— the burning pain searing across his face, the blood, the agony, the horror and anger that washed through him when he saw his new face. It reminded him of the shuttle— only later had he learned that it was full of refugees, not soldiers. It reminded him of Nicol— the pain of the realization that for all his insults and pretenses, Nicol’s death could still reduce him to a screaming wreck. It reminded him of his private war with Dearka— pointing a gun at his best friend, not understanding why he said what he said, not understanding why they were enemies, but deep down, thinking that maybe he was right. And most of all, it reminded him of the pain.

That was the world Cagalli wanted to build. A world where you didn’t have to feel that kind of pain.

So he decided that he would keep the scar.

——————————————————————————————————————————

The Megami’s open-air deck was a good place to ruminate, Athrun decided, staring out over the great vista of the Pacific Ocean. The great black ship sailed lazily over the waves. Somewhere out there, the Alliance was following, but they had not attacked for several days. That, of course, was troubling— if they weren’t attacking again, then they must be planning something. And with such formidable pilots in their roster, that something was undoubtedly going to be deadly.

But with no clues to go off of, the most Athrun Zala could do was wait and hope that next time would go better. Practice in a mobile suit battle only got one so far— every battle was different, and getting locked into one routine would spell doom against a foe quick enough on the draw to discern the pattern.

He thought back instead to the overarching threat of Jona Roma Seiran. The grinning politician’s ultimatum still rang in his ears, and he immediately felt an odd twinge of jealousy, finding himself competing with a scheming prince over Cagalli.

He rushed to quash those feelings. They were unseemly for a man of his breeding, he reminded himself; this was not grade school, where he could afford to get into glaring contests with other boys over the pretty girl in the middle. Now he was in the real world, and there were things that mattered far more than his emotions. He was there to protect Cagalli and help her however he could in achieving her goal, of a rebuilt Orb once again centered around Uzumi’s neutrality policies. Her affections were not what he was fighting for. She was not an object.

As always, the doubting, mocking voice piped up. But wasn’t treating her like an immaculate goddess that will bring peace and prosperity for all the same thing as treating her like an object?

Athrun shook his head. There was always doubt— he could never be sure. He had fought Kira while filled with doubt; he had gone back to the PLANTs to find his fiancée an enemy of the state, and that filled him with doubt; he had finally decided that he couldn’t fight for the medals his father gave him, but even then, he had to go back to his father to make sure that he was truly on the right path, and that filled him with doubt; he destroyed GENESIS, but Kira turned against him, and filled him with doubt; now he was on Earth, protecting Cagalli and fighting to create the world she wanted, but he was filled with doubt.

A man of his breeding could not allow doubt to overtake him, he reminded himself. Not with his responsibilities— he had confidence in the abilities of his comrades, but also knew that he was forever Cagalli’s last line of defense.

Absently, as always was the case, he wondered if he could ever have a normal relationship with the tempestuous princess. He was acutely aware that they were both only eighteen years old. He was acutely aware that the burdens they had taken on would be difficult for adults as old as Commander Bartfeldt would. It was what he had overheard Andy say was the saddest legacy of the Valentine War— “kids trying to be gods.” And he was acutely aware that most eighteen year olds like himself didn’t have to set aside their relationship to foment a revolution or shake an Atlantic Federation battleship in pursuit.

And he was acutely aware that most eighteen-year-old boys didn’t have to work for every touch their girlfriends allowed them.

He shook his head again. He was not most eighteen-year-old boys. He was a soldier, a man of high breeding, a bodyguard, Cagalli’s emotional anchor. And as long as the world had greater needs, his own would have to wait.

He leaned forward against the railing, wondering how long that would be.

——————————————————————————————————————————
Onogoro Island, United Emirates of Orb

The man fell to his knees, his face bloody, at the feet of two flak-jacketed, assault rifle-toting Orb soldiers. Broken and bleeding, the prisoner looked up at his captors, and came face to face with the grinning Jona Roma Seiran.

“Lieutenant Kamakura,” he said, tapping his foot in front of the prisoner’s ruined face. “Are you aware of the particulars of the statute concerning treason?”

The prisoner said nothing.

“’Should the defendant be proven to have aided and abetted an enemy of the United Emirates of Orb,’” Jona quoted, “’the required penalty is death.’”

Again, the prisoner was silent.

“You see, the law ties my hands,” Jona continued, “so I can’t actually commute your sentence or anything. So sorry. But we might be able to make this easier if you cooperate.” He leaned down, smiling still. “Now, we’ve already established that the ones who launch attacks on Orb in the name of the Athha family are terrorists. That’s a fair assessment, is it not? And like any legitimate government, we must protect our people, should we not?”

The prisoner’s face twisted into a glare.

“So, you see, we can’t allow these terrorists to continue this war against Orb. It’s not safe. Why, just imagine if one of their car bombs found its way into a restaurant instead of a munitions depot. Think of all those dead civilians. We wouldn’t want that, would we?” He straightened up. “Now then, Lieutenant, let’s make this simple. Tell us what you know about these terrorists— we know you know much. And we’d like to know too. And if you cooperate, you won’t be executed. Oh no, no embarrassing record in your family’s history, nothing like that. You’d simply have a tragic accident. And you'd be buried with military honors, in the National Cemetery. Nobody would have to know what a traitor you were to your country and your people. It’s the most I can do for you, you see. Do we have a deal?”

The prisoner only glared back.

Jona shrugged. “If you insist,” he said. He glanced up at the soldiers. They nodded; Jona turned and headed out the door of the cell.

The gunshot rang out as Jona sauntered down the corridor.

——————————————————————————————————————————

The door opened with a hiss, and Lacus Clyne again greeted Sai Argyle with a polite smile.

“I apologize for dragging you down here again,” she said with a subtle bow of her head, “but I’m afraid I need some help.” She gestured towards her computer. “There is another file that I need decrypted. I suppose I should have paid more attention in those computer classes in school.”

Somehow, Sai had a hard time imagining Lacus Clyne as an inattentive student. “Well, they don’t teach you how to hack through encrypted files in school,” he said with a shrug, taking a seat in front of her computer and setting to work. Once again, the file’s meager protections proved no match for a seasoned computer expert, and before long, Sai and Lacus found themselves confronted with a detailed background about a haunted, disheveled-looking man called “Ramirez.”

“That’s him,” Lacus said, leaning forward intently. “That’s the person who assassinated Chairwoman Canaver.”

“The Blue Cosmos guy?” Sai asked, arching an eyebrow. Lacus shook her head.

“Blue Cosmos claimed responsibility for it,” she explained, “and all the evidence pointed to them. But at the same time, a number of sources about this man’s past disappeared. But this— ” she paused to tap a few keys, scanning the document for the name of Blue Cosmos, “does not say anything about Blue Cosmos.”

Sai blinked. “Blue Cosmos didn’t do it, then?”

Lacus straightened up, shaking her head. “No,” she said, “this was the work of Rau Le Creuset.”

Sai looked between the screen and Lacus, not connecting the dots. What did Rau Le Creuset have to do with any of this? He thought back to the hulking machine that Kira had fought at Jachin Due— a ZAFT Gundam that Athrun had said had Rau Le Creuset in its cockpit. But what did he have to do with assassinations and politics?

“Le Creuset must have hired this man to kill Chairwoman Canaver,” Lacus explained, sensing Sai’s confusion, “and planted the evidence to make it look as if Blue Cosmos did the killing. And Blue Cosmos is the first group that most people will blame for this sort of incident.”

Sai blinked again. “He has that much power?”

“He’s one of the most powerful men in the world,” Lacus said grimly.

Sai looked back at the screen, regarding the haunted face of Ramirez. “Didn’t Kira kill him?”

He glanced up at Lacus, and for a moment, he caught a glimmer of pain in her eyes. It vanished an instant later, and she shook her head.

“Le Creuset is an excellent pilot,” she said sadly. “Even Kira would be hard-pressed to keep up with him.”

Sai kicked himself for mentioning Kira. “I’m sorry,” he began, “I didn’t mean— ” He cut himself off, looking back up at her. “Well…I miss him too, I guess.”

Lacus glanced at him quizzically.

“We went to school together on Heliopolis,” Sai explained with a shrug, “but he was always better than me, because he was a Coordinator.”

“Being a Coordinator doesn’t make anyone better than anyone else,” Lacus pointed out. “You are good at some things, and Kira was good at others.”

“That’s what he said,” Sai said with a sad smile. “I guess he’s right…but watching him fight in the Strike and then the Freedom, it was always hard to remember that.” He stood up and took a step back.

“You play an important role as well,” Lacus said. “Kira’s role may have been flashier and more dramatic, but that does not make yours any less important.”

“I know,” Sai said with another shrug. “It’s a thankless job.”

Lacus took his hand gently; he blinked again in surprise.

“It doesn’t have to be,” she said. “Thank you, Sai, for helping to keep us safe.”

Sai smiled back.

——————————————————————————————————————————

“NO!”

A chair went sailing across the simulator room as Jack O’Hara struggled against the overpowering strength of a handful of white-coated technicians.

“Stop fighting us,” Peterson said from across the room, arms crossed, glowering furiously at the screaming boy. “We are on a tight schedule, and we have to run more tests.”

“I DON’T WANNA DO IT AGAIN!” Jack shrieked. “It’s gonna kill me! IT’S GONNA KILL ME!”

“You exist for no other purpose than to make this system work!” Peterson snapped. “Now stop fighting us!”

The door slid open with a hiss, and Peterson cast his burning eyes towards Alison MacIntyre as she stormed into the room, her face livid.

“What the hell is going on in here?!” she demanded, jabbing a vindictive finger at him. “Peterson! Explain yourself!”

“I told you, we’re running another test on the Psyco System,” he shot back. “This Extended has no worth to us if we don’t continue testing this system.”

“Look at him!” Alison exclaimed, pointing at Jack as the technicians forced him to his knees. “He can’t handle it! We can’t overwork him, or else he’ll die, and then what good will your damn Psyco System be?!”

Peterson glared at her for a moment, before glancing at the technicians. They dutifully released Jack, letting him topple to the floor. Alison helped him back up.

“He’s going back to the maintenance pod,” she said resolutely. “Run the test later.”

The door opened again, and this time Ian Lee strode in, flanked by two armed guards.

“My crew reports a disturbance down here,” he intoned, casting a commanding gaze across the room. “Major. Would you care to explain, or shall I have to take more punitive measures to ensure that my ship isn’t torn apart by infighting?”

Alison glanced warily at a fuming Peterson. “I apologize, captain,” she said. “It was unprofessional to get into a shouting match. It won’t happen again.”

Lee cast a dour glance at Jack, slumped over next to Alison, supported only by her arms. “And what’s happened to him?”

She looked down pointedly at him and hoisted him up further. “Doctor Peterson was attempting to run more tests on the Psyco System,” she explained, “but Jack is obviously in no condition to continue.”

“It’s a system that will revolutionize mobile suit combat, captain,” Peterson added, stepping forward. “Imagine how effective our pilots would be if they could directly interface with the complex programming of a mobile suit.”

“It’s a sensory overload,” Alison shot back. “Not even a Coordinator can handle that much information all at once.”

Lee held up a hand to silence them both.

“I will not have you two fighting aboard my ship,” he said. “Major, return Jack to his maintenance pod. Doctor, while I respect your determination to get this system working, Jack O’Hara remains a pilot under my command, and I will not allow you to take him or his machine out of action. Is that understood?”

Peterson’s glare was almost imperceptible. “Yes sir,” he said, with a dutiful salute.

——————————————————————————————————————————

“Fifty more suspected Athha loyalists were rounded up today in a military raid in the northern wilderness, as reported by the Orb Ministry of Defense,” the anchor intoned. On the bridge of the Megami, Cagalli stewed, glowering furiously at the screen as she watched her followers being led into a waiting truck by flak-jacketed Orb troops.

“That was Akai’s unit,” Andy said dourly from his haunt towards the back of the bridge. “I hope they didn’t find his M1 units.”

“We have to do something!” Cagalli growled, standing up and turning towards the rest of the bridge. “I can’t take this! We’re sitting here and waiting and abandoning them!”

“It’s not that simple— ” Murrue began from the captain’s seat.

“What are we going to have left to fight with if we don’t go help them?!” Cagalli shot back.

“She’s got a point,” Andy admitted with a shrug. “We’re watching our army get disintegrated here.” He looked back at Cagalli. “But we can’t just waltz into Orb and yell at the Seirans until they stop. They’re going to be ready for us.”

Cagalli slumped back into her chair, seething.

“Could we ask the Sahakus for help?” Andy added.

“Rondo Mina Sahaku won’t help us,” Cagalli answered, clenching her teeth. “She was my father’s enemy. She wouldn’t help me.”

“Besides, she’s lying low on Ame-no-Mihashira for a reason,” Murrue put in. “And the Sahakus are the last family you want to owe anything to.”

Cagalli put her head in her hands, grumbling in frustration. “Are we supposed to sit here and watch everything fall apart?”

Murrue paused, before leaning forward. “Arnold,” she said, “give us a map of the South Pacific, centered on Orb.”

Neumann glanced over his shoulder. “Yes ma’am,” he answered, duly bringing the map up on the main screen. Cagalli looked up inquisitively as Murrue stood, pointing to it.

“Jona knew how to get in touch with us,” she said, “but it’s been over a day and it doesn’t look like he’s sent any forces after us.” She turned around to face Cagalli. “So this crackdown on our allies in Orb must be the bait for a trap.”

“That’s why we have to go and help them!” Cagalli insisted.

“But it’s a trap,” Andy pointed out. “They’ll expect us to come in, guns blazing.”

“So, on that assumption,” Murrue continued, “they’ll probably throw substantial force at us if we fall for the trap.” She pointed back at the map, and the outline of Orb’s array of islands. “If we get close enough to Orb, we can draw all those forces into a chase after us, which means our allies will have a chance to get underground and safe.”

“But then we’ll have Orb forces chasing us,” Cagalli protested. “We can’t do anything if they have us on the run.”

“I steered this ship through the mother of all space battles, ma‘am,” Neumann spoke up from the helm. “A few surface ships won’t be a problem.”

“We can lose them in the Indonesian islands,” Murrue added. “We’re faster and better-armed. And they’ll be butting up against that Alliance Archangel-class that attacked us a while ago.”

Cagalli looked to Andy; he nodded almost imperceptibly.

“Are you sure we can pull this off?” she asked. Murrue nodded. Cagalli looked back up at the screen. “Okay,” she said, “set course for Orb.”

——————————————————————————————————————————

To be continued…