This fic is now on the rec list at Fanwork Recs! I'm so proud!
Warnings: A bit melancoly, but that's it. No pairings whatsoever. PoV, OC.
Disclaimer: Me? Own GW? Make money? Oh, if only...
It'd never been my intention to become a war correspondent. At the time it happened, I didn't know what I wanted to specialize in, only that I wanted to be a journalist. I wanted to tell the truth, the kind of truth the Alliance and its oh-so-careful monitors couldn't hush up or shut down.
Yes, I was an idealistic fool. I was nineteen, it's allowed.
So there I was, first year college student, journalism major, looking for something out of the ordinary for my next submission to the school newspaper. There are times when it is very, very good to have a contact on the inside, and mine was my dad, an Aries pilot and officer in the OZ Specials. He pulled some strings for me, dropped the casual word in the right ears, and I found myself with a pass to an Alliance base for a guided tour and an interview with the commanding officer.
It was durring the tour that the Gundam showed up. Oh, I didn't know it was a Gundam at the time. No one knew what a Gundam was yet. All I knew was that alarms and explosions were going off everywhere, people were running around like crazy, and my guide was trying to drag me into a bunker. Yes, drag. Remember what I said about being an idealistic fool? Some part of my brain decided that being a first-hand witness to the battle was a better idea than saving my skin, so I ducked my protector and went out on the tarmac, babbling nonstop into my recorder as I did.
Like I said, my dad was an Aries pilot, and I always thought I'd never see anything more graceful or powerful in motion than those beauties. This thing blew them away, both figuratively and litterally. It was huge, an orange-red behemoth that towered over the first-wave Leos and cut through them with contemptuous ease. I watched, utterly stunned and helpless, as formation after formation was decimated, the metal monster making its way purposefully through the fray. At one point it stopped beating back its attackers, its torso turning towards the command center behind me. My feet are smarter than my brain; I was running before I realized that it was targetting, and I dived behind the first cover I could find as the world exploded.
When the blast washed past and I felt safe enough to look out again, the new mobile suit was finishing off the last of the defense squadrons. I don't think a single one escaped. For a long time after it left, nothing moved, and it felt like I was the only person alive in the world. Then the other survivors, what few there were, began to stir. They were all shell-shocked, wandering aimlessly from the rubble of buildings they'd been working in when it started. I don't think one of them even noticed me; certainly none of them tried to stop me as I walked off the base.
The funny part? All I could think of was that now that I had some real questions to ask, I wasn't going to get my interview.
===================
That's how it started. I got back to my dorm eventually, stayed up all night typing an article on the attack, emailed it to the school editor, and went to sleep. When I woke up, my story was front page of the paper's special edition, and I had a dozen newspapers and magazines wanting to talk to me about it. I gave publication rights to a few I knew wouldn't butcher it, refused all interviews and job offers for the moment, and called my dad.
The public channels already had most of the information I pumped him for - what was that thing, where had it come from, were there any others, things like that. A few things he was able to give me on the side; nothing confirmed or quoteable, but enough to tell me what questions I should be asking, and where to ask them. It was the last time I spoke with my father; his unit was pulled to guard a transport, and they met up with Gundam 02. If I'd known that at the time, I probably would have ended the call with something more significant than, "Thanks, dad, I owe you!"
I wasn't the only person with a connection in the military, of course, nor the only one using that advantage ruthlessly. Those first weeks I was hard-pressed to distinguish myself from the other reporters after the same stories, and being half the age of some of them didn't help. I followed the Gundams like a schoolgirl with a crush, and worked insane hours trying to anticipate their targets. Some of them were easy - I was waiting for my request to visit Victoria base to be approved when 05 showed up. Others completely blindsided me. When I accepted the invitation to a special conference at New Edwards, I was hoping to get away from the battlefield for a little while. Cover something normal for once, and maybe snag an interview with Septem or Noventa while I was there.
The Gundams seemed to have a talent for derailing my interviews.
Later, I realized that New Edwards was a setup. Anybody in their right mind should have recognized it as a setup. I've seen a Gundam fight up close and personal, I know how much damage they can do on their own, so why in hell would ALL FIVE show up at a peace conference? Obviously they expected something else was going on, something that required that much firepower to deal with. But those kind of statements were the kind that ruined careers, and I mean ruined as in the article and all notes on it never saw the light of day and the writer was permanently detained as a "security risk." It was my first crisis of faith as a journalist; how do I tell the truth, when telling the truth insured that no one would ever hear it?
Eventually I took the only choice I could; write as much as was allowable, and manipulate the phrasing so the article's tone said what words could not. And with that decision I crossed a line. I'd built a reputation as a good journalist, a respectible one, a hard hitter. Now I was controversial, and that closed a lot of doors for me. I'd expected that. I hadn't expected it to open doors as well, and the ones it did open...
It hadn't escaped me that OZ and the Alliance were two separate entites working under the same umbrella; how could it, when my father was part of it? But the distinction became more and more clear in the weeks that followed. Alliance officers avoided me when I was on base, and never returned my calls. OZ Specials almost always had a soundbite for me, at least. I actually got to speak to the golden boy, Zechs Merquise himself, a couple times before he defected. When OZ ripped through the Alliance from the inside, I was one of the first called to that small, swiftly-arrainged press conference that declared the new world order. I saw Relena Darlain take a pop shot at Colonel Une, saw her later, as Relena Peacecraft, take over the Sanq kingdom. The whirl of activity and shifting of power was enough to make anyone dizzy, and somehow or other I got to watch it from the heart of the storm.
The biggest, the most memorable point of that entire time was when I requested an interview with Treize Khushrenada himself. It took me weeks to work up the courage for the request, and I was braced and ready for the refusal when I did. Instead, I was advised to clear my schedule for a week at least, and be prepared to travel.
Never in my life have I met a man with so much power and charisma, and I expect I never will again. I met with General Khushrenada just after breakfast every morning, though by that time he'd already been busy for a while. I was his shadow for all but his most private meetings, walked unchallenged through the halls of Romefeller itself, and met with people who's names I'd only heard whispers of previously. The General was an incredible man, almost a force of nature, and I'm not ashamed to say I was starstruck. I can't imagine the willpower it took for Merquise to break from him, and I fully understand Colonel Une's unswerving devotion. Most surprising to me were the one-on-one times, usually in the evening, when I'd get the chance to ask the questions no one dared. And he answered them.
He confessed, freely, to the setup surrounding the Alliance doves, and told me about the private duel between himself and Pilot 05 which followed. He talked about Zech Merquise's betrayal, and his connection to an orphan prince named Milliardo. The carefully-laid plans by OZ to shatter the Alliance were laid out before me, as was the current, delicate balance of power in Romefeller itself. I learned about Mobile Dolls and Colonel Une's ambassidorial duties to the colonies. I couldn't believe he was telling me the truth, couldn't see a reason *why* he'd tell me the truth, and spent the first three days rephrasing questions, trying to trip him up. The stories never changed, not one detail. Either Khushrenada was a master deceiver - which I wouldn't doubt - or I was getting the full, unadulterated story.
I figured it out the last night. The clues were all there, he'd given them to me the first day, and if I hadn't been so obsessed with tricking him into the truth I probably would have spotted it earlier. As it was, we were clarifying a few points from my notes over a nightcap when I spotted it, and cursed.
He just lifted one of those oddly-forked eyebrows at me. "Something wrong, Mr Keeler?"
"I'm not going to publish this, am I?"
It was the only question he didn't answer. He didn't have to.
I knew he wouldn't stop me from publishing. It's not ego that makes me believe he respected my work and liked my style. But there in the midst of all my scribbling about who-did-what-and-why was the outline for disaster. Romefeller was set for another shift in power, and this time Khushrenada would not come out on top.
How could he have been so damn calm about it? For as much as I've learned about him, both then and since, I don't think I've ever really understood him. Finally I grabbed my glass, shot back the remaining brandy, and asked the next question. The next day I went back home and got to work.
I wasn't there when the General "stepped down" as the head of Romefeller a few days later. It was probably the only major planetside event of the war to which I wasn't an eyewitness. I knew about it within hours, though, because of the big men with big guns who came to investigate a possible security breach. I cooperated fully, answered all their questions, turned over all my original notes and observations, and never even hinted I might have copies stored anywhere else.
They found them anyway, of course. At least the ones in my apartment, and my favorite coffee shop, and the college library. The sets I'd shipped to P.O. boxes under false identities in England and Chile took them a bit longer, and I never even realized they found some others until long after the war was over. I think I've even forgotten where I stashed a few copies; no doubt that's going to make some archaeologist very happy in a few thousand years. Yes, I was very very busy after I parted company with General Khushrenada. Romefeller might be able to shut me up for a while, but they wouldn't control the world forever.
As it turned out, they didn't control the world very long at all. Dermail and his cohorts should have taken the time to read some of the stuff they confiscated. I could have told him that keeping Khushrenada alive guaranteed him a civil war. And setting Relena Peacecraft up as a figurehead? Please. That girl had her own adgenda from the start, and no small-minded warmonger was going to get in her way.
I was still writing, but no archive in the world has any of my articles from that time. I'd been marked, and the newslines wouldn't touch my stuff, even under a pseudonym. In a way, I think that worked to my advantage, since it gave me the oportunity to track the fast changes the world was going through without the pressure of a deadline. I did get a press pass to the news conference when Khushrenada ousted Queen Relena, but it was a general pass only. No interviews, no backstage time, and when the floor was opened for questions, the General skipped right over me. It was a long, long time before I understood why he did, and even longer before I forgave him for it, but it saved my reputation later. After all, my fall from grace happened with his; if I'd risen with him too, my objectivity would have been compromised..
As I said, I realized that later. At the time all I knew was I had to rebuild my career from scratch, but at least with the world under new management again I had a chance. I worked like a mad fiend, following every hint of a story that I could find. Things were changing so fast that stories weren't hard to get, and the big challenge was getting a new angle. When the big battle came - when that huge hunk of ship came tearing through the atmosphere and was blown away by Pilot 01 - I had an angle no one would ever be able to beat. It was General Khushrenada that gave me my oportunity... by dying.
Do you know how hard it is to mourn while the rest of the world celebrates? When the reason for their celebration is, in part at least, the reason you mourn? I hope you never find out. All of mankind cheered and partied, while Relena Darlain took the world towards lasting peace and the Gundam pilots quietly disappeared despite the best efforts of the media to hunt them down. And I spent days in shock, struggling with the idea that the mighty had, indeed, fallen, and this time would not return.
When the shock faded enough for me to think, I went looking for the records I'd so carefully copied and scattered to keep out of Romefeller's hands, and wrote an epitath to a man I barely knew. A man who'd done everything to acheive a dream to which he was the largest obstacle. Most of the papers I submitted it to never replied, and most of those who did called it too controversial for the time. But a couple offered to carry it, and I took what I could get. When Vice Minister Darlain quoted a section of my article in a speech, about the fragility of dreams and the sacrafices required for accomplishment, I knew I'd given the General a memorial of which he would have been proud.
I never regained the level of success I had in that first, hectic year, but my reputation is solid and unsoiled, and I'm satisfied with that. I at least had enough of a standing to get an interview with Marimeia Khushrenada several weeks after the Eve War, carefully supervised by her guardian and the head of the Preventers, Lady Une. She is an amazingly bright little girl, and I've no doubt that she will control the world after all, one day. A good half of the interview was me answering her questions, after I commented how much she reminded me of her father. She asked as much about his politics as his personality, and was never lost in the oft-convoluted explanations.
"You seem to know my father very well," she told me at the end. "I'm surprised you haven't written a book."
That was months ago. Last week I went to Preventer International Headquarters and left a package for Lady Une, along with a brief letter of explanation and my unlisted phone number. A copy of its contents sits on my hard drive, waiting. I won't publish, I've decided, not unless young Marimeia requests it. "The General" is for her, a biography of a man she should have known, a man who's existence made life a little richer for us all, even if most of us don't realize it.
My phone is ringing.
Lys ap Adin wrote a wonderful introspection piece from Treize's PoV called Orobouros. Check it out under her fics at GW Addiction.
read Mr Keeler's article
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