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Meyrin Hawke had learned to expect a lot of things over the course of her tenure as the Minerva's captain. Traps, ambushes, adulation, microwave ramen for dinner every day for weeks on end, those were all par for the course. But at no point in her three years as the ship's commanding officer did a birthday party cross her mind.

It was Roxy's fault, technically. Meyrin's seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth birthdays had all been spent in some kind of combat operation— like the one in the L5 shoal zone where they'd almost crashed the ship into a piece of debris— but this time, when June 12th had dawned, the Minerva had finally been at rest. And Roxy had been keeping that prodigious liquor cabinet of hers well stocked in anticipation of a "special occasion" that had finally come to pass.

And best of all, at least in Roxy's opinion, Meyrin was twenty years old now, which made her legally able to drink in some countries. And if it counted in some countries, then by God it counted in all countries.

All of this combined to explain why Meyrin was standing in the Minerva's crew lounge with a glass of merlot in hand and a pleasant buzz beginning to kick in around the edges of her mind. Of course, if the captain couldn't cry or falter in front of her crew, she certainly couldn't get herself trashed at a party and spend the next day hung over, so Roxy's challenge to try to tackle that terrifying bottle of absinthe would have to go unanswered.

Or, she noted wryly, she'd just have to talk Sting or Auel into doing it— which had evidently been her plan B, because Auel was passed out on one of the seats, with the absinthe bottle by his feet.

"So," Roxy exclaimed, as she wheeled in out of nowhere and threw an arm around Meyrin's shoulders, "how's the birthday girl doing?"

Meyrin smiled back. "Nice and buzzed. Thanks for doing this, by the way. I, well," she shrugged, "kind of forgot it was my birthday."

"Yeah, see, that's the problem with the rest of ya fuckers," Roxy answered, and Meyrin decided to ignore the overpowering smell of some expensive European beer on her breath. "Too much fuckin' angst. You guys gotta cut loose more often."

"Duly noted, Miss Bannon," Meyrin said, and raised her glass. Roxy swung up a half-empty bottle of something Meyrin couldn't pronounce, the glass clinked together, and a moment later the red-haired girl tipped the bottle back and expertly drained it. Meyrin cringed at the sight. "Though I do wonder how you can drink like that and not be hung over."

"Mystical arts from the Far East," Roxy replied with a smirk. "Can't tell you, it would explode your little Western mind. Anyway, I need to go convince Abbey to give up the Baileys so I can start the blow jobs."

"The what?"

"Cocktails, you pervert. Later!"

Meyrin watched Roxy melt back into the crowd of the ship's increasingly drunk crew and then immediately swallowed the rest of her wine. Alcohol would clean away that horrible, horrible mental image. Alcohol was a cleanser. It would do the trick.

Besides, she had to admit, it did feel good to just shut up and have some fun. There was really nothing else to do, with Gigafloat's technicians handling the ship's repairs and no particularly pressing needs for the Minerva or her few operational mobile suits. So surely nobody would complain if she took a little time off. It was her birthday, after all. It was time to cut loose.

"Wait a minute," she started, as something occurred to her, "did she say Abbey?"

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"I'm afraid your request will have to be denied, captain," said Admiral MacIntyre with finality. "Admiral Krane has insisted, Djibril himself interceded to ensure that you would be part of this mission. There's no way out of it. They want you at Gigafloat."

In Admiral MacIntyre's uncomfortably small office, Danilov did his best to hide his emotions. MacIntyre arched an eyebrow, and Danilov guessed that his best had not been good enough. "I understand, sir."

"Although I must also add that this is the first time you've requested reassignment since taking command of the Charlemagne," MacIntyre went on. "And judging by your reasons for the request...I think I know what kind of man you are now, captain."

Danilov's mind darted back to their conversation on Athens. "Admiral..."

"So in that spirit, I think it would be wise to entrust you with a particular bit of information." He sat back. "Lord Djibril's strategy for dealing with ZAFT is working. Their fleet is being whittled away, piece by piece. But it's deeply unpopular with the public. They don't understand the military necessities that forced this choice, so as long as people keep dying or losing money in ZAFT's attacks. President Vasserot of the Atlantic Federation supports Djibril's policy wholeheartedly, and it's cost him so much support that he can't even get a nominee for Vice President through the Congress. So he doesn't have much time left in his political life." MacIntyre cocked an eyebrow. "And I'm sure you know what that means."

Danilov blinked. "He's going to be removed?"

"He and the Speaker, his political ally. That would make Senator Meyers the President, and he and Premier Musashihara intend to open negotiations with ZAFT to put them off guard for a decisive final strike," the admiral leaned forward, "and to withdraw from the Earth Alliance."

"W-withdraw from the Alliance?" Danilov sputtered. "But that would mean— "

"Civil war, yes. And we all know who the Phantom Pain would side with. But what I want to know, Captain Danilov, is who you would side with."

Danilov searched for words. "I...is there some way to stop this?"

"If there is, I don't know it. I'm not a politician, I just have to listen to them." The admiral tapped his cane pointedly. "You don't have to decide right now, Danilov, but you had better not take too long. With Gigafloat and Ame-no-Mihashira gone, the only thing left for the Resistance will be Terminal. And once that's gone, the Resistance won't be a factor anymore. And," he waved a hand, "do you really trust the politicians to set the Alliance right?"

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The Reverend Malchio sat in silent patience at the end of the conference table, and Meyrin had to admit that it was a bit unnerving to see him here. A council of war was the last place for a man such as him.

At the other end, the Professor put her hands back behind her head and comfortably propped her feet up on the table. "The short version," she began, "is that the war is all but over for the Resistance. Chiao Xu is dead, Copland and Terminal are on the run, the Resistance fleet is in retreat in all sectors, and all we've got left on Earth is Gigafloat."

Meyrin frowned. She hated to bring up this subject, but as long as it was there... "What about Ame-no-Mihashira?"

"That will not be an option," Malchio spoke up. "Intelligence from the Moon came in yesterday. They noticed the Orb Space Fleet leaving with Governor-General Seiran's ship in the lead, and their trajectory seemed to take them to Ame-no-Mihashira. It would appear the Alliance has finally decided to move against Lady Sahaku."

If Meyrin hated to broach that subject, then this one was even worse. "Are we going to offer her any help?"

The Professor merely laughed. "You aren't going anywhere for the next couple days, sweetie. Not with the engine overhaul and the new Gundams still being tuned."

"Then we're going to leave Sahaku on her own?"

Malchio sighed. "The Resistance in space will have to assist her," he said. "We cannot."

"It's not all that bad anyway," the Professor added with a shrug. "I mean, don't tell me you two ever actually trusted Sahaku."

"Many innocent people will die in the battle," Malchio answered. He looked back towards Meyrin. "But we do not have the resources to assist her in any event."

"Then, what do we do from here?" Meyrin asked.

The Professor arched an eyebrow towards Malchio, and the blind man leaned forward on his cane. "When your repairs are complete, we will send you to space," he said. "There is nothing more for you to do on Earth. But ZAFT's main fleet and its fortress are in space. That is where this war will be decided. And that is where you have to be."

"What about Gigafloat?" Meyrin started, but Malchio shook his head.

"Six years ago, I sent another group to space to end a war that had gone out of control. It worked for a time, but a second, even worse war started, and they averted disaster again, at the cost of their lives. And now, here is the third war, the one that may well destroy us all. But you can stop that— and you must." He tapped his cane on the floor. "Gigafloat will give you the means to end this war and send you to where it will be decided. But you must take up the mantle and stop this conflict before it consumes everything." He bowed his head. "I know I ask much of you, Captain Hawke. I asked much of Lacus Clyne as well. But after the Requiem and Copernicus, it's clear that this war as well will go out of control if no one stops it." He turned his head back up towards Meyrin. "And that power will have to rest with you."

Meyrin cringed— at the responsibility, at the power, at the thought of being compared to Lacus Clyne and all that that meant. But she had watched the Requiem blast her home out of the sky, and she had seen the dead pile up at Copernicus. Malchio was right. The Minerva had spent three years as the symbol of justice for the Resistance. Only her ship— and only her crew— could do this.

She nodded. "I understand, father."

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"We're still two days out from Gigafloat, sir," reported Vice Admiral Krane, "but even if it tries to run, we'll be upon it before it can get far. With the Charlemagne, they won't stand a chance."

Lord Djibril leaned back in his office chair. "I expect your work to be thorough, admiral. No inconvenient survivors and escapees. Get this done quickly and cleanly."

"Of course, sir."

"Very well. Djibril, out." He switched off the admiral's frequency and keyed in a different one, just in time for a familiar woman in black sunglasses to flicker onto the screen. "Ah, Marshal Markav. I was just about to request a report."

Even with those sunglasses, Markav seemed to have a more manic look about her. It had its uses, Djibril supposed, and she was still handy for that insane zeal with which she descended upon the Resistance and ZAFT, but if all went as planned, this battle would rid him of some inconvenient deadweight. Markav was still useful, but only just. And Lord Djibril had no need for tools that had expired in their usefulness.

"A third of the fleet has gathered at Arzachel," she reported. "The Phantom Pain forces are preparing at Daedalus Crater, but they will be ready to set out in about a week's time. And once we have them gathered, we can set out at your discretion."

Lord Djibril sat back. The plan called for a volley from the Requiem cannon into the shoal zone at Lagrange Point 5 first, to clear some of the rubble and set off a pinball effect that would hopefully make the fleet action unnecessary. But Djibril frowned at that thought. What he hoped for rarely occurred these days.

"Very well, marshal," he said. "Continue your work. Make no move against ZAFT until you receive my authorization."

"Yes sir."

"Djibril, out."

The Earth Alliance president switched off the screen and leaned back to think.

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The Reverend Malchio stood at the head of a small auditorium crammed with twice the number of people it was designed to hold. The whole of Gigafloat's population had turned out to hear a portentous speech from the platform's administrator. Malchio shifted uncomfortably on the stage.

"My friends, I've gathered you to relay some grim news," he began. "The Earth Alliance is sending a fleet of warships towards this platform." Gasps went up in the crowd and Malchio raised a hand for quiet. "We have contacted this fleet repeatedly to ask for its mission, but we have received no reply. We can only conclude that they have hostile intent, and as a result, this platform is no longer safe." He paused. "We will have to evacuate.

"I realize for many of you, this platform has been the only safe haven you have known in this long and trying war, and to leave now is to enter a dangerous world— a world that, in the case of some of you, wants to destroy you. I have arranged for a number of safe houses with the Junk Guild in Africa. They will protect you until this storm blows over. If Gigafloat still stands and I am still its administrator, you are welcome to return, but I can make no guarantees." He frowned. "Others have questioned the Alliance's willingness to destroy civilians, and they have paid the price for it. I will not allow that to happen to you.

"Please cooperate with us as we begin evacuation procedures, and please cooperate with the Junk Guild. We will see you safely through this."

Off-stage, Emily squirmed uncomfortably at that feeling of preternatural calm that radiated still from the figure of the reverend. He was calm— but she couldn't say that for anyone else.

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The observation lounge overlooking the dock where sat the Nana Buluku had but two occupants, one casually sipping on a glass of red wine as he looked over the ship. The Girty Lue-class had been one of the Earth Alliance's finer military accomplishments. Shame it was so expensive or they'd have more.

Gerhardt von Oldendorf took another sip. Of course, expense wasn't the real reason the Alliance hadn't ordered so many more of these ships. Nothing was really too expensive for the combined military might of the planet.

Gerhardt glanced over his shoulder at Irene. "Schacht has had his eye on you, y'know."

Irene crossed her arms. "I'm lucky if it's just his eye."

"Well, he won't be a problem for long." He turned back towards the window. "We would be unwise to stay in one place for long."

"And why's that?"

"Simple fact of the world," answered Gerhardt with a shrug. "It deeply resents anyone who tries to change it. Even as indirectly as I am."

Irene arched an eyebrow. "Which reminds me..."

"It's why I called you up here," he said. "I think it's finally time to tell you what my true intentions are." He turned around. "I know the Phantom Pain sent you to spy on me, Irene." She blinked in surprise. "Did you think I wouldn't? So strange that I should be assigned a Phantom Pain attaché when I neither needed nor asked for one. But I think you'll understand what I'm getting at."

"Which is...?"

Gerhardt turned back towards the ship. "Do you know why I called Emily the 'angel of death?' Why it's so dreadfully ironic that that should be her nickname among the Alliance military?"

"'cuz she's good at killing people?"

"Superficially, I suppose, but that's not quite it." He took another sip. "The angel of death takes those whose time has come. It's nothing personal, really. It's just a matter of destiny. If you are meant to die, the angel of death will sever your cords and take you away. Nobody can control death— nobody but God."

Irene blinked. "What, you want to be God?"

"Of course I do," scoffed Gerhardt. "Everyone does. But that's not the point. The point of creating Emily was always to focus a great deal of power into one individual, an individual open to manipulation and coercion, and then unleash her on the world. She's doing exactly what I want her to do— destabilizing everything. Destroying things that are meant to die." He waved a hand at the tableau before him. "This Alliance. Its time has come. ZAFT's time has come. The Coordinators' time has come. The entire world has reached its end.

"You feel this, don't you?" he asked, and turned towards her. "You feel that this world has gone mad. We have lord Djibril and his Requiem, we have Marshal Sunogachi and her poison gas, we have who knows what other superweapons they're both working on, and we have the Resistance tearing down civilization in between. And to think it all started with humans trying to play God."

Irene stood in shock for a moment, struggling to form words. "You...you're trying to destroy the world?"

"Oh, hardly," he chuckled. "It is time for some things to die. Humans are easy to kill, but institutions? Peoples? Empires? Those take something more." He raised his glass. "So here's to Emily. My wonderful little daughter. The Angel of Death."

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The Amaterasu's mighty engines roared to life, and the warship rattled as it lifted itself out of port and took off into the black sky of space.

On the bridge in one of the observer's chairs, Jona Roma Seiran sat back. The duty officers had been skeptical and confused when the Orb Space Fleet's crews and officers showed up not in the typical grays of the Alliance Space Force but in the heroic blue and white of the old uniforms of independent Orb, but ultimately they had made no protest. And that was the way Jona liked it. He idly brushed a speck of dust off his starched white admiral's uniform. Finally he looked like he belonged to Orb again and not Lord Djibril's orbit.

Captain Matsumara glanced over at him. "ETA to Ame-no-Mihashira is fifty-five hours," he said. "Will you be observing from the bridge, sir?"

"Of course I will." He smiled reassuringly. "The future leader of Orb can't be absent as his last and most annoying rival is finally erased from existence, can he?"

"I suppose not, sir."

Jona returned his sight out the bridge windows, where the Orb Space Fleet was taking shape. Seventeen warships was nothing next to the vast armadas of the Earth Alliance, but surely Sahaku had even less to count on— and he still had the Akatsuki.

Cagalli and the Athha family had always trusted the Sahakus not to turn against them in their many political maneuvers against the Seirans. And it had usually been a useful relationship. And, as he reflected on the gleaming Akatsuki standing ready in the Amaterasu's hangar, it turned out that Cagalli Yula Athha was useful still.

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"I was given to understand that my affiliation with the Resistance would bring me assistance should this day ever come."

In one of Gigafloat's many conference rooms, Meyrin Hawke and the Reverend Malchio all shared anxious looks at the sight of the face on the screen. Rondo Mina Sahaku stared down at them imperiously.

"We know what promise we made," Malchio said, "but we have our own problems. The Alliance has sent a fleet to destroy Gigafloat. We have to evacuate the civilians here, which means there is little we can do for you."

Mina cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps my cooperation with the Resistance was a mistake?"

"If there was anything we could do," Malchio said, "we would. Your assistance to us in the past has been invaluable. But the Alliance has us pressed."

"Well, I'm sure you understand my position as well, then," Mina said with a contemptuous wave of her hand. "Because frankly, father, you can hide behind Gigafloat's civilian population if need be. I cannot."

Malchio bristled. "I will not use Gigafloat's refugees as shields, Lady Sahaku."

"Then you're going to lose this battle. And so am I."

Meyrin opened her mouth to speak, but Malchio raised a hand to cut her off. "I will do this then, Lady Sahaku," he said. "I will send the Minerva." Meyrin's eyes went wide and she shot a glance towards the blind man. "Their repairs are complete and their new Gundams are almost ready for combat. I will require a day to prepare them for launch. They will likely have to be launched in the middle of our battle with the Alliance, and if they can make it, they will likely only do so during the Alliance's attack on Ame-no-Mihashira, but they will be carrying ten mobile suits, including eight powerful new prototypes, seven of which the Alliance has never seen before. This is the most I can do for you."

Rondo Mina Sahaku kept her face stony, but Meyrin nearly shivered at the surge of delight in her eyes. "Then I look forward to meeting you, Captain Hawke."

The line went dark— and Meyrin immediately whirled around on Malchio. "Father, we can't go to space now! We have to help defend Gigafloat!"

"The Junk Guild can handle that— "

"No they can't!" Meyrin cried. "That Alliance fleet is bringing the Charlemagne too! You can't handle them! You need us!"

Malchio put a hand on Meyrin's shoulder. "Captain, there are things I cannot explain to you right now, so you must simply trust my judgment when I say that you must go to space. It is not negotiable. I will not let you waste your lives on Earth when there is so much more important work to do in space."

"But father— "

"I cannot do any differently, captain." He nodded towards the door. "Go. You have preparations to make."

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