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Admiral MacIntyre was no stranger to the cut and thrust of pitched battle. Nor was he a stranger to the peculiar feeling of helplessness that every sensible commander felt as he issued orders and thought up plans in his faraway hidden bunker and hoped they would be translated to victory on the battlefield.

The feeling of helplessness as he watched another city get vaporized by the ZAKU Goliath, however...that one was new.

"Contact lost with the substation in Geneva!" one of the soldiers below cried.

The major in charge clenched his fists as the frustration mounted. "Why the hell can't we stop that damned thing?!"

"We're not going to be the ones to stop that thing, major," MacIntyre said quietly. The major blinked at the old admiral in disbelief. "It will take someone with skill and a high-performance mobile suit. One of the Minerva's Gundams."

"Then shouldn't we just redeploy our forces?" the major sputtered.

MacIntyre leaned forward, eyes fixed on the tactical map. "No," he said, "because we are here to delay that thing and give them enough time to do their work. And they won't let us down, because in this battle, they are on our side." He tapped his cane on the floor with finality. "Intensify all fire on the red giant!"

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It was not a waste.

Valentine Sunogachi repeated it to herself until it became a mantra. Kira Yamato's death was not a waste. He had done so much for her, so much to get her to this point. He had slain dragons and paved the road that the ZAKU Goliath now took to victory. He had done so much.

Now, the Goliath had to march on and make sure his death was not in vain. He had done so much for her, built this army for her, lifted its spirits, helped her transform it all, helped her build and maintain this cocoon of hatred that pulsed and swelled around her. She would save his memory. She would build a world for the Coordinators in his memory, build a world where their people would be safe. It would not be wasted.

The men around the control room looked to her in disbelief as the news sank in that the hero of ZAFT was dead. "Vice Marshal Yamato did not give his life so that we could stop here, on the cusp of victory," she said. "Recharge the Armageddon cannon. Next target, Paris. And get us into the atmosphere."

As the men returned to work and the Goliath's armaments washed away another force of enemy mobile suits, Valentine returned to her darkening thoughts with a scowl. It was not a waste. It would never be a waste. She would ensure it.

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"There they are!" Meyrin shouted. "Tristans, Isolde, fire!"

The Minerva veered around a massive piece of wreckage, turned its guns towards the Fortuna, and opened fire. The Isolde shells struck home against the Fortuna's hull and the ship lurched back— but then its own Tristans responded with a salvo that seared by the Minerva's port wing. Malik yanked the ship to the side; the Fortuna's Isolde rumbled and three shells slammed into the ship's port side, just behind the catapult doors.

"Parsifals, target the wreckage! Fire!" Meyrin ordered.

Exhaust flashed and smoke billowed around the Minerva as the Parsifal air-to-surface missiles fired and lazily arced around towards the Fortuna. The blue and gray warship's CIWS emplacements came to life, but the missiles slammed into the wreckage around the Fortuna, scattering it like a shotgun blast into the oncoming battleship. The Fortuna shuddered as a wall of debris slammed into it—

And then the Minerva shook as a storm of missiles came slamming down into its armor. Meyrin blinked in disbelief.

"What the— sensors, where did those come from?!" she sputtered.

"I can't confirm!" Burt exclaimed. "They must have been hidden— "

"Incoming!" Malik interrupted, and yanked the ship to starboard as the battered and cratered Fortuna's Tristans fired again. The blue and gray warship swept down after them with another blast from its Isolde cannon that raked across the Minerva's dorsal surface.

"Damage level C," Abbey spoke up. "Captain— "

"Heat source!" Burt cried, and Malik instinctively sent the Minerva plunging downward—

Meyrin shielded her eyes as the blinding column of a Tannhäuser blast shot by overhead, and the Minerva seemed like it would shake itself apart as the antimatter annihilated everything around it, enveloping the warship in bone-jarring explosions. Meyrin clenched her fists around the armrests as the flames lashed her ship.

Very clever, but two can play at that game...!

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Plowing forward with a hail of beam fire in front of it, the Charlemagne spewed smoke and sparks as it led the charge against Messiah. The ZAFT fleet was beginning to pull back ahead of them and enough of the Alliance and Resistance ships had pulled themselves out of the melee to launch what Danilov hoped would be a credible attack. But they still had to get through that beam shield—

"Oh, shit!" Sting Oakley's voice ripped through the bridge. "The NEO-GENESIS! Everyone move!"

"Helm, hard to port!" Danilov roared—

The world seemed to disappear as Messiah's NEO-GENESIS array came to life. The iridescent column of radiation swept forward; the Charlemagne shook as it seared by the ship's hull and began to tear away weapons and armor; other ships writhed and exploded amid the blast; Danilov gripped the armrests of his seat until his knuckles turned white. Up on the auxiliary screen, the feed from Admiral Barton's flagship went black; out of the corner of his eye, Danilov watched the carrier buckle under the NEO-GENESIS's blast and explode.

"Charlemagne, are you still there?" came Sting's voice again. Danilov painfully turned his eyes back out the windows and found the blast dying down— and the massive field of wreckage where so much of the fleet had once been.

"We...we're still alive," he answered, "but..." He shook his head. "Damage report, now!"

Vera painfully got back to her feet and consulted her console. "Our...entire weapons system is offline, sir," she said. "Hull breaches all over the ship. Power conduits broken. Life support systems fluctuating."

"So," Sting said quietly, "you're not still with us."

Danilov looked up grimly towards Messiah, through that shimmering beam shield, and knew it was recharging the NEO-GENESIS array for another attack. And with that beam shield, it could sit there and blow away the Alliance and Resistance forces with impunity. Even if that red machine was stopped, they could still irradiate the Earth at will and exterminate every living thing on its surface.

"What about the engines?" he asked suddenly.

The helmsman stirred at his seat. "They're on auxiliary power, but they're still online."

"Then in that case," he slowly got to his feet, "muster all personnel to the escape launches. And set a ramming course for the beam shield ring."

The helmsman blinked and the bridge crew looked at each other anxiously. "A ramming course...?"

"Sir, if we evacuate they'll be able to knock the ship off course— " Vera started.

"Then I will stay here and keep it on course," Danilov said.

Sting frowned. "Y'know, a heroic suicide is kinda dumb when it isn't really necessary— "

"It is," Danilov insisted. "We have to pierce that beam shield. If the Charlemagne can't fight, it can at least act as a giant battering ram. Just long enough for some units to get in and destroy the beam shield from the inside, so we can destroy this fortress." He gestured impatiently at Messiah. "They can fire again. They'll kill everyone. And..." He shook his head. "I...have to do something. To atone."

Sting blew out a sigh through his nose. "You know, I watched one Alliance warship captain with a good heart sacrifice himself to ram his ship into a big scary thing. I think one is enough."

He glanced pointedly at Vera, who immediately took her cue to step in front of Danilov. "If you want to atone, captain, then you're coming with us," she said. "Suicide isn't atonement. It's cowardice. If you want to atone for what you've done in the Phantom Pain, then come with us— and tell the whole world what the Phantom Pain did. Help bring them to justice. Do something with the rest of your life, instead of throwing it away."

"And as for your ship," Sting said with a smirk— and the Fujin, Kali, and Marduk Gundams formed up outside the bridge— "well, we'll take care of that."

Danilov looked between them all for a long moment, and then bowed his head. "Helm, ramming course, engines to maximum," he said. "And then, we're going."

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Loathe as he was to admit it, Lyle Markus did have to give a perverse sort of credit to the late captain of the Elysium from that battle at Deimos. The explosive properties of antimatter's contact with matter had interesting battlefield uses.

They were around here somewhere. His eyes darted over the wreckage, waiting for the Minerva to rear its battered head. They still had their weapons and speed, but their armor was beginning to wear thin. And the Tannhäuser was recharging for another blast. All they needed to do was knock them into a corner.

Something flashed off the starboard bow. "Helm, descend!" Lyle barked— and the Fortuna veered downward just as the Minerva crested a drifting piece of debris and fired its Tristan cannons. "Isolde, fire!" The Fortuna's Isolde obligingly boomed back, and the Minerva wobbled as a shell clipped its starboard side.

"Heat signatures rising in the Minerva's prow," the sensor officer spoke up. "They look to be charging their Tannhäuser."

"Steer clear of the Minerva's prow," Lyle ordered. "Weapons control, another barrage of Neidhardts, on the double!"

A storm of Neidhardt space missiles burst out of their tubes and rushed through the rubble towards the Minerva. The red and gray warship's CIWS emplacements cut them down— but it was enough time for the Fortuna to swing around and slam the Minerva with a pair of Tristan blasts that left smoking black scars on the ship's hull. The Minerva sank down below the Fortuna and slammed a trio of Isolde shells into the ship's underside.

Lyle scowled as the Fortuna bucked from the blow. "Helm, come around and get on their tail!" he ordered, and glowered down at the Minerva passing by underneath. Nowhere to run now...

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The Minerva twisted around to starboard as the Fortuna poured firepower after it, and Lyle Markus barely restrained the urge to smirk. Of course they would prove unable to best the Fortuna. They were rejects; the Fortuna was crewed by the cream of ZAFT's crop. Even their ship was beginning to fail them, as bits of the Minerva's armor broke off under the strain of combat and drifted slowly towards the Fortuna.

"Minerva coming around, sir," the sensor officer spoke up.

Lyle glanced back up at them. "Tannhäuser charge?"

"Charging is complete, sir," answered the weapons officer.

"Excellent." He looked back up at the main screen. The Minerva was wheeling around to charge straight at the Fortuna; at the XO's station, Morales frowned.

"The hell are they doing...?"

"Minerva is increasing to flank speed, sir," the sensor officer said. "Captain, I think they mean to ram us!"

Morales went white. "Ram us?!"

"Those fools," Lyle sneered. "Weapons control, lock the Tannhäuser onto the Minerva and fire!"

The Fortuna's prow swung open and the Tannhäuser cannon edged out. Lyle looked ahead towards the charging Minerva and finally allowed himself a smile as the Fortuna's main weapon lit up. But then something burst around the Fortuna's sides and a thin white cloud began to fall—

And then the whole warship shook violently and the screens flashed as flames and smoke roared up around them. Lyle was slammed back into his seat; he stared in disbelief as a cloud of fire consumed his ship and ripped over its hull.

"What the— what the hell is going on?!" he screamed. The Fortuna shuddered as the explosions raked its surface. "Damage report— "

Before Morales ever spoke, Lyle realized with a twist in his gut what had happened. A familiar shape drifted by outside the Fortuna's bridge windows— the shape of an anti-beam depth charge. Those pieces of the Minerva hadn't been pieces, and when the Fortuna had used its own positron cannon—

They...turned it against me?!

And up ahead, the Minerva fired its own Tannhäuser, and all went dark.

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Sting Oakley grunted loudly as he ducked into an alcove in the corridor, bullets flying. Up ahead, one of the ZAFT soldiers flung a grenade into the hallway— but Stella lunged out of hiding to catch it and hurl it back, then throw herself back into the opposite alcove. A thundering explosion sent a wall of smoke bursting down the corridor; the three Extended waited a moment before proceeding forward.

As Stella took point with an assault rifle in hand, Sting ran over the plan in his mind one more time. Aoma had laid it all out for them, albeit in abbreviated and hurried form; break into one of the maintenance nodes, isolate control from all other stations, disable the cooling mechanisms, increase every power feed to several times their maximums...and then get the hell out. Simple, right?

A pair of ZAFT soldiers up ahead ducked out of cover and brought their guns to bear— but an instant later, Stella was there to stab one of them clear through the throat with her rifle's bayonet. She whipped around with the dead man still caught on the knife and slammed his body into his comrade, then yanked the bayonet out and backed away, just as Auel peppered them both with a burst of rifle fire.

"Another sixty meters," Sting said as he pointed up ahead. "Then we make a left and cut through a maintenance shaft."

"Great," Auel breathed, "and how do we get back out?"

"Vedlow said there should be a bank of shuttle bays four floors up— "

"Watch out!" Stella shouted, and rammed her shoulder into the two Extended as bullets sliced down the hallway. Auel screamed in pain as one of them shot through his right leg; Stella shouldered her way back into the corridor to lay down a screen of suppressive fire, while Sting shoved Auel against the wall and assessed the wound.

"Don't be a pussy, it missed the bone," he grumbled.

"Just shut the fuck up and patch it, you asshole," Auel hissed back through gritted teeth.

Stella charged forward with a shout— and up ahead, the three ZAFT soldiers in front of the maintenance hatch backed away in disbelief. Stella plunged in between them with a knife drawn in her left hand— and in seconds, two of the soldiers went down with strangled cries and clouds of blood. The third backed into the wall, white with terror, as Stella brought her bloodstained knife around towards his neck.

And then the knife stopped, and Stella stared expectantly at him. A moment later, he dropped his rifle and fled.

"What, you spare people now, Stella?" Sting scoffed. Auel let out a yelp as he finished patching the wound.

Stella pointed to the maintenance hatch. "In. Let's get this done."

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The world came back as a painful rush of sounds and feelings, and for a moment, Shinn Asuka wondered if he was dead.

But if he was dead his head wouldn't hurt so much. He blinked away the blurriness and slowly sat up. He was in the Minerva's infirmary— the infirmary? He glanced around slowly, and found Athrun sitting on a nearby bed, wrapped up in bandages, with a sad smile on his face— and Viveka sitting next to him, her head on his shoulder, sound asleep.

"I see you're back," Athrun said softly.

"Something like that," Shinn grunted, and rubbed his own head. "What happened...?"

"You tell me. We found you inside what was left of the Zulfiqar."

Shinn blinked again and rubbed his eyes. "And...what about Rau?"

Athrun smiled. "He won't be causing us anymore problems." He glanced over at Shinn. "And Kira...?"

"The same."

Both men looked quietly towards the floor. Shinn slowly laid back down. For so long he had been consumed with the idea of revenge on Kira Yamato, and now that he finally had it, he didn't feel any different than he had before.

The rumbling of explosions slowly reached his brain. "The battle's still going on?"

"Yeah," Athrun said, and his smile disappeared as he glanced at Viveka. "So we'll just have to hope."

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Sting Oakley howled in pain as a bullet found its way through his shoulder. He dropped to one knee— and Stella seized his fallen rifle in her off-hand and let loose a torrent of bullets down the hallway towards the pursuing ZAFT soldiers.

"Oh, now who's being a pussy?" Auel grunted, as he painfully maneuvered closer to deal with the injury. Stella put herself between them and the ZAFT soldiers as they moved up through a broken elevator shaft. At the top, according to Aoma, was a shuttle bay— and hopefully a shuttle or two.

The whole fortress was in chaos. Some of its crew were trying to evacuate, others trying to undo the damage three Extended had done from a single maintenance station. A core meltdown was already underway and the reactor would explode at any moment. And with NEO-GENESIS's capacitors almost fully charged, there was no way the ensuing damage would fail to knock the fortress out of the battle— or worse.

Which was no particular comfort to Stella, because she and her friends were still inside it.

The three Extended reached the top of the elevator shaft and Stella pried the door open— and immediately threw herself and her friends against the wall as a ZAFT soldier on the other side opened fire with a submachinegun. The bullets bounced through the shaft and one of them grazed Stella's shoulder; she hissed in pain, but shoved it all down and lunged forward, bayonet fixed, and ripped the man's throat open. The mechanics and soldiers around the hangar backed away, and those who were armed reached for their weapons— at least until Stella seized the fallen soldier's rifle and peppered the entire hangar with bullets.

"Sting, Auel, get over there!" she screamed, and nodded over her shoulder— where a green ZAFT shuttle was waiting, apparently for evacuees. Sting and Auel hobbled over as Stella emptied the clips and the ZAFT troops took cover. More soldiers began to creep out of hiding, rifles drawn.

They were her friends. They needed her. They had a future, and she would not let them lose that. The seed fell before her eyes.

Stella took one step back to steady herself and launched two grenades into the soldiers' ranks, then turned on her heel and vaulted towards the open hatch, as Sting and Auel dragged themselves inside. Bullets bounced off the hull around her; she slammed the hatch shut and darted forward into the cockpit.

"Shit, the reactor's going critical!" Auel exclaimed. "Hurry it up— "

He fell back with a yelp as the shuttle lurched forward. Stella narrowed her eyes at the hangar opening ahead— and then the shuttle rattled to life and rocketed out of the hangar.

Stella sat back with a sigh and glanced over her shoulder as she guided the shuttle away. Arms of fire clawed their way out of Messiah's openings. Sparks flashed around the dying fortress. The NEO-GENESIS array flickered once. Messiah vanished in a thundering ball of flames.

And Stella risked a smile as she pointed the shuttle back towards the Minerva's IFF. Her work was done.

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All was silent in the control room as the ZAKU Goliath disappeared from the tactical map. It was victory, of a sort— but with so many ruined cities, so many lost lives, it tasted as bitter as defeat.

But Admiral MacIntyre would take it.

He rose to his feet at the sight of a balding man in a white ZAFT uniform on the main screen. The bald man saluted. "Commander Paul Svante of the ZAFT forces," he said, and his eyes held the somber resignation of a man leading a defeated army. "I'm the highest ranking ZAFT officer left, of a sort."

"Of a sort?" MacIntyre echoed.

"I'm contacting you to request terms for a ceasefire," he said, "as prelude to a surrender of my forces." He swallowed. "I expect my men to be treated according to the Corsica Treaty's provisions."

MacIntyre frowned. "You're the man who led the fleet that just switched sides," he said. "How do you know they'll trust you?"

Svante gave MacIntyre the saddest smile the admiral had ever seen. "Who else will they listen to?"

MacIntyre regarded the man for a moment, and decided that, opportunist or genuinely good man or not, a chance to end the war now stood before him. "Very well, commander," he said. "Consider a ceasefire ordered."

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The guns had fallen silent by the time the battered but victorious Eclipse drifted to a halt next to the mutilated Twilight Cortana. Lily was already standing on the blackened armor, tears in her eyes. Emily slipped on her own helmet, closed the visor, opened the Eclipse's hatch, and painfully got out of the cockpit to drift down to Lily— and as soon as they met, they were in each other's arms.

"T-Trojan," Lily sobbed, "he's, he's gone..."

Emily squeezed her eyes shut. There would be time later to let the tears flow. Time when Viveka could hold her and tell her everything would be okay. But for now, that was her role— and if she could do nothing else well today, she would do that.

"I'm so sorry, Emily," Lily went on, "I'm so sorry, if I'd just— "

"No," Emily interrupted, "no, this isn't your fault." She clenched her teeth. No, it was her fault. If she'd just— she pushed those thoughts down. There would be time for those too. But not now.

Trojan...and the little sliver of her mother that she'd seen for so long in that clone. Maybe she would have been able to save her, to save that little spark, to save that last piece of her mother reaching back from the past. Maybe she would have had the parent that loved her back with her again. Maybe he wouldn't have had to die, for something so stupid. Maybe...

But what did that matter.

"But," Lily murmured, "Emily...n-now you're..." She choked on the word. "Alone..."

Emily took Lily by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. "I'm not alone," she said, even as the tears flowed. "I'm never alone. And neither are you. Because," she squeezed Lily's shoulders, "we still have each other."

"But I'm not Trojan!" Lily wailed. "I can't be like that— "

"No," Emily said, "but we're not alone." She gestured off— towards the Earth, blue and bright, down below. "We have the whole world. We still have friends. And we still have each other."

Lily looked down haltingly towards the planet. "But...we lost so many..."

"And there's so many we didn't lose," Emily said, smiling through her tears. "I can feel them. Shinn, Athrun, Viveka, Stella, Sting, Auel, Meyrin...they survived. They're still here." She pulled Lily closer and held her tightly as the tears surged. "It's going to hurt. It...it's not going to be the same. But we can...we can make this all worth it. We can make everything worth it." She looked into Lily's eyes, blinking through her tears. "We can live a life that's worth all this suffering. A life that's worth all these deaths. A life that's worth it. Doesn't that sound better?"

Lily managed to nod once, before she collapsed against Emily again, and together they wept as they drifted above the Earth on a silent battlefield.

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A sunny day and a cloudless sky greeted Joseph Copland as he stepped up to the podium. Tradition dictated that the new Secretary-General of the revived United Nations was to make his inaugural address at the United Nations building up in New York, but Secretary-General Copland had chosen a different venue. A more fitting venue for the work ahead.

It would be a different United Nations. A United Nations with teeth, a United Nations with power— but a United Nations without significant force. Nobody would have significant force. Certainly not enough to go repeating what the press had decided to call Ragnarok. Only that armed force consistent with public safety and national defense was acceptable these days. And that was just as Secretary-General Copland liked it.

He shook the hand of the Atlantic Federation's new president amid the audience's applause of his introduction. The poor man was essentially a cabinet secretary elevated to the presidency by destiny and with little idea what he was doing in such a lofty position— all the more so because it wasn't as lofty as it used to be. The politics of a world exhausted by war and wary of the prospects of another did that to an office like that of President of the Atlantic Federation. It hadn't helped that his first act in office had to been to pardon Admiral MacIntyre for his actions regarding President Meyers— and Copland glanced surreptitiously into the audience, where the old admiral himself was sitting with a nervous-looking black-haired girl by his side. Adopted Extended, he'd called her. He smiled. It was a good sign, he supposed.

Copland allowed himself one last look at his chosen venue before he stepped up to the podium and waited for the applause to die down.

"I know," he said, as the audience fell silent, "that this is a break with tradition for new Secretaries-General. I know I should have given my inaugural address at the UN building in New York. But this place," he extended his arms, "this place is a place that human history has forgotten. It is a place we should not have forgotten. There are lessons to be learned here, and we have forgotten them. It is my hope that together, we can learn them once again.

"As the television crews have no doubt told you," he went on, "this place is a memorial to a war from the Anno Domini era. It's a war memorial, but it does not list battles or units or ranks or awards. It lists names. Fifty-eight thousand names, stretching from end to end along a gaping wound in the earth. The wound closes at the far end with the last of the names— but as we know, the wound never really closed, and we never really learned the lesson it held.

"We have forgotten this wall. And we should not have. Because to look at this wall is to look the madness of war in the face." He paused for a moment and looked out over the assorted delegates crowded before him. "The names on this wall are not names of soldiers. They are names of people. To look at their names is to look at fathers, sons, brothers, husbands, friends, who did not come home. To look at this wall is to look at mothers, daughters, sisters, wives, friends, who would nurse pain and heartbreak to the end of their days. To look at this wall is to look at the horrible things war does to people. But we have not looked at this wall in a long time— and it shows.

"And there is another lesson this wall holds, a lesson not even the people of its own time learned." He gestured behind the audience. "You may have noticed the statues pointed towards this wall. You may have overlooked them, because the enormity of the wall commanded your attention. And sadly, that is only human nature. But we must not overlook the ones who came back alive— because they hold lessons for us, and they will need our care and grief and memory, as surely as the dead.

"I have chosen to speak in front of this wall because it is these lessons that we must remember now, in the wake of the bloodiest war in human history," Copland said, his hands resting on the podium. "I have chosen to speak in front of this wall because it is these lessons that must guide us as we rebuild our world. It is this wall that tells us what madness results from turning humanity's energies toward destruction and prejudice, and away from construction and unity." He gestured to the wall again. "There are fifty-eight thousand names on that wall, and there are three soldiers that represent the countless living victims, to remind us of that."

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It was supposed to be a temporary measure, but to Kara Guinness, it just felt like sick irony.

The empty streets of Copernicus were now home to a few million hopeless, desolate Coordinators. Officially, the reason they'd been herded here was to avoid the cost of constructing or procuring some other space for refugee housing. But Kara had to wonder, as she stared bleakly across a street still marred by ruined cars and burnt-out buildings, if this was supposed to be some kind of punishment for her people, that they should inhabit the carcass of a city they themselves had killed.

Joseph Copland's voice filled the air. "There were, of course, crimes committed during this war that cannot be forgiven. And even now, diehards from both sides continue to reject reality and carry on the battle. To them, I point to the example already set here in Washington, by the former captain and executive officer of the Phantom Pain's flagship. There will be justice for those who committed crimes during these years of war; but there will be forgiveness for those who seek it— and earn it. And for those who persist in fighting, know that we will not stop until you can no longer threaten our hard-won peace."

Kara shook her head. Somewhere in her mind, she knew she was lucky to still be alive. The Naturals hadn't had to simply shuffle her into the refugee system. The Naturals hadn't had to dump the Coordinators here and feed them enough supplies to survive while a decision was made about their future. The Naturals didn't have to offer to allow them to rebuild the PLANTs at L5— to rebuild their homeland— amid a new and more equitable existence. She knew this, because many of them had made it clear that they hadn't wanted to do so.

But they had.

There was talk from time to time in the camp of continuing the fight. It was all just so stupid. Gary, Juarez...what had they died for? Had they died to see the last of their people treated like castaways? Had they died so that their rebuilt nation could depend on the magnanimity of the victors?

Was it even worth caring if that's where their new nation was born? She had been fighting for so long, and now, in everything she did, she was just...tired.

"The cruelties of war and the barbarities of prejudice have shattered the bonds of our common humanity," said Joseph Copland, "but that is no reason for us to fail to rebuild them— and to begin again."

Kara hung her head and tried not to cry. Rebuild the bonds, begin again...perhaps she would do that. But she would have to do it alone.

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With all else said and done, Aoma Vedlow was at least grateful to have a fellow ZAFT Red among her ranks. They were few and far between these days— and most of them were among the masses of the defeated forces of ZAFT, and legally barred from military service or ownership of weapons. Aoma figured it was only fair. The last time they'd owned weapons, they had tried to destroy the entire world. You just didn't give matches to a pyromaniac unless you wanted your house burned down.

And Riika Sheder was about as good as they came. She was no Shinn Asuka, no Athrun Zala, but she got the job done well enough.

Together they stood on the bridge of the Star One, as the Vedlow Fleet patrolled the space around Lagrange Point 5 and Joseph Copland blathered on about reunification and reconciliation and truth commissions. Let him talk philosophy and high ideals. There was work to be done here. A vast fleet of construction and cargo ships had descended upon L5 to break up the shoal zone and get to work on a new set of PLANTs to house what remained of the Coordinator people.

"Many have called for punitive measures against the Coordinators," Joseph Copland said. "To them, I say that you have not learned the lessons of this wall— or the lessons of this war. For it was the bitter cycle of revenge and hatred that brought us to this disastrous point, and we will not produce a better world from these ashes by crucifying someone for it."

Aoma snorted. "Cycle of revenge, huh?"

Riika looked down sadly. "He's right, y'know." Aoma glanced at her. "About revenge. It...really is pretty stupid when you think about it."

Aoma frowned as she studied the other woman's somber face. "I guess," she said at last with a shrug, and turned back towards the bridge windows. "Where's the Deliverance?"

The Deliverance. That one had pissed off the ZAFT vets. The last ship of the Eternal-class, the bone-white Deliverance, the new flagship of the fleet of ex-Resistance and Alliance members who had joined forces and weapons to protect the Coordinators in their miserable existence on Copernicus. Some fellow named Hatias had arrested the ship's original captain and taken the thing for his flagship, and he and Commander Svante were leading negotiations with the UN and the nations of Earth on behalf of the Coordinators. Which certainly didn't sit well with the Coordinators.

But if they wanted to live, they would have to play by the rules. The same rules everyone had to follow. There was no sense in going to war these days.

And there was far too much to do.

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"When's he gonna shut up already?"

"He's a politician, Auel, he doesn't shut up."

The office at Althea Crater was something of a nightmare as Joseph Copland's speech filtered through the PA system and Sting Oakley finished typing up his latest message to Meyrin on Earth. She would distribute it to the rest of their friends, and they would understand that things up here were, well, busy.

"As we rebuild, we must remember that this war has destroyed more than buildings," Copland spoke. "It has left human wreckage as real as any other. From the horrors of Althea Crater to the world's many orphans and wounded and traumatized, this war has had a long reach— and we must answer their needs with world-class humanitarian supplies, medical care, counseling..."

Dr. Coast had set up quite an operation working on these Extended. Hayden had shown up well, for "security." At Althea Crater, "security" meant capturing unstable Extended children who tried to escape from time to time— which was why Hayden was in charge of quite a team of burly men all remarkably skilled at the art of wrestling angry preteens to the floor and injecting them with sedatives.

"Hey, I thought you were going to get Caitlyn some more counselors," Auel spoke up, and thumped his hands on Sting's desk. "She said she's short-staffed."

"I know, I know," Sting said, "but the flights are all screwed up and I had to deal with the shipment of surgical supplies for Coast first."

Auel looked decidedly displeased but apparently thought better than to press the issue. Sting idly wondered how much of this was about Dr. Hardin's pressing need for increased counseling staff and how much was because Auel totally had the hots for her. It was probably even.

Then again, nobody had thrown himself into this business more deeply than Auel Neider, the "former Extended" who made it a point to work with those Extended subjects who had reached more advanced stages of their rehabilitation. In six months of this, Sting, Auel, and everyone else involved in the project had rapidly learned that rehabilitating an Extended subject was only possible if one followed a long and arduous process rife with setbacks and false starts, and not all of them were strictly medical. Everyone, including Auel, knew he would not have the patience for those earlier stages.

"Above all else," Copland said, "we must offer the human victims of these long years of war our love, our understanding, our compassion, our charity— and our community."

And as for Sting...

He looked down at the stack of paperwork on his desk, at the messages piling up on his computer, at the myriad of things that still needed doing, and he smiled. Captain Lee would be proud.

He picked up the phone and dialed a number. Dr. Hardin, after all, did need some more counselors.

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"And as we recall the human victims of this war, we must recall that they do not exist here on Earth alone," said Joseph Copland. "They are everywhere, wherever human beings make their home— because this war has touched every place that human beings call home."

The speech was background noise on the bridge of the ReHOME as the final preparations took place for takeoff. It was one of those moments that had Lowe Gear absolutely giddy with anticipation— although as Kisato was quick to point out, most moments had him absolutely giddy with anticipation. But Lowe Gear certainly couldn't help it if life was being particularly awesome today.

For the ReHOME had a mission. Questioning of those ex-ZAFT guys had revealed an extensive set of colonies on Mars, more complex than most people had really realized. And those colonies had been just as ravaged by war as the Earth Sphere. The DSSD had already gone out there and some beautiful Coordinator woman had led the charge to establish a new research installation on Mars, where they could begin research and development of a deep space exploration machine. One of the ReHOME's missions was to bring them some startup supplies.

The other mission, though, was one of contact.

"We must offer a helping hand and a compassionate heart to all those around the solar system who have suffered in this war," Copland said, "for it is only by embracing our common humanity and our common descent from this planet that we will prevent another catastrophe."

Well, that was a nice sentiment too, thought Lowe, but just in case he was wrong, there was the other totally awesome part of this mission. And with that, he glanced quickly over at Gai Murakumo, sitting in one of the observer's chairs, stone-faced as always. Serpent Tail was officially along for "security," in case any of those Martian colonists tried to pick a fight. Not that Lowe was worried. He still had the Red Frame, after all.

Canard, though...that had been something of a sad farewell. But Meriol would probably be thrilled to have him back. Lowe smiled at that thought. It was kind of cute. Kisato hadn't stopped gushing.

It was kind of weird this time, having a full crew for the ReHOME. But they had months to get to know each other. They had the world ahead of them. They had Mars ahead of them. Lowe Gear had never been to Mars. And he couldn't wait.

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"You could learn a thing or two from him," chuckled Viveka. "Sorry, Athrun, but you can't give speeches for shit."

Athrun Zala sat back in his office chair as Joseph Copland spoke on the computer screen before him. It was true, really. Copland hadn't chosen Athrun Zala as the new Administrator of the United Nations Mandate of Orb for his oratory skills.

As the rising skyscrapers and bustling reconstruction economy testified, he'd been chosen for something else.

"Even the nations that were erased by these wars will be rebuilt," Copland added, "and it will be the United Nations' policy to support any peaceful movement that wishes to assert independence denied during the past seven years of war."

"Oh, we'll see how long that lasts," Viveka snorted.

Athrun nodded sagely. High-flying ideals were nice in inauguration speeches, but reality tended not to care. The world's powers had already fractured rather significantly and divided the world up between over a dozen power blocs, and the blocs themselves threatened to fracture even more.

That had been the most painful lesson here. Politics always bowed to reality, not ideals. Orb had been ravaged by years of war, desolation, and neglect. Its entire political system would have to be rebuilt. The five noble families that had been its bulwark were extinct now— but Athrun Zala had a team of lawyers and local politicians crafting a constitution to set up something assuredly better than what Jona Roma Seiran had in mind for the new Orb. Certain segments of the press were demanding that he run for a leadership position in the new government. He would have to make up his mind.

After all, he had Viveka, as he felt the weight of her mechanical arm on his shoulder. In a few weeks, she would fly up to Althea to go see Dr. Coast and have that thing replaced and her new eye put in. It would be years before she could use them as well as she could normal parts, but at least there wasn't a war she needed to fight. And he had other personal bodyguards— although none did quite as personal a job of guarding his body as Viveka von Oldendorf.

So that would be lonely, dealing with the politicians, the corporate executives, the soldiers, the press, the whole crush of being the executive officer of a rebuilding nation...

But there was consolation. He was rebuilding Cagalli's legacy. He was building the Orb she would have wanted: free, democratic, responsible to its people, sensible enough to stay out of foreign entanglements, prosperous, strong.

And there were other things. He glanced up at the clock. It was almost time to send Kyoko off to school.

Poor Kyoko, the black-haired Extended girl that Athrun and Viveka had adopted soon after the war. So quiet, so shy, so frightened of everything, it had taken them weeks to get her to interact with them in a way other than clipped military formality. Athrun idly thought back to Copland's earlier point about the human wreckage of this war. But Kyoko, like Orb, was on the rise. And Kyoko was why Athrun had spent the past week surreptitiously pricing engagement rings. And that had been rather difficult itself, because while Athrun knew a great many things about Viveka von Oldendorf's body, her ring size was not one of them.

Athrun glanced up at the clock again. Viveka followed his gaze and nodded. "You want to see her off or should I do it?"

He waved at the screen. "The press is gonna ask me all about this speech when he's done, so I should probably know what he said in it first. Tell Kyoko goodbye for me."

"You know I will," Viveka said, and left him with a kiss.

Athrun watched her go, and then reluctantly turned his eyes back towards the screen. After all, he had work to do. For Viveka, for Kyoko, for Cagalli...and even for Kira. Not the man he became, but the man he had been, once, long ago.

They all needed a country. They would have it. And Athrun Zala would make sure they got it.

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Finally, a place where he didn't have to listen to that damn speech.

Vino Dupre was oddly pleased to be at work for once. It wasn't just because the work consisted of repairs and refit to the mighty Minerva in the Onogoro docks, although it was satisfying to give his old home the good overhaul it so richly deserved.

It was a place of purpose. The whole crew was here, none of them willing to abandon the ship into which they'd sunk their hearts and souls. Abes was in charge of the refit, because no one else was going to oversee the refit of his ship, and Abbey was there as well in her starched white and blue uniform. This ship was going to be a symbol of Orb's willingness to defend its soon-to-be-reclaimed independence, and damned if Commander Abbey Windsor of the Orb Defense Force was going to let the Minerva's crew slack off now that there was no war on.

Vino paused over his work orders and idly wondered if they could ever get Roxy to actually act like a soldier, though. Probably not. On the other hand, she did like her new military paycheck as an ensign in the ODF, since she had more money to blow on booze and all. They were really going to have to get her to cut back.

Across the dock, Yolant shouted orders to a knot of Morgenroete mechanics working on the portside Tristan. Everyone who had survived the war with the Minerva was here, or would be soon. Even him.

Vino's thoughts momentarily soured as his thoughts turned to his old friend. But the feeling dissipated. It had been hard lately to muster up the will to hate the man, really.

Because, at this point...who cared?

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