Chapter Text
One. Two. Three. Four.
Two from starboard, one from port, and the last from directly above him. Four simultaneous attacks from three different directions, each aimed at his cockpit. A different pilot might get distracted with this much attention. They might panic or freeze under the pressure. But he was a Newtype, and he’d fought in too many battles for something like this to shake him.
“ Die imposter scum! ” The Gaza C pilot cried from his right as he fired. Three shots from the Dom Tropen’s bazooka from above. The two Gelgoogs from his left were approaching in a straight line.
It was all too simple. Not that he would ever crack a smile about it. He knew what war did to people. He didn’t hate them for what they thought they were doing. More than anything, he felt bad for them. But they were standing between him and his goal, and he had a job to do.
The orange and cream-colored Rick Dias darted forwards as it pulled out a beam saber. The pair of beam pistols still stored on the back-mounted rack tipped up. Their mobility was limited and could only shoot within a certain radius behind him, so he leaned forward just enough to get his shots off. Two shots fired from each of the pistols, shooting down all three bazooka rounds and the Dom Tropen in the blink of an eye.
It was stupid for them to shoot at someone as fast as him from opposite sides. One of the Gelgoogs exploded as the shot from the Gaza C flew past the Rick Dias without hitting him, continuing on until it hit its ally.
He dove to his right, cutting through the cockpit of the Gaza C with his beam saber. Over the crackling radio he was met with silence. The pilot was killed instantly and painlessly. It was the most humane thing he could have done.
He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder as he shot down the remaining Gelgoog. They really shouldn’t have come straight at him. They made an easy target, not that he would have missed anyway.
Another group from the Delaz Coalition had found them. That was the second attack in the past week. They couldn’t be compromised already, could they? Had someone tracked them here somehow, or was it just dumb luck?
“Great job, Amuro,” Job John called out. He hadn’t even been able to launch in his Nemo before Amuro had taken out the attackers. Just like the last attack. And the one before that. And the one before that. At this point it was more of a joke really than actually supporting the Amuro in battle. The White Unicorn never needed a wingman against these kinds of small assault forces.
“Clear the landing strip,” Amuro ordered. “I’m coming back in. Tell Sayla we need to start plotting a new course. If we’re getting this much attention from the Delaz Coalition, we might want to try to go somewhere else for now. Ever since that speech in Loum, they’ve been outright vicious. It might be good to stay low-profile a little longer.”
Amuro rolled his eyes as his captain scoffed. “Somehow, I don’t think she’s exactly going to agree with you, Amuro.”
“You never know, Hamon,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s never too late. Maybe one of these days someone will out-stubborn her on something.”
“Not likely! Now get back in here and talk to her yourself instead of sending Job John in to be ritualistically sacrificed.”
“Yeah!” Job John chimed in. “Not cool, man. She’s your fiancée, so you can talk to her.”
“Hamon is the captain!” he argued, lining up his Rick Dias for the docking procedure. “Doesn’t that come with a certain amount of responsibility?”
Hamon Crowley rolled her eyes. Sometimes she didn’t know how she ever got involved in these kids’ antics. Other times she didn’t know how she ever lived without it. “I’m a captain in name only. It’s not my fault that you and Sayla are both too famous to deal with port officials.”
Their ship didn’t actually have a captain. They weren’t military, after all. They didn’t organize themselves like that. It was a bit of a running joke though that Hamon was in charge. The last time they had used Amuro’s name on the ship manifest, someone had immediately made the connection to both Tem Ray and Quattro Ray, and that was too much attention for a ship on the run. The same reasoning disqualified Sayla, the infamous Artesia Deikun.
Hamon was happy to do her part. Ramba had given his life for this cause, whether he had known what it would grow into or not. Hamon was ready to do the same. Artesia had grown into such a strong and stable figure that Hamon trusted entirely. And it wasn’t like Hamon wasn’t qualified to lead. She might not have been an official soldier, but Ramba’s men had looked up to her as if she were.
Where Artesia was growing into an orator as brilliant as her father and a wonderful businesswoman, Hamon had taken on most of the responsibilities of the leader of the crew. Sayla had enough to worry about without thinking about fueling logistics and scheduling the crew for meal breaks. Artesia was the leader and Amuro was the one in charge of battle strategy, but Hamon was the boss.
Amuro didn’t take long to dock the Rick Dias. Job John and Hamon were both waiting for him as he stepped out of the cockpit. Job John’s Nemo and the reserve Nemo both stood tall next to his Rick Dias in the hanger while Sayla’s collected dust in the corner. Amuro was very vocal in not letting her fight any battles unless absolutely necessary. The risks were too great.
That might be the only argument he’d won with her in the past five years. Really, ever since Sayla had begun her crusade to expose corruption and help lend a voice to the people of space, she had begun pouring more and more of her soul into her cause. And as she did so, she became more determined than ever to put it to good use. No one and nothing would prevent her from doing what she thought needed to be done, not even her own safety.
Sayla was the kindest and sweetest person Amuro had ever met. She was gentle, insightful, and generous. She had found multiple backers over the years, but took barely enough money to fuel her ship and feed herself. The rest went to whatever group she thought needed it most or could use it to the best ability.
But she was stubborn when she wanted to be, and that trait, amongst others, had earned her a fair number of enemies. Not to mention those, like the Delaz Coalition, who just wanted her dead for being a Deikun. She didn’t care about the threats though. She shrugged off the assassination attempts. And when her ship flew, she never worried about being shot down. To any sane person that would sound insane, but to anyone who had seen her crew in action, it made complete sense.
After all, they had the White Unicorn to protect them.
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It is the year 0085 of the Universal Century. Five years after the end of the One Year War, battle continues to rage throughout the Earth and her colonies. It took several years, but with the looming threat of Kycilia Zabi and most of what made up the Zeon army hiding out beyond their reach, the Earth Federation establishes an elite counter-insurgency division called the Titans. Their official edict is to stomp out any remaining forces from the Principality. To do so, they establish strongholds throughout the colonies and patrol, looking for sympathizers and signs of movement. They stamp out anyone who crosses them, whether in their mandate or not.
Kycilia Zabi continues to hide in the shadows, but a new threat has risen from the ashes of the One Year War. The Delaz Coalition, a group of Gihren Zabi loyalists led by Aiguille Delaz and Eric Manthfield, have declared open war on not just the Federation, but anyone deemed a traitor to the true Zabi reign. This includes the Republic of Zeon’s current Prime Minister, Garma Zabi, and prominent humanitarian Artesia Som Deikun.
The Coalition formed initially in response to the death of Gihren Zabi, consisting only of his most loyal men. But in time their numbers have grown. Remnants of the Zeon army filter back to the colonies and begin rejoining the cause. In their eyes, the war never should have ended, and they will not rest until they win, or kill everyone else in their way.
The Delaz Coalition attempted to drop a colony on the Earth, namely the remains of what had once been called Side 7. Fully evacuated after the war in order to move into the newly constructed Green Noa 1 and Green Noa 2, the Side 7 colony was vacant, but still would have done irrevocable damage. Although the drop was prevented by a paramilitary group known as the AEUG, the Titans take notice of the rising tensions and prepare for an all-out war. They will not allow for a repeat of the One Week Battle.
Garma Zabi and Artesia Deikun are both implicated for what some view as anti-Federation dogma. Already tense relations between Spacenoids and Earthnoids continue to boil on the edge of the conflict, waiting for a new war to erupt all over again.
Zeon has become a punching bag. Under Garma Zabi, their food production has nearly doubled, their production facilities have increased, and their self-sufficiency is higher than ever. Their military spending is low, and their domestic lives are the best in the colonies.
Their sovereignty from the Treaty of Confeito and the subsequent trade deals have gained Zeon power over the other colonies. The other colonies remain under Federation control and are constantly used to pay any debts owed to Zeon. The Federation despise Zeon for the war, while the other colonies have begun to turn on Zeon for the way it takes advantage of them. Zeon’s freedom seems to come at a cost to the rest of the colonies.
This continues to put Artesia Deikun in an awkward position. Garma Zabi is one of her most well-known backers, pouring his personal funds into her campaigns and publicly defending her business moves in the press. At the same time, they argue over Zeon’s role within the greater colony structure. Her focus is on all of the colonies, running directly in the face of his role as Prime Minister.
War lies on the horizon, and as the Delaz Coalition regroup, the Titans prepare. The colonies are divided in almost every way, and no one can figure out who is their friend and who is their foe. Deceit and treachery are around every corner as everyone tries their best to avoid another all-out war.
The pages of the universal Century paint a bloody picture, and now is no different. Each faction and each person has their own goals and plans in place, but not everyone can win. War is coming.
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The computer beeped quietly, a small green light flashing almost imperceptibly on his dash. A red glove reaches comely beneath the machine to punch a new control input into the computer as the lights of Green Noa 1 sparkle in the distance.
The man in red taps several buttons to pull up a close-up view of the colony as the stars continue to fly by. Pulling up on the joystick to his left, his machine accelerates towards one of the colony's outward maintenance hatches.
Glancing back at his radar and then to his sides, he makes sure his wingmen are in position. The last time he had tried breaking into a colony in this region, it hadn’t gone well. Oh, how things come full circle, he thought to himself. I came for a Gundam last time, and in return I got her pilot .
Casval opened up his communication array as he continued to gain speed. “How are you doing over there, Lieutenant Apolly?”
The previously-mentioned Gundam pilot opened his own communications, and Casval heard the familiar voice cut through the static. “Stop micromanaging, Casval.”
Apolly chuckled on the other line, his stifled laughter distorting on the cheap radio system. “The cockpit is a little different, but give me three days and it will be like my own body!” It had been a while since Apolly flew a mission with both Char and Quattro at the same time. The men often split up on missions, but with the information they had been leaked about the Green Noa experiments, it was all hands on deck.
He forgot how much they argued like an old married couple. “None of us are rookies here,” Quattro sighed. “Keep comm chatter to a minimum. We don’t know what kind of security they have. The less you blabber, the less likely they will intercept our calls.”
“I know that,” Casval said calmly. “It was a fairly important question in my mind. Or don’t you want Apolly to live to see tomorrow?”
Before Quattro could reply, Casval was already pushing his red Rick Dias even faster towards the colony. Quattro rolled his eyes as he copied the maneuver. Casval may have suped up his machine by taking off the limiter, but so had Quattro. He followed swiftly in his custom painted white and pink Rick Dias. It was a rather in-your-face color scheme, but he was the White Devil, and the pink went well with Char’s red. Besides, it brought him good memories from his days flying the Zeta-III.
The two commanders flew off so quickly that Apolly’s black Rick Dias was left in the dust. “Hey!” Apolly cried as the two men left him behind in his slower Rick Dias. “Why are you suddenly in such a rush?!”
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“I assure you that everything is ready for the test flight.” Tem ignored the middle-aged man beside him. They had been working on this project for well over a year, but that didn’t mean he trusted Franklin Bidan to be at all adequate at his job. He was brilliant at times, Tem had to admit that, but he wasn’t nearly as irreplaceable as he seemed to think he was.
After all, it had been Tem who built the Gundam and the Mk-II. He was the Federation’s leading mobile suit designer, and he hardly needed someone standing over his shoulder and questioning his process. He damn well knew what he was doing!
“I have it under control, Franklin,” he spat. “You may have played a role in the Mk-III’s development, but it was my brainchild, and I know how the damn thing works! You would have gotten nowhere without my initial schematics, so don’t question me.”
Bidan scoffed. “If you were really so brilliant, it wouldn’t have taken you so long to put out our new mobile suit, now would it?”
There was more truth to the insult than even Bidan knew. Sure, Tem had spent most of his time working on mass-production suits and making better grunt suits rather than special ace suits, but part of why it had taken him five years to come up with a successor to the Mk-II was that it wasn’t his design. The upgrades in technology and materials were more superficial than true upgrades to Quattro’s design.
The Mk-II was outdated now. Even the GM III’s and Hizacks that were coming out now outclassed any Gundam from the One Year War, and for any Oldtype pilot, it would be hard to notice a difference from these grunts to even the Mk-II. Technology has come a long way.
Moveable frames like the one designed for the Mk-II were far sturdier and more capable than five years ago. Cooling systems were lighter. Panoramic displays and radio relays were higher quality, thruster output had been increased, and new advancements led to more efficient power supplies for beam weaponry. The Mk-II had been too far ahead of its time. Wherever he was, Quattro had probably had to trash it years ago from part degradation.
Tem felt a chill run up his spine at the thought of his former design partner. Quattro was a touchy subject for all who knew him. He had abandoned them, leaving them behind with nothing but lies and tarnished memories. Tem still didn’t know who he really was or what his goals were, but he did know that he was brilliant and not just as a pilot. Part of him wished Quattro were here instead of Franklin Bidan. Sure, he could be betrayed at any point, but at least Quattro was more competent.
Almost no one knew that Quattro was the true designer of the Mk-II at this point. It was a secret lost to time, and with the success of the Mk-II during the war and the added validity it gave Tem when asking for higher R&D budgets or more time on a project, he couldn’t afford for the truth to come out.
The Gundam RX-178, or the Gundam Mk-III, was the first design that Tem could definitively call an upgrade to Quattro’s design. It had taken him five years and suffering the likes of fools like Bidan, but he had finally done it.
The advances of the displays and frame technology were a huge step in increasing capabilities in his machine, but he wasn’t happy with simply calling incremental improvements an upgrade. Tem had completely re-designed the cockpit, including installing a new linear seat with electromagnetic shock absorption and gravity counteracting capabilities. The algorithms and camera placement were much more adept, allowing for a complete 360 degree view without any obstructions from the mobile suit itself.
Armor panels along the legs were removed completely. If hit by a beam weapon, they would be lost anyway, so Tem would just as well get rid of the extra weight. It meant they wouldn’t need to waste as much time on thrusters and cooling down the exhaust lines like they had in the Mk-II. Hopefully that would mean both longer flight times and less overheating.
Bidan hadn’t been able to fit vulcans in the head design, pushing for an external vulcan system, but Tem found the thought ridiculous. As a compromise, the Mk-III had small shoulder mounted vulcan guns on either side of the head. He had to admit, he may have gone overboard with the onboard computer taking up that much room, but like his original Gundam, the learning computer was vital to long-term success.
The Mk-III also boasted a clay bazooka and a beam rifle with changeable e-pacs for quick reloading, two beam sabres, and a reinforced shield. All in all, it was a fairly straight-forward design, but stronger, faster, and more agile than the Mk-II. It lacked the funnels and some of the more superfluous elements like a gatling gun in the arm, but it was also significantly sturdier and less expensive than the Mk-II. For the same price as one Mk-II, they had been able to build three Mk-III’s. To any normal pilot, even a Titan, the Mk-III was a true upgrade over the best the One Year War had to offer, and it was head and shoulder better than any other mobile suit they were currently rolling off the manufacturing line.
The biggest upgrade though had to be the computer system. The extra space for processing power was admittedly the reason why the Mkk-III couldn’t fit vulcans in the head, but it would be well worth it. Increased response to pilot inputs as well as a top of the line Psycommu system meant that whether Newtype or Oldtype, pilots would be able to respond to stimuli much quicker than in any previous machine. The learning computer from the original Gundam was further enhanced, and the learning capabilities of the Mk-III were even faster and more efficient. The processing power of the machine was higher than anything before it, and that alone would be enough to justify calling the machine an upgrade.
It was miles ahead of experimental units like the Zephyranthes or the Hazel units the Federation had tried cranking out. Tem couldn’t even remember 90 percent of the units and remodels and slapped together projects that the Federation had tried to greenlight for production. It was as if they wanted to put out as many designs as possible, throwing spaghetti at the wall to see which ones would stick. None of them had, really. The MK-III would.
Well, at least until Tem’s real designs were completed. He had far more advanced machines almost ready for testing, but while he waited for them to be manufactured he was being reassigned to make sure the Mk-III testing went smoothly. Which also meant he was stuck working with Bidan on these test prototypes.
Tem had been tagged in for his expertise in Newtype mobile suits so many times over the past several years that it was amazing any of them made it to production at all, but the Mk-III would just be the first. In his mind, this was just a testbed for everything that would come next.
“Can’t you hurry up, Tem?” Franklin whined. “The test pilots are waiting, and our guests will be here any minute! I won’t let your paranoia and ornery checks-”
“You mean my well-justified security precautions and thoroughness?”
Franklin practically growled at Tem, but he simply ignored the man. “Don’t screw this up for us, Tem,” he warned.
“We’re getting ready for war , Franklin,” Tem snapped. “This is no time for ego battles or trying to get a raise! We are doing important work here, and I won’t have it destroyed because you failed to check the output pressure before we ignite the power generators.” Frankly sputtered as Tem pointed out the error in Unit 2’s prep.
“I would have caught it before we started,” Bidan stammered.
“But you didn’t. I did. If you want to be useful for once, you can go take care of it while I finish my checks.”
Franklin scurried off muttering curses under his breath. He couldn’t wait for this project to be over. Sure, the fame and money would be nice. But mostly it was so he could finally get away from that damned Tem Ray.
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Casval tightened his grip on the control sticks of his Rick Dias. The colony was larger than he had realized. “I heard they made the colony out of Zeon scraps,” he muttered to himself. “They’re not responding to my approach. That’s not unusual in peace time, but… with tensions rising, are the Titans really that confident that they couldn’t imagine someone infiltrating a colony under their control?”
Casval had a deep disdain for the Titans. He had spent time after the war re-reading his fathers writings and watching his speeches, trying to get back in touch with his roots. One of the things that had stuck with him was his father’s love for the Earth and the natural beauty of the planet.
More than anyone, the Titans took that natural wonder for granted, polluting and desecrating the planet they called home. Combine that with their brutality and mistreatment of the people of the colonies, and Casval had an easy enemy. The Titans needed to go before they could do any more lasting harm to the people of space.
“Where do I break in…” he asked aloud. Per Quattro’s request, he had turned off his broadcast transmissions to limit the risk of being intercepted, but he still found it odd that they hadn’t been approached. Surely even a Titans-controlled colony would have safeguards in place. The political arena of the Earth Sphere wasn't exactly docile right now.
Casval moved towards the end of the colony, locating one of the large service hatches that led into the colony. Rotating one of the gears, he was able to open the large shutter doors and guide his red Rick Dias inside.
Part of him had wanted to ditch the custom color of his mobile suits after their run-ins with Neo during the One Year War, but he had realized that he liked the color red. Lalah had told him that it was a way of taking back his identity to continue using red as his custom color. He couldn’t let Neo’s past define his future, even if they were the same person.
As the doors opened all the way, Casval marched forward. A pair of technicians were making repairs on a conduit in the long service tunnel, but before they could raise any alarms, Casval fired a batch of sealant, covering their suits in the same kind of goop used to seal leaks or hull breaches. “Stop moving around!” he ordered them. “Save your oxygen until somebody finds you.”
At the end of the tunnel, there was a smaller access door. It was much too small for a mobile suit, which forced him in on foot, but that was a much smarter approach anyway. He could go unnoticed more easily if he used a flight backpack and stayed on foot than if he used his mobile suit. Even coming this far was pushing his luck. He needed to be as inconspicuous as possible while he moved in. When in doubt, he would have Quattro or Apolly come pick him up.
Casval grinned happily as he hacked the security panel to let him further inside. This mission was going too smoothly, but he was still making progress. He stayed on his toes as he peered around the corner. Seeing no one else nearby, he moved in.
He tried sending a message to his wingmen to let them know he had gotten inside the colony, but the walls of the service tunnel must have been too thick. He pushed onward. There was no time to waste fussing over equipment that wasn’t working. He planted a fuse on the last door blocking him off from the colony entrance. You better be in place, Quattro. I have a bad feeling about this.
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Sayla shook her head. “We can’t take a different path. We’re behind schedule as it is!”
Amuro threw his head back in exasperation. “Sayla, they’ve been on our tail since Loum. We don’t exactly have a warship like the White Base. We can’t take this many subsequent attacks and just expect there to be no consequences.”
Sayla sighed, rubbing her eyes. She hadn’t been sleeping very well. She always slept better with Amuro in her arms, but he had been so busy planning her security that he’d barely been coming back to bed the past few nights. “Amuro, you know how important it is for us to finish up this trip in time to meet with Wong Lee.”
Amuro grumbled to himself. “I hate that guy. He’s so stuck up!”
“Nonetheless, he’s an important backer. With the support from him and Anaheim Electronics, we were able to fund the medical research on the moon. Like him or not, our work with him has saved hundreds of lives.”
Amuro nodded slowly. “I know. But I don’t like you being so exposed. I still don’t like the plan.”
It had been a weeks-long argument. Sayla, or rather Artesia Som Deikun, was a public persona. She had been giving speeches and funding charitable programs since the war ended, but as such an influential figure she was also seen as a political figure. As Zeon Deikun’s daughter, the thought of entering politics terrified her.
But the time had come. Garma had been able to negotiate for a decent trade deal for Zeon, but it was hurting the economies of the other colonies. He wouldn’t fight back against the Federation, but someone had to. The AEUG were making great progress, but they were just fighters. Casval was in it to tear down the oppressors. He wasn’t ready to build something up in its place.
Sayla had been talking to as many people as possible, laying out the frameworks of a new relationship between Federation and colonies. The colonies were worse off than ever before. All of the concessions that the Federation had made with the Treaty of Confeito were being paid not by the Earth Federation, but her colonies. They were being sucked dry to better their mercantilist overseer, but they wouldn't survive like this forever. She had seen it every day for the past five years. This wasn’t sustainable.
As much as it terrified her, Artesia needed to take a public stand against the Federation. Zeon might be too scared of running a good thing, but the rest of the colonies were suffering. She had promised that they would always have a voice in her, and she needed to use it.
If she had to attach her face to a “terrorist group” like the AEUG for people to take her criticisms seriously, she would do it. She needed to get to the moon to give her next speech and call for a war against the Titans.
Amuro hated the idea. She was already under constant attacks from Delaz, but putting herself on the Titans hitlist was too far. Quattro and Char could handle it! Sayla shouldn’t have to be put in any more danger.
The compromise was a negotiation with Garma Zabi. Amuro had made Sayla promise that she would try to reach Garma to have him fight the battle for her. He had an actual army, not just a ragtag group of security. If he called for war, Sayla would still be safe, and he was in a better place to protect himself.
Sayla knew that it was useless. Garma’s hands were tied. He had to think of his own people first, and war gave Zeon more problems than solutions. Her priority was getting to the moon to meet with Wong Lee before the businessman had to return to the Earth. He would only be there for a few days, and she couldn’t risk missing that rendezvous. Too many of her endeavors needed funding to throw away someone who had supported her in the past.
At least while in Zeon, they could visit Kemp. Neither she nor Amuro had brought it up, but neither would miss the chance to see their old friend. It was something they both knew without saying it aloud.
But if they didn’t hurry, they wouldn’t make it at all. “We can’t take an alternate route.”
Amuro sighed. He should have known better than to expect his own stubbornness to outlast Sayla’s. “Then at least come to bed. We’re both going to need to get some sleep.”
Sayla nodded, slipping under the covers and into Amuro’s arms. The couple had gotten good at separating their work and home lives, even if they were the same thing. Even in the middle of an argument, they never went to bed angry at each other. “I love you, Amuro.”
“I love you too,” he whispered into her hair. “I just worry.” She smiled as he snuggled up closer to her, the rhythmic breathing lulling her to sleep. She never felt safer than when it was just the two of them.
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Tem breathed a sigh of relief as the last of the MK-III’s launched. At this point, the demonstration was out of his hands. He had to leave it up to the pilots to impress his superiors.
Several ranked officers from both the Titans and the wider Earth Federation Forces had come to see the new machines in action. With war on the horizon, these new Gundams had the potential of being starring players. The dark blue and black machines were adorned in the colors associated with the Titans, a signal to the change in military might.
Bask Om was the most important of the officers, although Tem had never spent time with the man. He was an imposing presence, while his right-hand man, Jamaican Daninghan, struck a much less imposing figure. Then there was the group of forgettable faces. And Bright Noa.
He was one of the officers present that was not specifically a part of the Titans. Tem hadn’t seen him since the war, when Bright had sucker punched him. They had been at A Baoa Qu together, but Tem had made sure never to see Bright. Tem didn’t like the man. Bright was no more than propaganda at this point in his career, standing in the way of true progress. He was just some stooge who didn’t see the larger picture. Not the way Tem did.
Tem smiled smugly as Franklin continued to schmooze the gathered officers. Tem watched his machines with interest. He could care less about the people watching. He wanted his babies to do well. And he wanted to know what he needed to fiddle with when they were done.
The machines soared gracefully through the colony, the artificially created clouds being blown around by the blazing speed of the blue bots. The three units weren’t carrying weapons for the flight since they were operating in what was considered a civilian colony, but regardless of that fact, they still struck an intimidating sight.
The trio, led by Captain Wes Murphy, had been working on this for months. They were some spectacular pilots, Tem had to admit. Murphy led the squad and used Unit 01, while Units 02 and 03 were assigned to Eliard Hunter and Chap Adel, respectively. Some of the first Federation soldiers to join the special Titans group, Hunter was the only one of the three not to be a One Year War veteran.
The Federation brass smiled and applauded as the trio carefully weaved between each other. These were hardly the kind of moves to make in an actual battle, but they looked pretty. Tem scoffed. They weren’t designed for an air show. But at least this would convince the leaders to continue funding his projects.
Tem finally took his eyes off of the display when he heard a few security officers enter the room and pull aside Bask Om, the Titans field commander. There were hushed whispers as neither officer wanted to be the one to address him.
“Speak,” he ordered. “Or else, leave.”
The first officer gulped. “Sir, we found mobile suits outside the colony. We believe they may already have some forces inside.” Bask stewed in silence, but Jamaican Daninghan, his chief deputy, spoke up.
“Scramble a team of Quel’s,” he ordered.
“With all due respect,” one of the security officers argued, “scrambling our forces will cause a public panic all over Green Noa 1. Everyone will-”
“Didn’t you see the memo?” Jamaican interrupted. “It is called Gryps, now. I would start referring to it as such if I were you.”
Bask’s low voice commanded attention. “Send out the Quel’s and call back the Mk-III’s. Have them on standby. If there are mobile suits, this would be the perfect opportunity to truly see what they are capable of.”
“Sir!” Bright inserted. “The colonies aren’t made to withstand that kind of assault. Allowing for a full confrontation within the colony would put the entire structure of the colony at risk! We’re right on the brink of where we lost Side 7. Do we really want to risk-”
“The Titans know what we’re doing, Commander Bright,” Jamaican asserted. “We have the authority here, not you. I would expect more respect for Bask Om’s orders from a war hero like yourself.”
Bright bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something he would regret. The Titans were the worst kind of Federation soldiers. It seemed like everyone he had butted heads with during the war became a Titan. Bright agreed that the government needed to stay strong to protect its people, but in his mind, the Titans walked a very fine line between protecting its people and attacking anyone else. It wasn’t lost on him that several important Titans were avid Earthnoid naturalists.
“Prepare the mobile suits teams,” Bask repeated. “We will see what they can do.”
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Casval kept a low profile as he moved through the colony, the jetpack helping him to move swiftly. He was happy to find plenty of cloud cover to keep him hidden, but it had the disadvantage in that he could barely see the facilities below him.
He took as many photos as he could, flying lower to get a better view of the alleged testing and maintenance warehouses. The intel he had received suggested that the Titans were designing the next stage of evolution in mobile suit technology, but from the clouds, he didn’t see a mobile suit.
There were all the signs of a mobile suit depot. Large buildings, maintenance lifts, ammunition stockpiles, etc. None of it was proof of the new Titans weapon, but with everything else he had heard, Casval was certain.
The Federation had a new poster child. There was only so much he could do about it, but he could at least get some photos of it so they could analyze the mobile suit. He would ideally be able to capture one of them (that was part of why he and Quattro had both come here after all), but he knew better than to launch an attack within a peaceful colony.
He had done it in Side 7 during the war, and if the Gundam pilot had been anyone other than Quattro, it was almost a certainty that the colony would have been destroyed. Colonies weren’t meant for the level of destruction that could occur during a mobile suit battle, and certainly not colonies like Green Noa that were still under construction.
Casval continued to fly as he took photos, moving lower to get a better look. There! A dark blue, almost black, mobile suit was landing at one of the hangars. It looked like a Gundam, but not one that Casval recognized. That had to be it!
He wanted to fly closer, but as he shifted his weight, he had the urge to pull up.
Casval went flying as a mobile suit flew through the airspace where he had almost flown into. If not for his Newtype senses, he would have been a bug on a windshield. He spun out of control, trying desperately to regain his balance. He still had no idea how Newtype powers worked, but he was endlessly thankful that they did.
A Gelgoog cut through the clouds, beam rifle out as it fired on the Titans hangar. Casval righted himself, heading back towards the service hatch he had entered through. Suddenly the lack of radio contact with Quattro and Apolly had him a lot more worried.
Before he entered the hallway, Casval took one last look over his shoulder. A squad of Quel’s were engaging with an invading group of Gelgoogs, Rick Doms, and Gelgoogs. Casval growled. “What are you doing?!” he shouted at no one in particular. The Delaz Coalition must have gotten the same information he had, and now they were launching an assault.
The Titans had no respect or understanding of the colonies. They fought to show power, not to protect the people they were sworn to. Not that the Delaz Coalition was any better. They knew full well what the colonies were like, they just didn’t care. They wanted to rule over the Earth Sphere, whether it was made up of colonies or just ash.
If they were going to have any chance of saving the colony, he needed to get back to his Rick Dias as soon as possible.