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A car pulls up to a small, beaten shack fifteen blocks from downtown, near the waste distribution centers. Amuro stepped out of the auto and took a breath. The shack reminded him of his childhood home, only three times too small. It's as if it had been through the wash. Another car, much like the one he was driving, was up on blocks in the yard, and a once prosperous flower garden had turned into a jungle in front of what Amuro could only assume was the kitchen. He felt apprehensive, his natural flee defense almost forcing him to get back in the car and put it in drive. Then he'd be done with it, for good. Why he'd decided to look up his father this late in the game, after all this time, he didn't know. Perhaps it was their untimely meeting, which coincident with his timely meeting with Gundam. It was all so cyclical and weird that he it left a taste in his mouth he hadn't been able to wash out. Maybe he thought a reunion would set things straight. He took the plunge, straightened his clothes, and knocked on the door. Nothing happened at first. Nothing happened for a while, but he heard a great deal of confused rummaging coming from inside. And then, to his surprise, a disoriented man with thick rimmed glasses appeared at the window. He fought with the curtains and finally opened the door. Amuro and his father held eye contact, neither making the first move. Then, finally, Amuro couldn't keep up the standoff. “Father?” And then: “Son?”
That was all the two could manage, still holding their ground as though each were a line of calvary facing off on opposite ends of a far off, unnamed battlefield. A lovely, perfectly simulated day went on around them as neither spoke.
Cameron sat in his office, pushing a pencil. He reveled in paperwork, but unfortunately today was not the case. The altercation a few hours previous still hung with him. His ego bruised, his nose red and probably broken, he couldn't find the necessary focus he was used to being able to turn on like a switch. He sat back and took in his office. A spacious, white cube surrounded him. He had all the essentials required for a productive bureaucrat of Side 6, plus a touch of his own decor here and there—just enough to retain its spartan nature. Below his desk was a fold-down mat where he could sleep if his business took him deep into the night, and oftentimes he did. It was his home away from home. He felt claustrophobic. There were no windows, he never felt the need for any. But now he wanted more than anything to look out into a park and see kids playing, or even a side of a brick building—anything, for god's sake. White Base had wrung his office not long after the incident and Mr. Bright had, personally, apologized for the incident. He apparently didn't think it queer to also request repairs, because his segue between the two issues was almost nonexistent. Cameron had taken a message, not answered it himself. Maybe they'd take that as his own obstinate rebuttal. But he wasn't angry anymore, just impatient—unable to sit still. The way Mirai looked at him, as though he were the lowly scum on the face of some moon rock, barely eking out a life sucking the nutrients of other single-celled organisms. It had stung him, more deeply than the day they'd parted. Which, of course, was not on very good terms. He, himself, though it was for the best. On Side 7, she would be safe, away from all the inhumane squabbling of the two “great” powers. He was going to make enough money, gain some clout in the new Side 6 government, so that she could move out with him and they'd start a family. But then... ...he'd gotten an abrupt message one day after work. It was Mirai, saying she didn't want to move to Side 6. Saying that she didn't really love him anymore and that she didn't know if she ever really did. And most jaggedly, her own laundry list of his character faults. She'd used words like “coward” and “self-interested.” She told him how much of what he did, he did for himself, not for them. He didn't care about her, so she said she didn't feel wrongly in reciprocating that apathy. He looked back at his life, the modest accomplishments and feathers in his cap that he'd clamored and fought for all his career. He'd worked hard to get where he was, and even harder for the respect and seniority he now had within his department. Shouldn't a woman feel some sort of admiration for a motivated, self-actuated man who brings home the bacon? Hadn't he made the big move, staking his life—his reputation—so that they may have had a better life together? No. She'd been right. Looking back, it had always been about him and what he could achieve for himself. His cube, his senior parking spot, his retirement plan, his closet of infinite ties. He'd been a bastard, and he'd forgotten what had really mattered along the ride. He was now nothing more than another late 30's, faceless bureaucrat without any hope of continuing his once good name.
But he had cared for her, that much he knew to be true. This was the reason now he did what he did. He picked up the phone and dialed the port authority and asked to be patched through to White Base. Forget proper procedure, he'd get them their repairs and he'd show Mirai that, though she might be right about most things, there was still a man somewhere deep inside, a man who used to care.
Amuro pushed a spoon around in the dark mottled beverage his father had set in front of him. He could only hope it was coffee, otherwise he'd spend a good deal of time away from Gundam's maintenance, and in the refresher. They had exchanged very many more words by this time, but Amuro had the feeling that'd end soon. His father, though always somewhat reserved in his manner, never wavered when it came to his son. He never hesitating in telling Amuro what he should or shouldn't be doing. Though he hadn't been wearing his uniform, he was sure his father had heard about everything. How could he not? “Not drinking it?” His father had downed two cups of the syrupy liquid himself in the interim, not even making a face as he pounded them. “No, I'm not really thirsty.” “Good, good, then follow me.” Tem grabbed the mug in front of Amuro and downed it without a count, then threw up his hands as if to say “finally.” He jumped up and almost ran to the back of the shack. He led them to an adjoining shanty, somewhat bigger than the house proper. Inside were all manner of devices, ranging from what appeared to be an active sonar, to something that could only be described as “metal pants.” All of it looked half-finished, or halfheartedly constructed. Before he could take it all in, his dad produced a small, elongated mechanical device that looked like nothing more than a corroborator. “So I've been listening to the broadband a lot, so I have, and your name's come up many, many times,” he wiped his nose on his sleeve, then refocused. “As you can guess, I am very proud of you. Very proud. It's amazing, really, what you've been able to do...” Amuro was almost feeling a certain level of pride himself, this coming from his father, but then... “...thanks to the Gundam, of course. It's performed almost flawless. Almost flawless. But I think, due to various pilot errors and design flaws inherent in almost any prototype, this can be solved.” He held up the corroborator device. “This is it. This is what I've devised, what I've spent, what I thought to be, the rest of my life, looking for. But, as luck has it, you arrived just as I was making the finishing modifications!” Amuro took the device in his hands and barely looked it over, putting on as though he were carefully analyzing it. It's then that he sees the medical tag on his father's arm, yellowed and frayed, but still readable. He doesn't bother to read it, but he soon starts to see the real man that his father was. What he saw was an aging, former genius with little more than a few marbles left. What he saw depressed him. Then his communicator beeped, and it was Bright. “Amuro, return to White Base, we're setting out for repairs. Return immediately.”
Hanging up, he took the circuitry without question and left a gape toothed, exuberant old man behind him as he drove away. He knew he'd never return.
Elsewhere on the seemingly pristine neutral world, a dark-skinned woman sits on a bench in flowing yellow robes. She watched children play with trucks in a sandbox, their gilded noggins glistening in the harmless artificial sun. They were beautiful and it made her heart sing to know that such things still existed in the world. Behind the two boys was a whole sea of children competing in bag races and other playground games. She almost got up to join in, but before she could a blond man sat down beside her and started talking as if already in the midst of a conversation. “It's a beautiful day, isn't it?” She relaxed again on the bench. “Yes.” “The fate of humanity rests in the children,” he said loftily. “But it all comes down to the father.” Lalah turned briskly then, her coloring changing slightly. “And the mother.” “Yes, most importantly, with the mother. What are we without the nurturing, caring hand of the woman who brought us into this world?” Lalah didn't reply to his seemingly rhetorical question, instead her thoughts floated. She thought of the father. His strong, encouraging hand complementing that of the mother's, and what the blond man had said made more sense to her. She envisioned all the sons who had forgotten that touch.. They walked a lonely path, terrified in a world with no strong support, no thankful embrace to lead them on the right and true trail. There was little she could do for them, and looking at the two boys playing with their trucks, she began to see things in an all new light.
She wept for them.
“White Base exiting Baldur Bey and continuing to Pergamino, estimated arrival ten minutes.” The bridge was alive again and though their brief respites, everyone felt just as tense, just as unrested as before. Though heralded as a neutral haven, where friend and foe can walk down the same street hand in hand, it was a far toss from what they had all heard. What they had found was a typical colony, mired by hundreds of minor, bureaucratic rules that one could barely skirt by and still have a shred of fun. Mirai, though, was among the few who's mood had actually brightened. Now that she was leaving Side 6, her terrible fiancé's domain, she could go back to the life she, herself, had made for herself. Hearing of Cameron's change of heart, too, had made things a little less bitter. Though she felt she had the right to feel nothing but disappointment with the man, hearing of his gift to White Base had shown her that she hadn't been wrong all those years. She had been actually dating a human being. “White Base approaching dock, awaiting instructions.” Behind Mirai, Amuro stood vacantly against the door frame. His thoughts weren't of his father anymore, nor would they really ever be again. He now thought of the dark-skinned woman and her shimmering, electrifying beauty. She was everything and anything he'd expect out of the opposite gender, and he'd just discovered her. That momentous occasion would go down next to other such discoveries, like Cortez in South America, Columbus with North America, and Marco Polo's long journey to Asia. He'd have a hard time not thinking of her, and though the war was far from over, and she deeply coveted from it, he knew he'd be seeing her again.
“White Base connected, repairs are to begin immediately. Stand by.”
Back on Baldur Bey, a goggle-eyed Tem Ray walked through the streets of the city, wandering from shop to shop as if he were a shark hunting a school of fish. He never stopped in fear of his own circulatory system failing. He was angry, his mood quickly shifting like the tides he swam in, but he kept going, almost pushing pedestrians out of his way. Then, as if the Pope died or some other phantasmagorical event occurred, the city square's telescreens lit up and a young Asian woman began speaking. Her bones were like that of an avian and brought Tem's mission to a concluding halt. “Maria Chang reporting. Breaking news outside the Side 6 neutral zone. What appears to be a Zeon task force is engaging a Federation vessel. Eyewitnesses say that this lone Federation vessel was leaving Side 6 after receiving emergency repairs, and that this vessel is none other than the Federation's new super carrier, White Base.” The screen flashed and video of the battle began broadcasting. Elsewhere on Side 6, Lalah and Char watched the same video in solemn silence. The woman's voice kept reporting. “Other reports claim that the Zeon fleet, without provocation, began to fire just moments after the White Base left the repair docks, which put the fighting dangerously close to Side 6 territory.” Tem, within the middle of the crowd, went glossy-eyed. He jumped up and down like a drunkard with cataracts, uncaring to the many eyes that followed. “Side 6 officials claim that no violations have been witnessed, though they will continue to monitor the situation. Both the Federation and Zeon were unavailable for comment. This is Maria Chang, thank you for watching.”
Tem stopped dancing, instead holding his arms in victory. It had worked! It had all been worth it!. He could die a happy man.
Reports would later claim that the lone Federation vessel totally decimated the Zeonic force of a Musai, a Chivvay, and a score of Rick Dom mobile suits. And, somewhere in a back street, totally alone and without distinction, a man who would later be identified as Tem Ray, former Federation special weapons engineer, fell down a flight of stairs and suffered major internal bleeding. He would later succumb to his wounds and be cremated in the city's furnace, no one able to claim his remains. |