The Youth code-named 'Trowa Barton' sat in the cockpit of the Heavyarms, a questionably accurate map of the Siberian Steppes on his left, a thermos of coffee on his right, and an empty tin cup on the console. In hand was a note pad he had scribbled a series of dates, times, and observations about the terrain and the patrol routes of the Oz Base that was a few miles away.
He had arrived via his own procured civilian transport plane days ago, had concealed it and made his approach. The Gundanium Armor of his machine made him invisible to the radar used by OZ, but a rise in heat or too much stomping around would still draw attention, requiring him to move cautiously and keep the generator running low. He had his position, he knew where the planes were coming in at, and he had sighted in.
Doctor S had alerted him to the importance of these planes. They carried the new Mobile Suits of Oz, the Taurus, a unit with such advanced Computer Systems it could replace its own pilot. This, coupled with a new model beam rifle and, supposedly, a high mobility transformation, could make it a particularly troublesome opponent. This project needed to be strangled in the crib before it could grow into a real threat.
"Radio traffic has been quiet." He muttered to himself, his breath visible in the cold cockpit. "I don't think any of the other Gundams are responding to this one..." Oz had made a big to-do about having destroyed Unit 01. Folks at the Circus had certainly given him an earful about that and some new elite unit that had hunted 01 down. Trowa guessed that was why, for an operation this important, he was the only one to show. The others must be laying low.
Ironically, it seemed to have made this mission easier. With Oz believing the Gundams were in hiding, they were acting a bit more bold and careless. If one was cautious, they could exploit that confidence. Once alerted to the transfer by Doctor S, it did not take Trowa long to locate the vehicles, route, and destination.
An alert flashed in his cockpit. A number of heavy transport planes, escorted by a few Aries, were coming into range.
"Half an Hour early." Trowa muttered as he started securing things in his cockpit. "They made better time than I thought." He hooked his piloting harness and started revving up the generator. The Heavyarms thrummed into activation and moved up from behind the hill. Taking a knee on the rise, Trowa folded out the stability grip for the Beam Gatling and steadied his aim. And as the planes began to start their approach towards the runways of the base, Trowa let his main gun rip.
Caught off guard, the base was nothing but confusion as beam and missile fire began to obliterate the incoming transports. As the shrapnel rained down upon their heads, the Oz forces scrambled their Leos, and the supporting Aries began swooping around trying to obtain a visual lock. Trowa worked his thrusters and took briefly to the air, soaking light fire from the enemy Mobile Suits to down the last two transports with the rest of his long range missiles. Switching to his short range missiles, he loosed a volley at one of the Aries, blowing it to bits. Landing now outside the base, he popped open the chest vulcans and bathed the base and the Leo Squad assembling to counter him in a hail of light and lead. As explosions rippled around him, he swung his gun back on the last remaining Aries, the pilot's panicked voice crying out for help over the coms frequency Trowa had tapped into.
"Sorry. No witnesses." He remarked as he pulled the trigger, perforating the Aries and detonating it. The head of the Heavyarms swung around, looking for any more hostiles, but all before him was fire and destruction. Trowa stared at the base a moment longer, then turned his Mobile Suit back towards the hill he had come from. Engaging it into a jog, Trowa sent the Heavyarms on course back towards the shuttle that got him there. As much as he wanted to stomp the base completely flat, he didn't have the luxury to tarry. Once Oz realized what happened, every satellite and sensor suite available would be trying to locate his Gundam, and he would have to fight his way out of whatever reinforcements Oz could scramble. Better to hit and fade away.
As the machine stomped its way back to his shuttle, Trowa poured himself some coffee and glanced back towards the base. "If those suits were as important as the briefing said...Oz will retaliate, and retaliate hard...I hope the others can forgive me for complicating things."
On a cool summer's eve in Moscow, the Nobility and Aristocracy of Earth had gathered at the Muscovite Palace for a ball, commemorating the completion of one of the After Colony era's greatest architectural achievements. The Muscovite Palace was a massive sprawling compound of ornate, interconnected buildings, constructed in homage to the palaces of Old Imperial Russia, all of which had been lost in the conflicts typical of Pre-Alliance Earth. Built with Old World aesthetics and New Age technology, it truly was a marvel, one financed by the Elite of Earth and largely for their own benefit.
Une was not a fan of this overly decorated, over sized Country Club. But Treize had asked her to stand in in his stead, and she could not refuse. But if she was going to make an appearance, she was going to make it in Oz Style. Her limo pulled up to the grand stair of the Palace and she disembarked it. In opposition to the fancy ball gowns and fine old world summer suits of the other attendees, she wore her burgundy Oz uniform, decorated with a single rose, a gift from Treize, and her service pistol snug in its holster. Not that she would need it, of course. Her bespectacled gaze settled on the two Leos taking up position at the front entrance, radar planes passing overhead. By now, the 2nd mobile suit team should have secured the rear entrance, sending a powerful message about Oz's military might....and then there was her escort.
On Treize's request, the Warhawks had sent their own man to escort her, and he had brought his mech. It was a bizarre, inhumman thing, a long nosed, chicken legged contraption with large clamps that seemed to serve as sheathes for its weapons. She had seen the machine being painted when she first visited the Warhawks' mothership, and it now bore the greygreen common to their forces, standing in incredible contrast to the tall, purple leos as it stalked up the street like some titanic bird.
"It could not be one of the human looking ones." She muttered irritably. "It had to be this idiot machine. I swear, these mercenaries are doing this on purpose."
The Mech stomped before Une and sank to the ground, resting upon its legs and arms. Momentarily, the hatch atop the squat machine popped open and a rope ladder was thrown down.
What descended the ladder was a muscularly lean young man clad in a tailored khaki flight suit, Cavalry boots, gloves, an embroidered and decorated brown flack jacket with pauldrons, and a belt with a stylish pistol and an arming sword hanging from it. A green cloak was pinned to his jacket and a silver circlet kept his red hair from his cobalt blue eyes. He swept back his cloak and gave a bow to the lady, which did not amuse Une at all.
" Mechwarrior Volder, correct?" She asked crisply.
"Yes, Madame." He answered as he stood back up. "I am Sir Jordan, of House Volder. The Commander asked me to escort you to this event."
"You look ridiculous." She stated. "How did you wear all that while piloting a Battlemech?"
His eye twitched in annoyance at the remark about his dress and he adjusted his gloves. "I could say the same of Oz Field dress, Madame. That aside, I expect no armored combat this night, so I came dressed in the noble garb of my homeworld. My neurohelmet and cooling jacket are..."
Une held up a hand to silence the young noble. "Nevermind." Une then stepped towards the enclosed escalator, expecting her two guards and Jordan to follow. "I will be expecting you to be on your best behavior, Mr. Volder. These are not the riff raff and guns for hire you are used to dealing with. These are nobles, people of breeding and means."
Stepping quickly to follow Jordan clenched his jaw, then spoke in his defense. "My father was king of his world, Frau Une, and a duke of the Lyran Commonwealth. Commander Cortes seemed to think I can handle myself around your backwater aristocrats."
"Adorable." Une said disinterestedly. She still wasn't sure how much of the Warhawks' stories about some great "Inner Sphere" beyond the solar system was true, and it didn't really matter. They weren't in their backyard. They were in hers. She was starting to understand, however, why Cortes sent this youth. If he were really a noble, he may know how to behave among these aristocrats. That was, of course, assuming all nobility behaved the same way across space and cultures. "We will be meeting with the Marquis Weridge. He is an important member of the Romefeller Executive council, and he is who we need to convince to support Oz's efforts in bringing the Colonies to heel. Given the faith Commander Cortes placed in you, I trust you know what to do."
"Aside from helping your men watch your back?" Jordan asked, eyeing the two Oz goons he stood with.
"If pressed, you will have to explain the benefits of Oz's current partnership with your company." She said as she stepped off the escalator, followed by the men. "Weridge's faction is in opposition to military buildup, including the idea of soldiers of fortune like you."
"Ah..."
"If we are to track down and locate the forces behind the Gundams, we need to expand out into space. But we can not advance if our rear is not secure." Une continued as she led the way into the palace, pausing only to let the doormen open the way for her. "Romefeller needs the support and financial resources of those here, a united front against the enemy trying to tear us apart."
"A house divided and all that?" Ventured Jordan.
"Correct." Une's harsh gaze flicked to the staff about them as her and her posse marched down the passage, their military boots clacking upon the ornate tile floor. Une noted the servants' worried glances at the arms she and the men were carrying with disdain as they proceeded. "There will be no screw ups. Mister Treize will not accept failure."
As she finished, the party descended the stair into the palace's impressive ballroom, with its four tiers of balconies, stain glass windows, and decorations carved from offworld Green Marble. The music had halted, however, once the forces of Oz began their descent.
Hand on her hip, Une cocked a look to the Chamber Orchestra. "What's wrong?" She asked, locking eyes with the conductor. "Don't worry, I'm a guest too."
Uneasily, the man turned back around and once more the orchestra began to play, though that did not stop the glances from the attending crowd, whether out of contempt or fear of the armed men and women now in attendance.
"Toll." Jordan remarked quietly.
"Excuse me?" Une asked, turning her head slightly back to the mercenary as they descended the stair.
"Fantastic."
Une wasn't sure if he was referring to the ballroom or her ability to make a splash, but the young man made a subtle gesture with his chin. "The young lady there. Who is she?"
Une followed the young man's gaze through the crowd of middle aged and elder aristocrats to a young blonde girl in a fine white dress decorated with a blue bow standing beside the balding, bearded man in an epauletted purple coat and blue sash. The man she knew instantly as Weridge. But it was the girl that complicated things.
Une quickly stifled a reaction. She couldn't act surprised. Not now when she was in the spotlight. It would undermine everything. She had to keep it cool. Even so, her reply to the young man came through gritted teeth.
"Relena Darlian...she shouldn't be here."
"Agreed. A beauty like that is out of place in this crowd." Jordan replied. The tone of his reply caused Une to look back at the young man, and the focus of his gaze made it clear the boy was smitten.
"Not like that, you dolt." She hissed. "She shouldn't be at an exclusive event like this. And furthermore, she's standing besides our target, Weridge. This could ruin everything." Oz had gone to great lengths to cover up the truth of her father's murder, a crime she was the sole surviving witness to, and only Treize's order kept the girl alive. If Relena spoke any of what she had seen to the Marquis, it could prove devastating to Oz and Treize.
"Leave her to me." Jorden said with a smile.
"What?"
"Trust me, Colonel Une." Jordan said as he adjusted his gloves. "Ive learned some effective tactics for such a situation from my Comrades in Arms."
Une narrowed her eyes at the young man but said nothing, instead turning to one of the staff who had approached. "Take me to Marquis Weridge. I must speak with him personally, on behalf of his Exellency, Treize." The man bowed and led them through the crowd to the table Weridge and his guest occupied. Une could feel Relena's glare trying to burn a hole through her. For her part, Une did her best to conceal her discomfort at being so close to a source of personal failure and focused exclusively upon Weridge.
"Marquis Weridge, My name is Lady Une." She began. "I come on behalf of Treize Khushrenada. I need to discuss some things with you."
"Of course." The Gentleman stated. "But before that, would you give me that rose? I would love to give it to my Granddaughter."
"Allow me, your Grace." Jordan stated as he stepped forward. With a flourish of his hand he produced a rose of his own, seemingly out of the ether, and presented it to a startled Relena. "For you, Milady."
Taken aback, Relena took it and examined it as Jordan proceeded to introduce himself. "Sir Jordan Alfred Ritter of the House of Volder," He stated with a sweeping bow. "First Prince of the world of Aristus, Knight Errant, and MechWarrior in service to Warhawks Security Incorporated." He then offered his hand. "And may I have your name, Milady?"
"Relena." She said after a pause. Out of formality she gave the young man her hand. "Relena...Darlian." As she emphasized her surname, she shot an angry glare at Une, who returned it with a hawkish one of her own.
Heedless of this, Jordan kissed Relena's hand. "A pleasure, Lady Relena. I am most honored to make your acquaintance. "
"Delightfully charming."An amused Weridge said, sizing the young man up. "It is a rare treat to see proper manners for someone working for Oz."
"I am a rare man, your Grace." Jordan said. "Especially in times such as these."
"Perhaps in some circles." Weridge continued. "But these days, I do not have to search hard to find armed thugs." he gestured to the Oz soldiers that Une had brought along, causing Une to scowl.
"You wound me, your grace." Jordan replied. "I am no common knave. I have won my spurs as a Knight, my sword and pistol as much a badge of my valor as they are tools for the defense of myself and those in my care."
"My word." Weridge said with a slight grin. "Chivalry? In this day and age? Well now I have seen it all."
Confused and not terribly impressed with the conversation held by the two, Relena made to pull her hand away, but Jordan tightened his grip. "Oh! Forgive me, Lady Relena!" He said quickly. "Please, do me the honor of a dance!"
"Unfortunately, I will have to decline, Sir Volder." She said. " 'Grandfather' and I have business with Lady Une.'"
"I'm afraid this is Romefeller Business, Miss Darlian." Une replied. "It isn't for the likes of those outside the Foundation."
"I suppose you are right, Lady Une." Weridge stated, leaning on the table a bit. "Relena, why don't you humor the young man while I settle this business. We can talk about it later."
"But-"
"Don't fret. We'll be here when you return." The old man said.
Une and Weridge watched the eager Mercenary lead his reluctant dance partner into the waltzing crowd then turned back to face each other.
"I had heard Dermail's faction had made a deal with mercenaries." Weridge said as he gestured for a server to bring him something. "But I did not expect them to arrive in costume and claim to be interstellar princes."
"And I did not realize Darlian's family was relation to you, Marquis Weridge." Une said, studying the gentleman.
"They are a...distant branch of the family." Weridge replied cooly. "I could rattle off the exact lineage, but for simplicity's sake, 'Granddaughter' is close enough. Now then, about Treize's intentions in space..."
1, 2, 3
1, 2, 3
Things were not going as planned. And Relena did not like it at all. She had planned to infiltrate this party with the intent to kill Oz leader Treize Khushrenada. He was the face of Oz, the man ultimately responsible for the attack on her school and the death of her Father and Heero. And he needed to die.
1, 2, 3
1, 2, 3
Killing Treize would cripple Oz's leadership. It would send a message that the people of Earth would not tolerate such a tyrant. She would become a hero in the eyes of the world. Most importantly of all, she would have gotten her revenge.
1, 2, 3
1, 2, 3
By supreme good fortune an ally of her true family had allowed her in. All the pieces were in place. Instead of Treize, however, it was Une. And that was as good, if not better. True she could not send the signal she wanted with Une's death, but it would be an act of supreme justice to put down the witch that had killed her father. She had the perfect line too, to follow up on the Marquise's request for Une's rose. It would have been fantastic.
1, 2, 3
1, 2, 3
And all that has been undermined by this....what would you even call this guy? a fop? a rake? He dressed like an actor from old stage plays about the middle ages, he claimed to be a prince, he had a sword...regardless he swept in and pulled her away before she could take her shot. He ruined everything.
1, 2, 3
1, 2, 3
Relena did have to admit, he knew how to waltz. Precise steps, smooth transition, all in time with the music. He couldn't be much older than her, and yet every boy she had danced with before just did not have the same step. Not that there was much stepping with the anemic pace of the music.
"Something the matter, Milady?" Jordan asked as he continued to lead them about the floor.
"A lot of things." Relena answered, her tone cool yet crossed. "I don't know what kind of girl you think I am, but it takes more than a magic trick and a silk rose to impress me."
"Well, its a challenge to keep getting fresh roses." Jordan admitted. "And I didn't have time to get to a florist..."
"How very 'princely'."
"You wound me, Milady."
"Misstep and I will."
"It would be justly deserved." Jordan grinned. "A knight shouldn't disappoint a Lady."
Relena's eyes narrowed at the boy. "You can drop the act, you know. I don't think anyone is buying it."
"What act?"
"The sword, the armor, the flowery language. It's all as fake as your rose. You're not really a knight, or a prince, or whatever else you claim to be."
"I really I am though." He said, a bit baffled. "I was a squire for thirteen years."
"Where's your horse then, sir knight?" She scoffed.
"I don't have a horse. I have a Battlemech." He said. "And it is parked outside. I can show you, if you like."
"A...what?"
"Battlemech. Its...like one of your world's Mobile Suits. You can't be a Knight without a Battlemech."
As the dance shifted time and direction, Jordan's hand changed position from her shoulder to her side, causing Relena's eyes to widen. If his hand drifted too close to her dress's bow...
"I'll ask you watch your hands, sir!" She quickly and angrily demanded.
Redfaced, Jordan hastily resumed his grip on her shoulder and continued to lead on, trying to recover from what he believed was a breach of etiquette.
"So, you're a mobile suit pilot?" Relena asked, trying to shift focus to something else, quietly relieved she had escaped disaster.
"No, I'm a Mechwarrior."
"Is there a difference?" Relena countered. "If a Battlemech is like a mobile suit, then why should a mechwarrior be any better than a pilot?"
"Training and hardware, Milady." Jordan replied. "Anyone can pilot a mobile suit. But not everyone can be a Mechwarrior.I could beat a dozen Mobile Suit Pilots, in or out of my machine. "
"One weapon is no different from another." Relena said. "All they're good for is killing and War."
"A knight's duty is to fight. For Lord, Land, or Lady, he must be there to fight. War means fighting. Fighting means killing."
"You're a soldier then."
"...I suppose. Kind of. Why?"
"I've never liked fighting. Or people who profit off it." Her eyes hardened as she stared into his own blue orbs. She could see he recognized her displeasure and watched the young knight's mind scramble to recover. It did not take much to recognize the young man was trying to impress her, but she had put him on the back foot with her stance on conflict. Relena decided to press the advantage.
"Do you profit from war, Sir?"
"I'm a Free Lance, Milady. Until I can find wealth enough to go back home, I have to use what skills I have to keep myself fed and my Battlemech maintained."
"You're one of Oz's hired guns." She said, accusingly. "The Marquis spoke of your group before you arrived. People who go from war to war, killing for the highest bidder."
"I do what I have to do."
Relena's tone grew harsher. "And how many people have you killed for your precious money?"
Jordan growled in annoyance as the two continued to move about the floor. "You are like the snow, Milady: Beautiful, pure, yet utterly cold."
"Have I struck a nerve, Sir?"
"If you knew what I have known, experienced what I have experienced, I doubt you could remain so naive." He declared to her. "I have lost family, friends, and home. Had I not fought, I would have lost my life as well. And as long as I fight, the chance exists that I might return home again."
"Such noble intentions for a killer for hire."
"I care not for such an insult, Milady." Jordan scowled. "I am no assassin or back alley knave. I have a code."
"And I tire of dancing." Relena said, turning her head. "Take me back to the Marquis."
"As you wish...Milady."
Une was grateful the Mercenary Volder had pulled the Darlian girl away for a time. It allowed her to collect herself and to focus on the task at hand. Predictably, the Marquise griped about the increased militarization, the pointlessness of the Oz Coup, and the need for contract soldiers such as the Warhawks. Une, however, was prepared. She cited the Anti-Colonial attitude and rising corruption in the Alliance as why they needed to be dealt with. She explained how the Militarization was to help encourage Nations to see to their own defense and provide them arms, a requirement in the post Alliance world. And as for the Mercenaries, they were proving to be quite efficient and cost effective, allowing Oz to focus on rebuilding the world while simultaneously keeping the Gundam Terrorists in check. She even pointed to how polite and professional their representative had been to support her claim. Une finished presenting her case by requesting Weridge's factions support extending an olive branch to the Colonies. It was, after all, the Alliance's heavy hand that cause the Gundams to be sent down to assassinate the heads of the Alliance Government. If the fears of the Colonies could be quelled through trade deals and diplomatic talks, then the Gundams could be isolated, and the threat they posed to stability ended.
That was the sale's pitch at least. Dermail, Tubarov, and the rest of Oz's more militant factions had other plans, as did Treize, but the doves of the Weridge faction did not need to know that. They had connections and resources that would speed the talks along, and playing to their pacifistic natures was what was required to gain their cooperation. Une played her part as Mister Treize had asked, and it seemed she had swayed the Marquis. As he sat there, stroking his beard, Une had to contain a smile. Victory was at hand.
"Lady Une! It has been ages!" Oozed the voice of a young woman Une knew instantly. "I had no idea you would be here! I had expected to see my cousin Treize! Oh, and The Marquis Weridge! A delight to see you as well!"
Une stiffened slightly as the platinum blonde hair and forked eyebrows of Dorothy Catalonia slipped into view. She gave a formal curtsy in a frilled and ruffled black dress to the Marquis who set down his glass of water and stood to bow to the young lady in return.
"Ah, the Young Lady Dorothy Catalonia." Weridge said as he offered her a seat. "A pleasure to see another fresh, young face in attendance."
"Oh why thank you, your Grace." Dorothy breathed as she slid into the seat the older gentleman offered. "I would have come sooner, but I was so caught up in touring Moscow I had completely lost track of time. It is such a shame you can not see Lenin's body anymore."
"A blessing if you ask me." Weridge remarked, raising a disapproving eyebrow. "I can't understand the interest in viewing such a morbid relic."
"I only wished to view one of the Great men of history." Dorothy smiled. "See him in the flesh, as it were. Speaking of great men of History, I must ask again: Lady Une, where is my cousin?"
Une's expression soured slightly as she stood looking down at the girl addressing her. Dorothy was shrewd, overconfident, and had an obsession with battles and conflict. Her being here was as much a potential landmine as the Darlian girl, and it could serve to put off the Marquis to Treiz's plans. She needed to be dealt with. A pity she didn't have a spare Mercenary to throw at her.
"His Excellency could not attend. He needed to oversee operations in Luxembourg, so I have come in his stead."
"Of course. My poor workaholic cousin." Dorothy sighed. "I shouldn't be surprised, however. Though I do wonder what he and the Lightning Count could be discussing..."
Une blinked. "Colonel Zechs is in Luxembourg?"
"You didn't know? How curious!" Dorothy said, raising a forked eyebrow. "Surely Treize's right hand would know everything about his operations. Or perhaps you aren't his right hand after all..."
Une had to grant it to the girl. She knew how to push her buttons, Treize's favoritism towards Zechs being one of them. If this wasn't something personally asked of her by Mister Treize, she might have taken the bait. But she had a job to do, and she wasn't about to fail. Not this close to the finish line. Stiffening her lip, Une crossed her arms and glared dismissively at the teen. "Does your Grandfather know you're here, Dorothy?"
"Know? He offered me his invitation!" She said, leaning back a bit in her chair. "He wished me to represent the family here while he tended to Foundation Business in Bremen."
"First Treize, now Dermail? Hmph! I suppose next year everyone will be sending surrogates." Remarked Weridge.
Une feigned a dry chuckle at the Marquis' attempt at humor, while Dorothy tittered in amusement. "My Grandfather always speaks highly about your wit, your Grace, and I see he is correct as ever."
Une had about enough of Dermail's granddaughter, and she had only been around for a few minutes. Fortunately, her reinforcements arrived in the form of a sour looking Jordan and a stone faced Relena.
"Good of you to rejoin us, Volder." Une remarked."Have your fill of the dance floor?"
Before he could speak, Dorothy was out of her chair and over to give a curtsy to the two. "Why I do not believe I have had the pleasure. A Mister Volder was it?"
"Ah yes of course." Weridge said, standing up from his seat. "Where are my manners. Dorothy Catalonia, This is my Granddaughter Relena and this is Sir Jordan Volder, of the Warhawks Security Company. He is a guest of Lady Une."
"Oh how delightful! What a pair you two make! A knight and a princess!" Dorothy exclaimed, fascination sparkling in her crystal eyes. "And my, that is quite a sword you have there, Sir Volder! So much larger than Oz's Officer swords! Tell me, do you know how to use it?"
"We're done here." Une declared flatly. "Forgive me, Marquis Weridge, but we must be off. I trust you will think favorably of his Excellency's Proposition."
"Indeed, Lady Une. Tell Treize I will deliberate upon the matter and then I will be in touch."
"Very good. Volder? We're leaving. Say goodnight to your date." Une told the Mechwarrior as she and her two guards, who had been standing at parade rest behind her the whole time, moved to depart.
"Wait! Lady!" Relena said suddenly. "Please, there is just one last piece of business left to conclude."
"Like what?" Une asked, looking at the girl irritably.
"Your life!" And to everyone's shock, the Darlian girl pulled a semi-automatic pistol from her bow and tried to gun down Une in cold blood.
Jordan reacted first, grabbing the barrel with his hands and turning it away, causing Relena's bullet to miss its target and smash one of the panes of the stain glass windows behind the Orchestra dais. The crowd panicked, Une's men drew their guns and, of all things, Dorothy grappled Jordan.
"Save me, Sir Jordan! Save me!" She wailed, her clawing allowing Relena to slip out of the young Mercenary's grasp at the cost of her gun. Seeing an opening, the would be assassin dashed off as fast as her dress would allow, the crowd swallowing her up before Une's guards could get to her.
"Lady Une, are you alright?!" Jordan asked as he tried to pry the excited Dorothy off him.
"I'm fine!" Une said, her head now on a swivel. "After her!"
"Hold!" Commanded Weridge as he stepped between the forces of Oz and the path the fleeing Relena took. "I can not allow you to pursue her."
"What?!" Une asked, incredulous.
"Lady Une, I will take responsibility, for what happened. She was my guest, after all." Weridge stated. "I do not know what you did to that girl that made her go to such extremes, but I am certain she had her reasons. If Oz is turning over a new leaf, as you told me, it must be prepared to take responsibility for its past deeds. I say, if all that happened was a broken window, we should let it slide."
"I am afraid I can not do that, Marquis." Une said harshly. "At the very least she needs to be detained for questioning."
"If you wish me to agree to support Treiz's moves towards space, you'll have to find another way around." Weridge resolutely declared, interposing himself. "If you will not give up the pursuit, I can at least give her a head start."
There was no time to argue with this man. The Darlian girl was getting further away with every passing moment. Sneering in irritation, Une looked to her men. "Heinz, check the gardens! Hellmann, take the east wing! Volder, the West! I'll secure the front and coordinate our forces!"
The men nodded and split up, with Volder finally managing to pry himself free of Dorothy. Une herself took off at a dead sprint, hurrying to start organizing a search of the compound. As Dorothy dusted herself off and watched the mercenary depart, she smirked and slid over Relena's Gun, concealing it beneath her dress.
"Grandfather does not know what he's missing." She said quietly as the crowds dispersed. "Knights, Princesses, and assassination plots...I may have to come back next year..."
ER Laser Pistol drawn, Jordan dashed down the corridor, the sound of his boots echoing of the Baroque inspired hallways of the palace. Relena had to be somewhere. She didn't have that great a lead after all. But where could she have gone?
Thought's circled in the young man's head as he poked his head into rooms and demanded answers from whatever staff found themselves in his path. How long had she planned this? What was the motive? How could he have been so blind? Shaking his head, he grit his teeth and continued on. He knew he would never hear the end of this from his lance mates. He had slipped up. Bad. He may have cost the company their contract with Oz.
He should be angry with the girl. She was the one who had insulted him and his company, to his face, and then tried to murder the woman he was assigned to protect. But he knew the fault lay with himself. He had been blinded by her beauty, her voice, her elegance...he had gotten sloppy.
The more he searched the more frustrated he got. This palace, a monument to a world long gone, was larger than some dropships he had been on, with some of the ceilings large enough to have Battlemechs stomping about them. How could he possibly find her in all this? And what would he do if he caught her? How would he handle it? Questions for later. He had to find her, and now.
As he rounded a corner, he saw an open doorway, a servant's entrance. It had to be how she escaped. He dashed out of the door, looking both ways for a sign of which way she had gone, before narrowly getting hit by an Oz officer driving a motorcycle with a side car. Before he could fire off a stream of German profanity at the officer, she whipped the bike about and shouted out to him. "Mercenary! Check those Alleys! I'll cover the back streets!"
Taking the suggestion, Jordan dove into the nearby alleys, hunting for any sign of Relena.
The Search would eventually be called off, as news would finally arrive about the strike on Siberia. The Warhawks were being organized, and all available units were now required to secure Moscow and the VIPs currently there. Relena Darlian was no longer a primary concern for Oz. But in the mind of the young knight, she was at the forefront.
