~March 3rd, 140 AH~

~Joint Base Akra, Main Headquarters~

A week after its former occupant’s passing, the General’s office still retained all of his furnishing and personal effects—everything from the mounted deer head on the back wall to the man’s plethora of medals and certificates. None of them had been taken down or even added to, as though its current occupant was merely a cautious caretaker, afraid that the late General might reach across from the afterlife to mete out reprimands.

Major Makiri Shiranui took in these unchanged details of a room he knew well, as he waited for General Ghata Vakta to finish reading his written report. Nothing about the room’s gaudy features had ever piqued his interest, before or after Fenix Duodecim’s death. He merely used them as distractions in lieu of a paperback in his hand, to delay having to look at his companion for as long as possible.

The tapping of paper against wood told him that Ghata was done. Makiri stifled a sigh before turning to face the newest chief-of-staff of the Joint Forces, bracing himself for the ‘eyesore’ he’d find thereof.

Sure enough, the man just a year Makiri’s senior had outdone himself today. Despite his above average height, muscular build, and impeccable dress uniform, Ghata Vakta somehow managed to cut a timid figure behind his inherited mahogany desk, a far cry from his predecessor that used to fill the entire room from the exact same position. And to Makiri’s Nexus-attuned senses, this figure further revealed an extra layer of vulnerability—by vacillating constantly between one immediate future or another as his mind struggled to settle on one clear path.

Makiri had never enjoyed Ghata’s company away from the heat of battle, and it wasn’t for any reason others could readily sympathize with. In a word, Ghata was too indecisive, especially when faced with other men he deemed to be his superior. Makiri had no reservations about Ghata’s abilities as a Reiter or his instincts upon a battlefield. Yet the man was simply too exhausting to be around for Makiri and his Einkunst—and that was more Makiri’s problem than Ghata’s.

And now that the soon-to-be Vakta patriarch had been forced into an early ‘retirement’ from active combat, the pair’s interactions would be restricted to ones of a purely tactical nature. Makiri could look forward to many more exhausting conversations like this one—assuming, of course, that the Syntropy War remained business as usual for the Joint Forces.

Ghata himself appeared to be pondering this very question as he eyed the major with an uncertain frown. After several more moments of this hesitation, one of the [INEVITABLE] actions finally came to pass.

“So,” Ghata sighed more than said, “you’re absolutely sure then? That they not only anticipated your arrival but had deliberately waited for you to show up before moving in on the Anamnium pod? What did they want to achieve? An ambush?”

“I can’t say whether they knew it would be me, specifically,” Makiri corrected, “but they definitely knew beforehand that there was going to be a Joint Forces retrieval mission. As for whether it was meant to be an ambush… I doubt it. I don’t see why they would’ve helped us cut down half of the Syntropy numbers if their intent had been to ambush us.”

At this, Ghata’s frown deepened as his gaze went back to the report—to buy himself time. He made no attempt to offer his own theory about the deserters’ strange behaviour, nor did he comment on Makiri’s casual disregard for honorifics.

To any casual observer, Makiri Shiranui and Ghata Vakta had enough shared experiences to have been friendlier than they were. Both were the eldest son of a Tetrarch family. Both boasted a remarkable career as a Reiter. And both had lost one younger brother to the war.

They’d even graduated from the same proto-Reiter class (after Ghata was held back a year). For a decade and more since then, they’d also gone up through the ranks at the exact same rate, with neither ever been required to address the other as ‘sir’.

That changed only earlier this year, with Ghata’s lone promotion to the rank of Colonel. The promotion had signalled an unspoken choice made by the late Fenix Duodecim, that of positioning the eldest Vakta son as his eventual successor.

Makiri himself had always been indifferent to the possibility of one day leading the Joint Forces, having invariably preferred the cockpit of an Eidolon or the pages of a paperback to the podium of a tactical briefing room. As such, he’d harboured no real opinion about Fenix’s chosen succession plan, other than to hope that the then newly promoted Colonel would be given ample opportunity to learn his trade and build confidence.

Well, so much for that. For the events on February 25th marked the first time in Akropolitan history that an incumbent chief-of-staff was killed in action, leaving the rest of the brass scrambling to restructure the top of the pyramid.

The chief-of-staff must always be a Reiter from the Tetrarchy. Based on that tacit yet time-honoured dogma alone, Colonel Ghata Vakta—the highest ranked Tetrarch who also happened to be a Reiter—saw his second promotion in as many months. He ‘won out’ over several perhaps more sensible choices, including the experienced and level-headed Augustus Zhao (not Tetrarch) and Makiri’s own father Yuito Shiranui (not a Reiter).

And just like that, Ghata now held seniority over Makiri by two whole ranks… though one wouldn’t know it from the way he avoided eye contact and let the current silence between them stretch. Watching this, Makiri felt his own irritation grow, despite knowing full well that the man sitting across from him deserved his patience if not downright pity.

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Because Ghata—still a young man by most standards—had not only been robbed of the years-long mentorship that normally accompanied a leadership transition. He’d also been saddled with several unprecedented developments that combined to present the most outlandish and difficult challenge any General had ever faced, let alone one that was mere days into the job.

First, the sighting of a new and functional Mothership, just over a year after the previous one had been destroyed. This marked the fastest turnaround in recorded history, which only highlighted the disturbing recent trends of accelerated Syntropy production. This by itself would’ve been headache enough for any inexperienced leader.

Then there was the whole business with the… deserters. Many Akropolitans would happily call them traitors instead, and label what happened on February 25th as the start of a bona fide coup. Makiri himself stopped short of doing so—not least because his own youngest sister happened to be one of these so-called traitors…

Last but not least (and perhaps the most mysterious) was the Spiegel mass malfunction. The only message that had come down from the ‘top’ was that it was some unforeseen technical glitch, one which the appropriate personnel were working around the clock to fix. Makiri found that explanation to be severely lacking, especially in accounting for said glitch having coincided exactly with Zelen Athelstan’s escape from the Eidolon hangar.

He had his doubts about what had actually happened with the Spiegels, and why the program supervisors—which included his father—seemed so keen on covering it up. But they remained just that: doubts.

He’d always been more comfortable piloting an Eidolon or reading a book than poking his nose where it didn’t belong. Even now, after all that had happened on and since February 25th, he still found himself loath to leave his comfort zone. And that reluctance, perhaps, was another similarity he shared with Ghata Vakta.

Makiri’s obstinate silence eventually forced the waffling General to commit to his next line of questioning. Ghata began with another barely concealed sigh, “And it says here that there were three of them: Kingfisher’s ES-V, along with two unidentified models. I’ve read your descriptions several times now, and I just don’t see how you of all people failed to capture or at least destroy them. Kingfisher, I can understand, but these two, erm, specialized Eidolons… did they really present a significant challenge?”

“My mission was to retrieve Anamnium pods,” Makiri answered quickly—perhaps too quick. He had a habit of forming his answers before the questions could be spoken in their entirety, which he understood could give people the wrong impression. Nevertheless, he went on after a belated pause, “And I retrieved them. I wasn’t informed that there was a standing order to kill or capture the deserters on sight. …Was there one?”

Ghata visibly blushed, and for at least one brief instant, a response of anger presented itself as one of his futures, before he seemed to think better of it.

“You’re right, there wasn’t one,” he mumbled. “I suppose it was an oversight. I’ll be sure to enact it after today’s hearing. But I would’ve thought…”—his sheepish eyes flicked to inspect Makiri’s face—“that it would’ve been implicit, no?”

“Would it have been?”

The young General’s demeanour went completely blank, now showing no [INEVITABILITY] at all. Seeing this, Makiri nudged himself slightly out of his own comfort zone, better to push Ghata out of his.

“I want you to think about this, Ghata. Really think about this. What are we doing here? You read my report, and every word of it is true. The deserters made no real attempt on my life. I know, because I sensed the intent behind Kingfisher’s every ineffectual manoeuvre. If they don’t want to hurt us, then what do we really gain from attacking them?”

“They meant to intercept the Anamnium pods!” Ghata raised his voice. In his indignation, he’d finally solidified into one form, for the first time since the conversation started. “If that isn’t sabotage, I don’t know what is.”

“They meant to, and failed.” Makiri remained calm, appreciative of his companion’s newfound straightforwardness. “So they wish to sabotage us. Let them. I still completed the mission, didn’t I? If anything, they ended up aiding us by drawing enemy fire. If it were up to me, we ought to simply carry on as we always have. Why invent a new enemy when we already have one ready-made? We’re at war with the Syntropy, and that’s where our focus should remain.”

“Well, it’s not up to you, is it?” Ghata all but seethed, foregoing any effort to disguise his petulance. “And I say the traitors are a real threat that need to be met with extreme prejudice. Need I remind you that Kingfisher was the fastest Reiter in history to reach a kill count of a thousand? Need I remind you that he killed the General?”

Makiri didn’t need Nexus-attuned senses to detect the notes of awe and fear in Ghata’s voice. He noted also that the young man had referred to his predecessor as ‘the General’, as though there hadn’t been a transfer of leadership at all.

Admittedly, Major Shiranui himself wrestled with his own point of indecision, namely the question of how exactly he felt about Fenix Duodecim’s murder at the hands of Zelen Athelstan. While he had no great love for the domineering and often cruel man that had been Fenix, he did consider General Duodecim to have been a capable and resolute leader, one that well might’ve led humanity to the victory he’d so fervently promised. Makiri’s feelings about the whole mess was complicated also by the fact that Kingfisher had been the one to do the deed.

For he still remembered well the moment he’d seen two diametrically opposed destinies written upon the earnest visage of a young warrior. Was Kingfisher a saviour or destroyer of mankind? Since then, that young warrior had gone on to desert, take part in an apparent coup, and kill a fellow Reiter. By all reasonable assumptions, that should’ve clarified the picture.

Yet, against all logic, Makiri found himself more muddled than ever—farther than he’d ever been to solving the Nexus’s riddles.

Across the desk from him, Ghata took Makiri’s silence as acquiescence at best, and at worst permission to put the discussion on hold. The new General glanced at his watch and exclaimed, “Oh shit, we’re late already! Get to the conference hall now, and I’ll follow shortly.”

Makiri stifled a groan as he stood to obey. The conference hall often got too crowded for his comfort even at the best of times. Today, he expected a full house, considering that it would play host to the most high-profile hearing in living memory.

“Oh, don’t look so glum,” Ghata chided in a mocking tone, having suddenly rediscovered his confidence, now that he too was about to be rid of Makiri Shiranui’s company. “It wouldn’t kill you to show some excitement once in a while. It’s not every day you get to see someone tried for treason. Can’t say I feel optimistic for the guy, but I am curious to hear what Gerech Athelstan has to say for himself.”