Silent Requiem, a fanfic by Nightmaresama, chapter 13

Rachel Sawyer didn't particularly like the bright lights and cameras that surrounded her whenever she had to do a shoot. It gave her sort of a claustrophobic feeling and a sense of superficiality. Of course, she wasn't paid to feel comfortable; she was paid to give uplifting interviews with charismatic front-line troops to boost morale.

Rachel definitly didn't like that about her job. She felt like she was lying to the billions of people throughout the Federation who depended on her for news and updates about their loved ones who had gone off to fight. From what she was given to say and the topics she was made to report on, it would seem as though the war was going as smooth a silk. She knew otherwise, the other soldiers knew otherwise, her producers knew otherwise, but the civilians…

She sighed softly to herself, but resolutely held up her microphone and made ready to speak. The cameraman held up three fingers, two, one, he pointed at her to signal that they were rolling.

"Good evening. I'm Rachel Sawyer live on the frontlines of what is set to be the largest invasion operation in Federation history." She conveniently left out the fact that the Zeon drop operations of the previous spring was really the largest invasion force ever assembled, don't ever play up the enemy…

She continued the report. "I am currently 'embedded' aboard the EFF Lexington one of the twelve newly operational Pegasus-class carriers recently comissioned by Federation headquarters. With me now is captain Gendo Ikari. Thank you for taking the time to speak with us Captain Ikari, I know the war must make you a very busy man."

The captain of the vessel stood allowed himself a restrained nod. He was standing at strict military attention, his eyes obscured by the orange tinted spectecles he wore (Rachel wondered why they would let someone who needed visual assistance command a space vessel, but kept her comments to herself, she was on the air).

"What are the plans set for this final phase of Operation Star One, and what role will this particular ship play in them?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss the plans in their entirety, Ms. Sawyer," he said, curtly. "However I can tell you that this ship is transporting four space combat GMs which will be part of the operation."

"I see," Rachel nodded. That was a big surprise, it was a mobile suit carrier for God's sake! She would have been surprised if it wasn't transporting four space combat GMs which will be part of the operation!

Nevertheless, she pressed on with the interview. "Are you happy with the way things have been going so far in the conflict? Do you think that this will be the final battle?"

Ikari looked thoughtful for a moment before answering. "Yes, I believe it will," he said at last. "We have been keeping up the pressure on the Zeon for quite some time now, and without the influx of resources from Eastern Europe, the gears of their war machine will slowly grind to a halt."

"It always was. That's the whole reason they put so much effort into holding Odessa until the last possible moment. The colonies are designed to be self-sufficient; they do not to produce any more than necessary for the basic survival of their respective residents. It takes more than basic self-sustainibility to win a war."

Rachel nodded thoughtfully. She had to seem as though she was interested, even though she could have cared less about resources and the sustainibility of a space colony.

"The next part of my question was, how confident are you in that the Federation's GMs can take on the new Zeon superweapons, the mobile armours and the Gelgoog type mobile suits?"

"Well, clearly, the standard issue GM suit, while more than a match for the dated Zaku types, is nowhere near as powerful as a Gelgoog. It is the belief of Central Command that in large numbers they can totally overwhelm the enemy and leave them crippled before they even have a chance to use these 'superweapons'."

"So, then basically, you want to initiate a blitzkriege?" reporting so long for the military had taught her at least some of the jargon.

"Well, thank you very much for your time captain, but before I let you go, one final question: how do you think the war is affecting the common soldier. In other words, how would you rate the morale of the standard MS jockey at this stage in the war?"

He paused briefly before answering. "I'd have to say at this point the soldiers' morale would have to be pretty good. The war is almost over, a lot of their commissions are almost up, and soon they'll be able to get back to being with their loved ones. Bearing that in mind, how could anything be wrong with them?"

"All right Duo," Kiyone shouted at the door to his quarters. "Open up! I want some answers, dammit! Everybody on this team is keeping stuff from me and all these secrets are going to tear us apart."

She took that as a sign that it was okay to come in and did so. Duo was in only his uniform khakis and had been in the middle of brushing his teeth, and Kiyone could see the massive bruise on the side of his face where Karen had slugged him.

He motioned to a chair and so she sat down. After he'd spat into the sink, Duo came back wiping his face with a towel and sat on the corner of his cot that faced her. "What's up hot stuff?" he asked sardonically.

"I want to know about what you and Karen were talking about and why she hit you in the face because of it. You gave me an answer, but somehow I don't think that it was the whole story."

Duo's usual upbeat expression sagged at the mention of the fight and he placed his head in his palms. "I'm sorry Kiyo-chan, but it's really complicated. I'll try and tell you what I do know, though."

"About two months ago, Karen, my cousin Michel, and a few other soldiers were a part of Kojima Battalion's Eight MS Team stationed in the Southeast Asian Front. At that time, the team was just assigned a new commander, one Shiro Amada or something like that. This guy, Amada, was a helluva soldier, or so I'm told. A little brash, a little stubborn, but overall a pretty competent commander."

Kiyone looked at him suspiciously. "Shiro Amada? The Shiro Amada? But everyone said that he was a spy! How can you say that he was a great commander?"

"Yeah, well, that's just what they say--it's not really true. But you're right, that does play an important role in the story.

"Before our boy Shiro makes it to the SEAF [SouthEast Asian Front], he had a chance encounter with a lady Zeon test pilot en route from Side 2. I guess they must've hit it off or something, because when the two of them met up again in the Himalayas after a battle between the 08th and the Zeek mobile armour, folks started to get a little suspicious. Fingers were pointed, an Intel officer was called in--ultimately, Shiro stood to be Court Martialled under charges of espionage."

"They thought that he sold secrets to his Zeon lover?" Kiyone's eyes shone. "That is so cool!" she gushed

"What's 'cool' about being on trial for your life?" Duo asked, irate that she was taking the story so lightly. "And I never said she was his lover."

"Yeah, the same way Hilde's not your lover, right?" She smiled, knowing she'd outsmarted him. Then Kiyone let out a sigh "I wish some guy would face down a tribunal for me…"

"Yeah, so anyway," Duo said tightly, "There wasn't enough evidence to actually convict him, so the commander placed him under confinement to quarters. But when word reached the 08th that some of their friends--civilians engaged in guerrilla warfare against the Zeeks--were under attack, Shiro defied his confinement and went AWOL to help them out. He was caught after the fact and again brought before the regimental commander, who offered him a choice: either he and his team could undertake an almost suicidal mission to locate the position of the hidden Zeek fortress, or he could have a blindfold a cigarette."

"They were going to execute him if he didn't do the mission?" Kiyone asked, appalled.

Duo nodded darkly. "To make matters worse, the commander in chief of the SEAF spoke to our beloved Karen and another member of the squad, to try and make them suspicious of Shiro's motives. The first mole, Sanders--you know him right? He's the commander of the 431st--knew the stories about Shiro were lies, but good old trusting and honorable Karen…well, first chance she got, she tried to off your hero."

"It was after a monumental clash with a Zeon ace pilot. The 08th had been assigned to protect a trio of Mass-Production Guntanks that were laying siege to the Zeek fortress. But out of nowhere, this badass pilot comes into the city where they were stationed and single-handedly defeated all three Gundams. It was only by the Grace of God that none of them died, I'll tell you that much. Even though Shiro was ultimately able to defeat him, the ace also took out all three Guntanks so the mission ended in failure. But, as it ended, Shiro--well, there's no nice way to say this--Shiro deserted."

"According to Michel (and you have to take this with a fairly large grain of salt--he only found time to write me whenever he wasn't drooling over pictures of his girlfriend), he just didn't want to fight anymore. It must've had something to do with his Zeek lover though, because--"

"Hah! I knew she was involved with him!" Kiyone interrupted. "That's how stories like this always go. It's very sweet though; poor Shiro. He gave up everything, all for his lo--"

"Shaddap! You want me to finish the story, or leave you to your girly fantasies?"

"What a horrible thing to say to me," she pouted. "Go ahead and finish it then."

"Thank you. As I was saying, the next thing Shiro did after he deserted was to take his mangled Gundam to face down the prototype mobile armour that had been secretly constructed in the fortress. This MA was also, ironically, being piloted by Aina, his love-interest, and her maniacal brother.

"Michel was sketchy about the details of the fight, but I'm to understand that Shiro and Aina committed a double-suicide to take down the MA and kill her brother. Michel doesn't really believe that they're dead, though. He said that once the war was over, he was going to go out and look for them."

"Wow," Kiyone breathed, her eyes watering. "That was the most beautiful story I've ever heard. But I…I…dammit, I just don't understand why Karen fired at him. He must've been such a great guy--why would she want to kill him? Didn't she trust him? Didn't she know him better than that?"

"Those are all real good questions, Kiyo-chan, but none that you or I are likely to ever be able to answer." He sat back with a shrug.

Kiyone finally broke the silence. "So, what do you think we should do about Alex? Or Michelle for that matter?"

"But, that's the sixty-four thousand dollar question, now, isn't it?" He responded, shrugging again.

"Whatever we do, we've got to snap them out of it quick. Alex was fighting in slow motion out there today, we both saw that; and I don't know about you, but I don't want a half-focused doctor operation on me if I get injured out there."

"Good points, both." Duo stood and stretched. "But, now that I think about it, I think it may be better to let them handle it their own ways."

"No, I'm not. Karen was right about one thing, this is a war, Kiyo-chan. If those two can't get over each other or their own inner demons on their own, then we're better off without them."

"He had guts back then," Duo spat. "The Alex from back then would never let some goofy broad get him whipped like this. But even though he's still my friend, if he can't pull himself up by his bootstraps, I'm going to have Karen get him discharged."

Duo whirled on her, "It's not cold, Kiyone, it's the way the real world is. I won't be killed out there because my comrade's let some female walk all over him and make him make stupid decisions. Dying may be fine for him right now, but what about us?"

"I give up, Duo," she said resignedly. To herself, she thought, 'Maybe you have a better understanding of Karen's views of a team mate than you thought you did, Shinigami…"

Naomi Sterling rapped at the door. She was more than a little nervous, but she knew that she had to do this. It was not only her obligation as a soldier, but also as a friend.

There was a hiss as the door slid open before her. Linna stood in the opening, clad in a hastily assembled uniform, her short brown hair an unruly mess.

"Yes, thank you," she replied and did so, finding a seat on top of the desk, and resting her feet on the chair. "I just came by to check on you. You gave us a pretty bad scare fighting those Feddies."

Linna hung her head, and leaned back against the opposite wall. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "I guess I'm not a very good soldier after all, huh?"

"It's not that you're a bad soldier," Naomi shrugged, "just that you froze up. It happens to the best of us."

"But it never seems to happen to you or Commander Gato," Linna remarked, sullenly.

"Well, I can't speak for the commander, but I know I used to freze all the time back when I was a rookie. You just need to stay tough-things have a way of working themselves out in the end."

Linna looked as though she wanted to agree, but that near suicide that she had almost been forced to commit left her feeling a little unsure about Naomi's optimism. "All of that hardly matters now, though," she said. "I'm going to the rear lines now, and I won't have to sit in an MS cockpit again, hopefully."

"I don't think I'll ever fully get over it, Naomi, but I think I've got it under control…for now anyway."

"I'm glad to hear that." She smiled at her friend. "You had us worried for a little, there."

Linna went white. She had to reach out and grab the side of her cot to keep from falling. "Damn," she said, and repeated it several more times, successively. "Damn!"

"Hey, take it easy, okay?" Naomi went to her friend and put a hand on her shoulder. "It was his Time, you know? There's nothing you could've done to prevent it."

"You're wrong!" Linna cried, looking up abruptly. "I could've followed Commander Gato's orders."

"What, and traded your life for his? We would still be down one soldier-down one comrade! Do you think Jim would've wanted to hear you talking like that?"

Linna continued to look at her for about a minute more, but then averted her eyes. "I guess you're right."

"Got any family back home?" Naomi tried to change the subject after several moments of silence.

"My parents live on an estate in Nirai-Kanai, one of the satellite colonies of the Capitol." Linna visibly became more relaxed.

"My father is a delegate to the Zeonic Reichstag. We've always been fairly well off."

To maintain the pretence of being a representative Republic, the Duke of Zeon had established a parliamentary, legislative branch to the government. The Reichstag, as it was called (taking its name from a similar political body in post World War I Germany), held no real power in the affairs of the nation, but to be selected as a delegate was a sign of being truly influential.

"A delegate to the Reichstag?" Naomi asked, shocked. "Then what the hell are you doing out here in the first place? Why didn't your father pull some strings and have you exempt from the Selective Service?"

"He was going to, but I went ahead and volunteered anyway. I wanted to show my father that I was more than just a porcelain doll for him to display for his fellow politicians." Linna was growing angry; the feud between her and her father must go far deeper than she was letting on.

"I wanted to show him that I could do something on my own, without his help. Something totally unbecoming of the beautiful, subservient geisha he was raising me to be!" she slammed her fist against the wall, but then looked up at Naomi again. "Guess I showed him, huh?" she gave a wry smile.

Naomi shook her head and spoke very earnestly with her friend. "C'mon, kid, buck up. It's not that bad. You surprised the hell out of me, looking back at it. I never would've guessed in a million years that one of those snotty aristocrats could get out and fight like you did. You weren't even cavalier or squeamish about it! You did damn good, and I bet your Old Man is going to be proud as hell of you when you get back."

"Yeah, or ashamed as hell. I'm getting discharged because of a mental instability remember? And in my entire career before I joined the Dark Phoenix, I had only scored seven! What kind of record is that?"

"At least you made it out alive," Naomi replied. "That's more than a whole lot of people can say."

Linna was silent for a good minute contemplating that one. Finally she said, "Well what about you, then Naomi? Who is waiting for you to come back?"

"Don't be. He was a deadbeat anyway; he spent more time at the local pub than with us, and Henry and I suspected he had a mistress or two."

"Yeah. He's a great kid, but he spends almost too much time reading. And not just normal books but political philosophy books. Y'know, like Machiavelli, Sun Tzu, Marx…stuff like that. I always tease him about it; You'd think he wanted to be the next Duke of Zeon or something."

"That's very interesting. You're fortunate to have such close ties with your family-except your father of course."

She stood to leave. "Okay, Linna, I guess I'll see ya around. Don't forget to stay in touch once this shit is over with, alright?"

"Right!" Linna smiled for the first time in a long while. "And thanks for stopping by to cheer me up."

Trowa Barton wiped the sweat from his brow. These days, the battles kept coming more and more often; every other hour, Ikari was scrambling his team-mates and himself to take out another Zaku, or another Dom, or another who-gives-a-flying-fuck. It was intense physical exertion and he was unsure how long he could keep it up.

"That was half the squad all by yourself! My God, you are that good!" he laughed again

"Not bad for her second week in a mobile suit," Sam chimed in as he stepped through the airlock.

Their commander stuck his head in the locker room. "You got a call, Barton," he said, "they just paged you over the main PA."

"I'll do that. Thanks, chief." He hurried out of his normal-suit and into his uniform and rushed down the hall to his quarters.

The small red light on the telephone was glowing, indicating an audio/video feed. He flipped the switch on his wall and the viewscreen appeared as he took the call.

Then the feed came in and he recognised the owner. "Michelle? My God! What happened to you?"

"It's a very long story. How've you been?" a crooked smile slid over her lips, under the two dark blotches under her eyes. She'd evidently been crying--a lot.

"I got dumped, okay?" she shouted at the screen. "I got dumped before I even knew what was going on. Hell, I was bloody dumped before the damn relationship started." He'd never heard her swear before, but then, he'd never seen her drunk before, either. Whoever had done that to her, she was taking it very hard.

He had no idea what to do, or how to handle the situation, but he was going to try while he still had her on the line.

"I hate this bloody war," she said and started sobbing all again, "it's taken everything from me! I should've listened to my mum and dad and stayed in medical school, but no; I had to be adventurous. I had to see the world. Look at what the world's brought me!"

"Look," he started, slowly. "Calm down Michelle. This ain't exactly the healthy response you're taking here."

"Health? Health, he says," she laughed bitterly as she drained another shot glass. "I'm a bloody doctor, I'll have you know. I think I'd know what healthy is."

"It doesn't matter;" she shook her head as she wiped her eyes. She was clearly trying to talk straight, but her voice was still uneven, "I'm already drawing up my resignation papers--I've had all I can stand of this madness, and I'm going home. I just wanted to say good-bye to you Trowa, and thanks for being the only person in the Earth Sphere who gave a rats-ass about me."

She laughed again. "And look at me, falling down drunk and wasting your minutes like this. You probably want nothing more to do with me, but I--"

"That's enough!" he shouted angrily, taking her by surprise. "You can't let something like this get you discouraged, dammit! You get hurt once and your first response is to run away from it? Michelle, I know you're a much stronger person than that. Shit, you know you're a much stronger person than that! You can't let something this small phase you! This is the time to pull yourself together and make a declaration to the world that you are not merely some toy to be cast around at its whim! Getting smashed and crying won't fix anything--you've got a job to do, so this is the time to do it! What was it that Churchill guy from your nation said all those years ago? This is your finest hour, Michelle; you've got to seize it!"

A genuine smile spread over her face, and for a moment, the dark rings below her eyes seemed to fade away. "Thank you," she breathed.

"Hah! 'Tis all in a days work, rescuing damsels, even if it is rescuing them from themselves. If you ever get discouraged again--well, I guess you know my number by now."

The screen went blank, and Trowa left the room feeling much better about himself.

"Who did you say was calling Trowa, Sam?" Amy asked. The other three members of the "Reapers" were relaxing in the lounge, listening to the radio and watching the stars through the massive armour-glass window.

"Oh, that's right, you never met Kiyone. She was the other member of our unit On Planet in New England. She was pretty cool-drank a little much, smoked a little much-but overall, pretty cool."

It wasn't that she felt left out so much as she felt like she had walked in on the very end of a movie when all the characters and plot had already been established. She felt like the proverbial fifth wheel on the team. They hadn't treated her coldly; quite the opposite in fact. It was just that, she felt like she had been grabbed at the last moment as an attempt to replace one of the pieces on a well oiled and perfected machine, but she still was that secondhand quickfix.

Not that she hadn't expected it to be this way. MS teams were like families after a while. You couldn't replace one family member with another, even if they did have many of the same qualifications.

What hurt the most, though, were the unintentional comparisons between her and the pilot she had replaced, Hilde. Amy was sure that Trowa and Sam didn't mean it, but it kept slipping in every so often. 'If Hilde were here…', 'remember the way Hilde used to…', and other such comparisons were just frustrating to her. She was trying, but, dammit, she'd never be Hilde. Maybe, subconsciously, they'd never see her as being as good a pilot as Hilde either.

Well, that was fine by her. She hadn't wanted to be an MS jockey in the first place. Her own passion lay in flying core fighters, and other 'antique' weapons from the past era. She'd been flying right up until Operation Odessa ended and even shortly thereafter. That day she'd been defeated in the desert, trying to save Yu, that was the last day she'd ever sat in the cockpit of a fighter. Yu had been the one telling her she should switch over to MS, but Amy had stalwartly refused up until that day.

She remembered it all vividly. She had just come back from Odessa and her flight of fighters had been escorting a Medea on a supply run to the base. The base, however was under attack by a trio of Ace Dom pilots. Amy had seen that Yu was in trouble and broke off from the flight to help him finish off the commander of the Zeek unit.

That evening had been the first they had shared in a long time. They had sat and remenisced for hours on end; about the war, about life, about her late husband, and even about MS and fighters. It was then that he finally started to pursuade her that maybe she should switch over.

Then, as they were leaving the base, the Medea had been shot down by a band of Zeek brigands. It had been carrying the top secret Blue Destiny model GM for further study at an undisclosed location. Yu's team had been dispatched to rescue them and recover the suit, but they-and incidentally the rag-tag Zeek unit, too-were assaulted by a savage Zeon superweapon. It dispatched the entire squad of Zakus, and two of the three GMs without even working hard, or so it had seemed. Amy was not about to sit idly by while it made short work of Yu too. She scrambled her fighter and attempted to finishe the Zeek off with a near suicidal run directly at it. Nevertheless, the suit was far too powerful and far too swift; it lashed out and knocked her fighter from the sky like a small insect.

Amy had blacked out immediately following the initial impact and suffered a concussion, internal injuries, and a broken arm. She had no idea how she had survived the crash; her fighter was wreckage beyond compare. If she had not been able to find the strength to rattle one of the hunks of scrap nearby, Yu and his comrades would have walked right past her crumpled form and she would have died.

After the skirmish, Amy had been shipped off to the medical centre of a Big Tray land battleship where she was placed in the capable hands of some of the Federation's most accomplished bio-mechanical physicians. Her internal injuries were repaired in an experimental surgery that would have been impossible even ten years before; it was based on the research of Zeonic doctors and employed some of the offshoots of the MS research projects with very low powered computer guided Minovsky beam bursts. Amy didn't completely understand all of the medical terminology, but it had worked, and that was what mattered.

Days later (the surgery had required almost no down time; the Brass had ordered it thus to get the Odessa Eagle back into the field again, since she was such a rallying point for morale), she had been sent to the Lexington to serve with Commander Sanders and the others, and from there…it had been quite an Odessy. But what would the point of it all be, if she were never any good at helping the team she'd been attached to? How could she fit in if they kept dredging up memories of past comrades? Dare she ask them about it?

No. Then they would only try their best to reassure her and patronize her. Amy wouldn't stand for that; she was far too independent. The only thing she could do was fight to the best of her ability and try to keep up her amiable personality facade.

At that moment, Trowa walked into the lounge. "Hey guys, how's it going?" he said with a mock salute.

Amy noticed something about his tone; perhaps it was pride? He did seem to have even more of a swagger about him than usual.

Sam apparently caught it too. "Not much, sir. What did you have to say to Kiyone? Or what did she say to you?"

But Trowa shook his head. "Not Kiyone, just another girl I met on the Valkyrie. Name's Michelle Bannock."

"Oh, I know her!" Sam interjected. "Well, sort of. She was the doctor who helped us take care of Hilde right after she…"

Rachel Sawyer was floating aimlessly aboard the Lexington when she happened upon the MS pilots lounge. After her interview with Ikari, her producer had given the remainder of the day off, but the small cubicle in which she'd been stowed was stifling. She wanted to get out and explore a little.

She rounded a corner and collided with another woman, rushing the other way. "Ow!"

"Oh my God," the other woman, she was a pilot by her uniform, said as she offered Rachel a hand. "Are you okay? I'm sorry I was lost in my thoughts and I guess I didn't hear you."

"It's not a problem." Rachel shrugged, "really, it's just as much my fault as yours."

The pilot cocked her head slightly, in thought. "My name's Amy Bauer. I don't believe I've seen you around before; are you a transfer tech?"

"Me? Oh, God no; I'm no good with anything electronic. I'm Rachel Sawyer, a reporter for ENN. I'm supposed to be 'embedded' with this unit to cover the war for a few days."

"Oh, I see." Amy nodded, understandingly. "Now that I think of it you do look sort of familiar. But, you said you were, what? 'Embedded'? Why would they do that?"

"To get the 'inside story', I suppose," Rachel said, with more than a hint of bitterness. She hated doing things like this, even though it was her job.

Amy apparently caught the sardonic undertone she used, and laughed. "I assume you don't particularly love this assignment, huh?"

"I could think of a few I'd like better," an understatement if there ever was one. "But, hey, would you object to doing an interview, either today or-"

"As much as I'd love to make a grand appearance on the small screen, Mrs. Sawyer, I fear I must decline," Amy waxed grandiloquent. "I'm in no mood for the cameras today."

"Oh. Well okay then." Rachel felt slightly snubbed but tried her best not to let it show. "Then can you direct me to where I might find your teammates?"

"No problem." She pointed down the hall to an open door, "right in there is the lounge. Trowa, Sam, and the Commander should be in there. Good luck Mrs. Sawyer, I guess I'll be seeing you."

'I don't look that old, do I?' she thought as she continued towards the lounge. 'I'm only twenty-five. But then, in this generation with the war and everything, if you're not married by now…'

"…and she was a fucking wreck, man. I could tell she'd hit the bottle really hard, and there were big, dark splotches under her eyes. I-" the MS jockey who had been speaking shut up immediately when she walked through the doorway. He and his two comrades came to a swift attention.

In her early days as an intern, that had bothered Rachel. It was as if they were making her out to be more important than she really was. Now, she just accepted it, not arrogantly, but as a matter of SOP.

"No, don't stop on my behalf," she tried to reassure them anyway. "I didn't mean to walk in on such a gripping discussion."

Rachel went over to the counter where a pot of coffee had been perking. She poured herself a cup in one of the small styrofoam cups and took a sip. Turning around, she caught the two younger jockeys in the act of staring before they were able to try and play it off. She smiled as she took a sip of the coffee.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the youngest of the pilots spoke up, "but aren't you the ENN reporter, Rachel Sawyer?"

How many of these jockies watched her show and had black market pinups of her in their bunks? From the gossip that got around, she was pretty popular. Rachel tried not to let that bother her too much; the reason she'd started being a reporter in the first place was to try and gain enough recognition to maybe get a record deal. She'd started out singing in clubs in the New Manhattan Colony in Side 2, but no one had given her much notice back then. She'd been talented and easy on the eyes (or so she'd been told; in reality she needed prescription glasses and was terribly clumsy), but that hadn't be enough to cut it, not in the wide world of the Earth Sphere were there were literally thousands of young girls just like her trying to break into the industry.

"I've seen you on the news a couple of times before," was the jockey blushing? "My name's Sam Younge, and I was wondering if I could maybe get your autograph?"

Well, this was new. Rachel had been propositioned before, but never in this way. Hell, you'd almost think she was some sort of celebrity the way these guys were ogling her. "Sure," she said tentatively and set her coffee down on the counter. "Have you a pen?"

Sam stood again and patted the pockets of his uniform for a moment and then reached into the one on his left hip and produced a small, pressurized ballpoint. "If you could just sign my…ah…do you have something to sign?"

His compatriot and commanding officer both snickered, and he really did flush a shade of bright red.

"Don't worry…" Rachel glanced around until her eyes settled on a small stack of post-it notes, "I just sign one of these."

She peeled it off and scratched her signature across it. "You won't believe it, Sam," she said while writing, "but that's the first one of those I've ever had to give." She handed it to him and he beamed.

"Can I have one too?" his fellow jockey asked. "If you could, make it out 'to Trowa Barton'."

"Sure!" she smiled. This was sort of fun. Maybe when she got famous and she had to do this sort of thing everyday, it might get a little old, but for now…she could see why people might enjoy being a celebrity.

She peeled it off and handed it to him. "Here you go, Trowa. Do you think that your CO would like one too?" Rachel had picked up enough military jargon during her stint in journalism to know at least that term.

"Thanks, but no," the commanding officer answered. "I do wish you continued success, though. It's a tough industry you've broken into; you must have a really strong drive to get as far as you have."

"Oh, thank you very much," the compliment made her face heat up. "It hasn't been easy by any means. I didn't really want this particular job at the start though."

"Is that so?" Trowa asked, sitting back down. "Thanks for the autographs, by the way."

"No, not at all. All I really want to do is sing, but this was the only way I could think of to get into the spotlight."

Rachel let out a slight giggle; she wasn't used to being on the receiving end of an interview. "Jazz, mostly, but I do other stuff too. I've been perfecting my Japanese so that I can learn J-pop."

'Oh please God, don't let them ask me to sing a few bars for them!' she prayed silently. 'That always happens when I mention my hobby, and they definitely have that look!'

"Aw, guys, I don't know," she wondered if she sounded even a fraction as embarrassed as she thought she did. "I can't really just break into song like in a movie."

"Well…I guess I could try. You all are some of my more polite fans, and you did ask for autographs. What should I sing?"

"What about that new song, the one that's topping all the J-pop charts?" Sanders asked. "The one about the war?"

"Mirai no futari ni?" Rachel asked. "I've heard it before; it's a beautiful song. The Japanese is a little hard though, but what the hell? I'd like to hear it a capela." She cleared her throat, took another gulp of coffee, and began to sing.

The foreign words rolled dulcetly off her tongue and created a very harmonious sound, even without the music. She didn't know the whole song by heart, and after a few bars, she had to stop, but her audience sat in raptured silence.

"Thanks, guys," Rachel felt totally embarrassed, but she was glad they had enjoyed her song. She then glanced at her watch and saw that she was going to be needed by the camera crew in another half-hour and she still needed to freshen up. "I guess I'll be seeing you all later; I've got to get ready for another shoot."

"Hey, before you go, you want to try and hook up with us a little later for a Drink?" Sam asked. "The ship is supposed to be dry, but Trowa's got connections and we happen to have a little bootleg vodka. We'd love to have you!"

"I'd like to come, but I've got to be leaving early tomorrow morning," Rachel said with regret. "I couldn't very well show up for my first big try-out with a hangover."

Rachel nodded. "Yeah, they're having a Star Search-esque programme at Libot in Side Six on New Year's Eve. If I win, I'll get a recording deal with Virgin/Def Jam, and they're one of the biggest labels in the Industry!"

"In that case, good luck to you," Sam said. "I'm sure you'll win though, if you do anything like what you just did here."

She smiled. "Thanks a lot, guys. I really enjoyed meeting you and hanging out. Maybe, if you can get some leave, you'll try and make it to the show?"

As Rachel left the lounge for her bunk, she pondered that 'Mrs.' further. Did they think that just because she was successful, that she was married? Or did she just have that look about her?

It wasn't as if she didn't want someone to put a rock on her finger. God knows that wasn't true, not when she spent so much time thinking about Alex Kincaid. But if it came down to having to decide between Alex and the career she'd dreamed of since she was a little girl, which would she choose? It wasn't as if she could very well have both. If she spent too much time with Alex, her career would suffer; but on the converse, Alex would be mad if she spent too much time singing. Where did her passion lie?

Rachel stepped into her room and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She was hardly narcissistic by any means, but she did want to see what her face looked like. She looked for a moment before she had to pull out her glasses. Damn she hated these things! They made her look too intellectual, too sophisticated, too nerdy, to be a singer. But she had to wear them if she wanted to see; contacts irritated her eyes and she lacked the money for an optics surgery.

'Maybe I do need to reassess my priorities' she thought. 'Maybe I wouldn't mind that "Mrs." so much after all.'

Silent Requiem This fanfic is complete.

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Silent Requiem

Chapter 13: Rachel