They were a forgotten pair, as war began they had been swept aside put on hold as England struggled to recover in the aftermath of the disaster. VonGrippen sat quietly in an easy chair, lifting the remote and changing between the news feeds that, even after a week, were still centred upon the blast.

He maintained a dispassionate view of what had happened, the initial shock wearing off and leaving him feeling cold and empty. He was alone.

His rational mind was working through plans to leave Earth by whatever means necessary. While both the European Union and the United States had exchanged shots, the fighting that had erupted had been limited to initial actions in the Atlantic. Destroyers and submarines racking up kills amongst civilian shipping while the duel for naval supremacy in a world ruled by the air raged.

It was an age of orbital bombardment, of sub-orbital deployment and rapid assaults. However both sides had elected conventional and traditional means of waging war. And VonGrippen knew that eventually conventional war would lead to nuclear war.

They had been fortunate that neither side had been willing to launch nukes beyond the initial blast. And both factions had been loath to commit to any strategic attacks so early in the conflict.

Funny considering how long they had been posturing about war, now that they had actually achieved it none of them seemed willing to take the next step that would evolve the skirmishes into a global conflict.

Lance was packing.

VonGrippen tilted his head to look through the suite towards his young friend, normally so happy now so...sad. And he wondered if he should be feeling that way, something, anything given what he had lost. But instead he was calm, even keeled. The emotions that he should possess tantalizingly out of reach. Like a glass of water a man dying of thirst could touch with his fingertips, but his mind protected itself from the pain.

"...President Chavez's administration. The European Union maintains that even were this correct and the Secretary of Defence was the one to detonate this weapon, the fact still remains that the United States planted this device on British soil with the intent of using it." The reporter shuffled papers, "Spanish forces in South America have began to put pressure on American garrisons in the region, however the..."

VonGrippen flipped the channel.

"France, who currently holds the rotating Presidency of the European Union has refused to comment directly on its martial plans. However substantial mobilization across three con..."

"... transfer of British government to the Scottish Parliament until such times as elections can be held. With the deaths of senior members of the British Royal family, the heir apparent, Princess Victoria, has asked that the British people remain calm, and that reconstruction efforts will begin to ensure that England recovers from this terrible tragedy..."

VonGrippen shut the video feeds off placing the remote carefully down upon the coffee table.

"Why aren't you packing?" Lance asked as he entered the living room of the suiteand set his first suitcase down. His eyes were still red and puffy and his clothes rumpled. He'd taken the news hard, harder than VonGrippen had done. He'd been close to Philip as well, viewing him like a favoured uncle. When he'd first seen VonGrippen, after the news had broke, he'd clung on, wrapping his arms around his friend and cried for the both of them.

"Because I'm not ready to leave yet," VonGrippen said rising slowly from his seatand walking around behind the couch, his hands locking into the small of his back as he began to pace. He was troubled by the mess, and his mind needed to work through how it all connected. There was something all together far too clumsy about the events that had keyed the situation they were in.

The death of the Secretary of Defence was too convenient, it provided a nice excuse to the Americans to justify the destruction of London. And VonGrippen didn't like conveniences; there was no such thing. Everything happened for a reason, even happenstance had its source somewhere. Accidents could be contrived.

He looked up at the dark television screen, his eyebrow sinking a little as he thought through what he had seen. The American news stations were reporting a rash of strokes in random individuals of all ages in the Washington area, at the same time that the Secretary of Defence suffered the stroke that killed him. The kind of concentration of similar symptoms, combined with their proximity and seeming indiscrimination towards age and physical health indicated that a weapon had been used.

A weapon that had been used upon Washington that had triggered the weapon that had destroyed London.

It was a unique and interesting paradox to a mind that thrived on puzzles. He stopped in his slow and methodical circuit of the living room and looked across at Lance, pausing as he realized that his friend was hurting. He crossed the floor and wrapped his arms around Lance and pulled him close.

"I'm sorry," he said feeling Lance pull into him, balling his fists in the folds of VonGrippen's shirt, "I should be more considerate towards your feelings..." He struggled awkwardly with his own emotions, trying to express how he felt about everything. Instead he simply gave in and held on tight for a long moment, "we'll leave as soon as it's safe to do so."

Lance stepped back out of the hug and rubbed his damp eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, "I envy you," he said sniffing back on his runny nose, "you don't have to deal with stuff like this."

VonGrippen eyed his friend for a long moment and reached out to lift his hand, setting it on his chest, "my father once said to me that all my love was in here. That I value it so much that I can't let it go. I miss him very much."

Lance put on his best face, "I'm... gonna go and talk to the protection guys, see about getting us to the consulate in Edinburgh."

There was a steady roar from outside, rattling the panes of glass in the windows as British fighters scrambled from RAF Mildenhall. The jets screaming up to form a fighter cover of the British Isles as the American forces attempted another sortie somewhere over the mid-Atlantic. Flights and wings of fighters in numbers that hadn't been seen since the Battle of Britain centuries before again taking to the skies to fight for the sovereignty of a nation that hadn't been successfully invaded in over a thousand years.

Lance excused himself, hurrying out of the door leaving VonGrippen alone again to his thoughts.

He returned to his pacing behind the sofa, aware that he was going to wear a holethrough the carpet as he set his jaw and cycled back through what he knew. He stopped before he had taken a step, staring at the greatcoat hanging on the back of one of the side chairs. His father had left it there after their flight, once he had them all settled. Preferring one of his typical grey suit jackets with its expensive suit

lining and finely tailored lines for the negotiations. The greatcoat had been made on Geldan with pride.

VonGrippen picked it up off the back of the chair, running it through his hands as he felt the solid weight in the pocket. He knew what it was, as a boy he'd sat upon his father's lap studying the silver pocket watch with fascination. An antique timepiece that kept remarkable time with a precision rivalling most modern wrist watches. The test of fine workmanship that had been the hallmark of House VonGrippen's industry.

VonGrippen lifted the watch free of the coat and wrapped a hand around it. His father had always been a forgetful man, it was an endearing quality, one that had often frustrated VonGrippen's mother so consumed with the precise nature of time. The watch had been a good luck charm, a ward against political misfortune, tense negotiations and looming disasters.

Were VonGrippen a superstitious man, like his father, he would have reflected upon the irony of it being forgotten. Instead he merely unclipped it and attached it to his belt and slid it away into his pocket. Feeling a little closer to his father as he did so.

"Is he all right?" Lieutenant Worth inquired down in the foyer of the residence hall that VonGrippen was staying in.

Lance looked up wandering down the broad stairs, pausing at the British officer with his cap tucked under his arm dressed in his service uniform. In the wake of the London disaster security had been stepped up around the University as units across the United Kingdom were activated ready to be sent to the four corners of the world. But the soldiers on Campus seemed especially concerned about VonGrippen's safety and had reinforced the security detail assigned to the residence. Lance appreciated it and suspected it had something to do with the young Lieutenant at the foot of the stairs.

"He's okay, in his own way," Lance replied, "However I want to get him to Edinburgh and to the Embassy. They'll be able to get us onto the first transport off of Earth."

"I'm not sure," Dominic chewed his lip, "There's been a couple of attempts by transports to reach orbit, but so far they are being targeted and forced to land by Americans. We're still getting ships through to land, but nothing is getting out. Once things stabilize I am certain that you'll be able to reach Mars and link up with an Orion Tradeliner or something that will take you out-bound."

Lance sighed dejectedly as he leaned against the banister, "What about Military launches? Could we...?" Lance shrugged knowing it was a long shot; two wayward strays were hardly high enough priority to earn a seat on a military run.

"I'll do my best," Dominic promised, "My CO is Geldan born, I'll explain the situation and we might be able to get you both to Mars, at a push. And from there you should be okay. But no promises."

Lance thanked him returning to their rooms to find VonGrippen sitting before the computer, spinning a pen through his fingers as he tapped commands into the keyboard, calling up information pages from the net.

Lance smiled tiredly, standing there with his arms folded staring at his friend. Knowing full well that VonGrippen knew he was there, but not really caring. VonGrippen observed the world around him with a scientific dispassion that bordered on cold-blooded, a love of definite and exact knowledge that it gave him an awareness that so few people appreciated. It was this objectivity that had always astounded Lance growing up.

True there were many, many, many things VonGrippen didn't know. His complete and total lack of understanding when it came to sex or sexuality first and foremost. Not to mention his awkward attempts to study contemporary culture, asking him to dance was always humorous, he gave new meaning to two left feet, but he was improving.

It was a shy pleasure for Lance who had taken the young man under his wing. He loved to dance, especially the older, classical dances. And when they had been children, at Geldan Christmas Festivals they had always drawn amused chuckles from everyone when Lance would drag a reluctant heir apparent onto the dance floor, refusing to let him go until he had mastered at least one dance.

It was as if Lance had accepted the role of completing VonGrippen's education, ensuring that it was balanced with as much mischief and fun as a boy's ought to.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" VonGrippen asked rotating in his chair and looking up at Lance.

Lance shrugged, "We're stuck here, at least that's what the Army says, though Lieutenant Worth seems to feel he may be able to find room for us on a Military transport."

VonGrippen clicked his pen as he leaned back into his chair, "I don't think the death of the Secretary of Defence was an accident," he mused ignoring Lance a moment, glancing back at his computer screen. Ever since the digital age it had become increasingly harder to control the flow of information. Conspiracy theorists abounded, linking, as VonGrippen had done, the spate of strokes to the Secretary, blaming a mystery virus for the anomaly.

VonGrippen had already dismissed a virus, virus's weren't a precision weapons, were it a biological attack it would have continued, spread further and would still be ongoing. It seemed that at precisely the same time fifty people suffered the same symptoms at the same time. That spoke of a mechanical attack of some form.

"What's it to us?" Lance asked, "We have to get out of here before..."

VonGrippen held up a finger, and focused upon the wall for a pause, "Let's start with the results and work our way backwards. The result was war being declared between the EU and the US, a non-nuclear conventional war which will steadily escalate if it is unchecked."

"Right," Lance sat down on the back of the sofa, pulling his arms closer about him.

"We could ask who could gain from that, however each of the three major factions stand to loose greatly from this conflict. And something of this magnitude doesn't fit with the profiles of the leaders involved. If the United States had decided to go to war they would have co-ordinated the nuclear attack in London with a full scale attack somewhere on the globe, they would have used surprise to strategic gain, however they hesitated after the blast." He frowned, "General Chow and the Red Army would have done the same, used the confusion between his two rivals as an excuse to annex more territory, take the escalation in tensions between China and Australia. Again The General has yet to show decisively where he falls in this conflict."

"Right, so who's that leave?" Lance asked blinking at how much thought VonGrippen was putting into it. Not that he could blame him, they each grieved in their own ways and VonGrippen simply preferred to deal with something that upset him by analysing it, to find understanding.

"And this is where things start to break down," VonGrippen rested the pen against his temple, "The European Union is the one body that stood to gain the most from the initiation of war. They were deployed and ready to engage, in fact the early victories reported over the last few days were all accomplished by French units that were in the perfect position to capitalize upon the confusion."

"Yes but," Lance shook his head, "you're getting confused, the EU wouldn't bomb London, not when their own ministers were..."

VonGrippen looked up, his eyes locking onto Lance's, "but that is the crux of the argument isn't it? Suppose that the French orchestrated an attack upon Washington, and Washington in return retaliated by detonating a weapon in London no one else knew was there?" He shook his head, "The argument is weak at best, and I have no solid evidence. So far I am just working with my own observations. However the destruction of London came with one very clear benefit to the EU."

"What?" Lance asked incredulously.

"The destruction of the summit has ensured that House VonGrippen will support the EU during the war." VonGrippen set his pen down, "and if this is the case, then I am going to have to find evidence to prove it. My father wouldn't wish his death to be the reason for the House to defy its own will and surrender what autonomy we have left."

Lance chewed his lip as he stood up, "I don't know what evidence you hope to get, neither of us are in any position to do anything, even if we wanted to."

"No," VonGrippen replied, "however there is a very good chance that we will be aboard a military transport shortly, that presents me with a unique capacity to find out more information." He stood and walked towards the door, pulling on his fathers great coat, "I am going out." He announced quietly, looking back, "As far as anyone is to know I am here, all right?"

"What are you planning to do?" Lance asked uncertainly.

"I am going to see a man about a dog." VonGrippen replied turning up the blood red lapels of the great coat and slipping out into the hall.

The police and the military guards had not been easy to evade. He had chosen his moment slipping from the residence as a number of the boys had headed down, en-masse towards the cafeteria. Using the sea of faces as a cover as he blended in to their ranks.

He separated from them as soon as he was clear from the residence, moving away cutting a path through the streets of Cambridge, nodding to the occasional military officer that marched seemingly everywhere in the city.

What he required would take some hard negotiating, and when he finally climbed aboard a train, ticket in hand, he felt certain that he was committed to the course of action he had to take.

The House network was a laughable in-joke amongst his father's circles. So many of the citizens of the colony had at one time or another sought refuge from the political mire on Earth. It was a place of fresh starts, those on the colony striving hard to loose old prejudices in an effort to make the colony a home. But there were always those connections back to Earth and the previous lives that were there.

The address he remembered had led him to a house that was dark as he walked up the path towards it, sinking his hands into his pockets as he took a long pause. The heavy hedgerow shielded him from the road, not that there would be anyone at that time of the morning. The city was quiet and dark, and he wasn't expected.

He rang the doorbell, leaning into the buzzer as he waited. It was rude to rouse someone so late, but he couldn't afford the luxury of politeness. His persistence was rewarded when a light came on in the hall and someone grumbled a complaint as the rattle of bolts being drawn back heralded the door swinging open.

The heavy black automatic levelled directly into VonGrippen's face, "piss off!"

VonGrippen looked past the barrel unflinchingly as he looked at the balding man wielding the weapon; tanned and weathered he glared with sleep-laden eyes wrapped in a flannel robe that hung open on creased pyjamas.

"I am Alexander Richard VonGrippen," He reached out to brush the pistol away from his face with a pair of fingers, keeping a stern look on his face, "I take it from the rather warm reception that you are Poitr Dragosavn?"

The man stared at his new guest for a long moment before he stared past him and into the gloomy night, "get inside before someone hears you say that name."

VonGrippen entered the hall, watching as the middle-aged man closed the door behind him, waiting a moment before he spoke, "forgive the manner of my arrival, however my father told me that people in your position seldom appreciate daylight visits."

"Your father's an arse," Poitr rumbled in annoyance.

"My father's dead," VonGrippen replied as he reached up to unbuton the lappels, allowing the sharp red to stand stark against the black material of the military cut great coat. VonGrippen's hands again sank into the pockets of his overcoat, "that is why I am here."

"Dead?" Poitr started and stared for a long moment at the coat the young man wore, before looking away thoughtfully, "London? Of course the Summit!"

"He was killed during negotiations to form an alliance with the EU," VonGrippen moved to one side of the hall, staring at the family portraits showing a happy family that had never existed. In fact everything in the house was a carefully cultivated illusion designed to preserve Poitr's cover, to protect him.

"What do you want?" Poitr asked, his pistol returning to the drawer by the door, ready for the next uninvited visitor.

"Information," VonGrippen turned, "more aptly I need to find Bacchus."

"You don't just find Bacchus." Poitr sneered, "You really are new at this aren't you. Look boy, go home, grieve for your father and leave people like..."

"I won't grieve," VonGrippen said plainly, "you should know that, considering how close you were to my father."

"I haven't seen your father in twenty years," Poitr sighed shaking his head, "you're here with some kind of fanciful notion that I am going to help you out of some misplaced gratitude to your father. Your father was the reason I'm stuck here playing... suburban refugee. He once came to me and asked me for a favour and blindly I listened to him, and my life was ruined as a result. It is a mistake I have learned to never repeat."

VonGrippen inclined his head rigidly, "perhaps, but your current cover is dependant upon support payments from House VonGrippen, and your family there are residents on Geldan are they not?"

Poitr's face slipped a little as he darted his tongue across his lips, "you're threatening me?"

"No," VonGrippen replied his eyes firm, "I am reminding you of the obligations you hold towards my government, and your dependence upon us."

"I could just shoot you," Poitr reached for the drawer.

"And have a dead body in your hall, not conducive to maintaining your deep cover. How is His Watchful Eye?" VonGrippen raised an eyebrow expressively.

"You don't know what you're meddling in, Admiral," Poitr snarled his hand falling back to his side, "you don't find Bacchus, Bacchus knows everything there is to know. Bacchus already knows you're here, he knows what you want, and if he hasn't contacted you then..."

The phone rang.

Poitr's shoulders sank as he reached for the receiver, raising it to his ear he listened for a long moment before he handed it across to the young man, "Bacchus."

"As anticipated," VonGrippen replied putting the receiver to his ear, "yes?"

"He's right," the robust voice on the other end of the phone chuckled, "You really have no idea what you are meddling in, and what forces you are calling down. His Watchful Eye sees all."

"Then perhaps His Watchful Eye can tell me where I can find the person responsible for the London disaster?"

"Disaster is a matter of perspective," The voice replied, "in fact for the inhabitants of Earth it was probably the best thing to ever happen."

"I'll be sure to convey that to the families of the people who died." VonGrippen fired back calmly, "Who?"

"You have already put together more that you were supposed to. No one aside from the British are really interested in the events leading up to the SADM being detonated, merely the repercussions. And even the English, in their own limited way, are consumed with finding a person to blame and digesting the story fed to them by the upper echelons of the EU about a United States conspiracy. Useless paranoia left over from Icarus."

"I know about the weapon used on Washington," VonGrippen pressed, "I want to know who ordered it done."

"Strange that you have not asked why, or how, merely who." Bacchus observed smugly, "what would you do with this information?"

"His Watchful Eye is omniscient," VonGrippen shifted the phone to his other ear, "you tell me."

"If you insist," Bacchus laughed openly on the line, "His Watchful Eye knows all about the new Highlord VonGrippen. For that is what you are now, even if the realization has eluded you. You possess a naturally curious mind, analytical and detail oriented. You are unhampered by the restrictions and bias that emotions levy upon a human being. You are not motivated by revenge, nor are you driven by loyalty. You merely seek it because it is the truth and you must find an understanding. Everything happens for a reason and for you to move forward you must be able to close the door upon this... set of circumstances."

VonGrippen turned his head looking first towards the pictures on the wall, then back towards a mirror, his eyes narrowing as he crossed to it, staring directly into the eyes of the image facing him, addressing it, knowing the camera would be hidden behind it. It was the most logical place for one to be positioned given the thickness of the wall.

"His Watchful Eye is known to me as well, he is curious to learn what I uncover," VonGrippen said calmly, "and information is the ultimate capital."

"Indeed," Bacchus agreed readily, "His Watchful Eye never blinks, however even it cannot see into the darkest places. The man you want is General Charles Michaud, and I can anticipate your next question..."

"Then it doesn't need to be asked," VonGrippen stated evenly.

"Mars," Bacchus clicked the phone off and VonGrippen lowered the receiver.

"You are going to have to pay him for that information," Poitr pointed out standing by the door.

VonGrippen nodded his head, "when the time comes round, the devil may collect his dues but until that time..." He gestured towards the door.

Poitr pulled it open, standing aside, "The next time I see you, VonGrippen, I will shoot you."

The two men stared at each other for a long, silent moment. The future of House VonGrippen facing a ghost of its past.

"I doubt it," VonGrippen responded breaking the silence at last, turning to walk back into the night. Satisfied now that he had a name. It gave him a starting point, and confirmed his suspicions. The question was now how he proceeded from there.

Who was General Michaud? What gave him the capacity to strike into the heart of Washington? Why Mars? The information was a basic foundation and it was up to him to build upon it, to learn the truth.

He drew out his TAC-link and flipped it open, "Shisak."

Knight's calm voice responded, "Admiral, we were starting to get worried, sir."

VonGrippen crossed the silent street, fastening his lapel closed again as he watched the shadows, "we're in a dangerous game Commander, I am going to require the best from you and the crew."

"You always get our best, sir." Knight reassured, "shall I prepare an extraction team for your retrieval?"

VonGrippen contemplated it as he descended towards the train station, his brow furrowed, "negative Commander, however I want you to prepare a team to collect some intelligence for me."

"As you command, sir," Knight replied as VonGrippen filled the Commander in on the details, watching as a high-speed mag-lev wound its way towards him.

He rode the train in silence, sitting while watching the dark countryside sweep past him as the high-speed mag-lev wound its way back to Cambridge. Was he really the only one who seemed interested in getting to the bottom of the whole mess? Or was it that he was the only one who wanted to disprove the lie. Bacchus held a solid point, when the whole world was looking for an excuse for war; no one wanted to look the gift horse in the mouth.

There would be people willing to do anything to stop him, especially when they discovered his resolve. So far he was just another face, the son of a dead man, the next Highlord of the House. But that would change, as would their understanding of him. He would have to become a precision instrument in order to complete his task, and that meant learning to think like the people who had sought to manipulate the world. He would have to learn to anticipate them and out manoeuvre them. That meant training himself.

He tapped his jaw. What would he do with the answers once he had them? What would those answers mean in a world that didn't want answers, simply sought action? He was finding that his questions were growing; sown upon fertile ground doubt was starting to take root. He had no time for doubt; he needed one clear-cut fact to remain.

He would discover the truth. And he would use that truth to bring about change.

Morality my have been displaced by war hungry men seeking to shroud their true motives behind a smoke screen. But VonGrippen would see that was their final mistake; he committed his resolve to that task. He would not stand by; he would not allow a lie to bury his father.

"This is unexpected, brother," Roki looked up at the comm. screen waiting for the time lag to pass from the high priced real time communication feed flowing from Mars.

Rikard nodded, "Mother felt the need to send her love."

"I see," Roki smiled, the artificial smile that pushed the corners of his 'plastic' face upwards, "is mother well?"

"Mother is worried," Rikard said with a long sigh, "she feels that father's abuse is growing, she frets for the children."

"That doesn't sound like 'mother'." Roki replied folding his arms across his chest, "Mother always struck me as far too materialistic to worry about the fate of her offspring."

"Will you at least consider coming home?" Rikard asked, sounding insistent.

Roki shrugged, "I have a duty and responsibility here, brother." He tapped the Lieutenants insignia upon his naval uniform, "duties that, given our current situations prohibit my ability to travel."

Rikard shook his head, "you have the capacity to travel at will, you just have to exercise it. Father would be pleased to see you, that would be all the reason you need to return."

"I will consider it," Roki reached out to press a button terminating the transmission, hating playing word games. Anyone monitoring the conversation would know they were talking in code, however without knowing who the conversation was between it lacked any reference points for them to interpret it. And General Michaud was blissfully unaware that Rikard was using his personal transmitter to encode the message. Ignorance was at times the best weapon the GN-1's possessed.

Roki fixed a charming smile on his face as he walked out onto the gangway of the aircraft carrier, making his way up towards the bridge, the intelligence insignia on his uniform would ensure that his commanding officer wouldn't ask too many questions. However arranging passage off of Earth would prove problematic considering the embargo both sides of the war were attempting to enforce.

However he was supposedly of a superior intellect, and a problem as challenging as was presented to him was something he should thrive upon. He'd find a way, of that he was sure.