[center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjg4LjE5NTdiOC5SMmxzWW1WeWRDQkJibVJ5WldGeklFdkR0bTVwWncsLC4x/scriptina.regular.png[/img][/center]
[center][h3][color=ed1c24]Annona Colony - Grand Dock[/color][/h3][/center]
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Gilbert didn’t know how things could have gone so wrong. 

There were plenty of excuses he could probably fall back on. That the colony’s guard force was inadequately trained in interception and area-control tactics. That he wasn’t the actual commander of the colony fleet, only a special advisor with limited authority to dictate plans. That there were systemic issues in the Empire leading to an ineffective and hole-ridden early-warning network around Venus. That a missile or small vessel with such excessive mobility parameters appearing out of the black was something that couldn’t be accounted for even in contingency plans one step removed from reasonability. That he was a specialist in hunting-killing, not defense, even if each relied heavily on understanding the other.

If only he was the kind of man to take things easy like that. His life would be far more relaxed.

[i]. . . he would probably also be married to a noblewoman of his parents’ choosing, safely nestled in a desk-bound posting on Mars.[/i]

It was those kinds of thoughts that almost made him shudder in disgust.

And now he was watching one of his handpicked, personally-requested men throw away all sense of propriety and regulation and jump headfirst into a sticky situation. The spectacle of Signifier Galahad briefly scuffling with one of his security officers was one that couldn’t be missed. Nor was the subsequent dash to the edge of the hangar, where a line of Tommies stood watch. Whispers were running through the crowd — most clueless, but the dreaded word was already falling from more vicious lips.

He scowled. [i]Despite[/i] this, Galahad was still too useful for him to leave to those vipers.

[@vietmyke]
"This is hangar control. Officer, you are not cleared for launch. Please stand down."

This wouldn’t do. What Galahad had already done couldn’t be undone, but the consequences could be mitigated. Not if the younger man was forced out of the Tommy into the hands of a crowd more than willing to arrest — or worse — an "upstart" who dared to hijack a Mobile Suit in the presence of royalty. But if he made any contribution at all towards the neutralization of the unknown, Gilbert could possibly try to brush things away . . . 

He brought a hand up. [color=00aeef]"This is König. I’ll authorize it."[/color]

". . . understood. Unlocking inner airlock gate." Though reluctant, the officer knew better than to try to argue it at this time.

Gilbert’s earpiece chirped again, and he turned away. [color=00aeef]"Status update."[/color]

[color=a187be]"Target has diverted from original path. Now approaching the opposite pole. Schwarzchild and Lorenz teams remain in pursuit. An unidentified mobile weapon has also launched from the [i]Venue[/i]."[/color]

He would have preferred news of its destruction. But at least it wasn’t on course for this pole of the colony anymore. The Princesses would no longer be in [i]immediate[/i] danger, especially once they were properly behind the thick bulkheads of the colony’s walls. 

[color=00aeef]"Alright. Continue and keep me notified."[/color]

There was little more he could do now but applaud politely for the procession of princesses as they strode elegantly down the red carpet towards the awaiting floats and escorts. Depending on how things would shake out with the intruder, he might leave the festivities at first opportunity and deal with the threat more directly . . .

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[center][color=ed1c24]Maximilian Eckhardt Lorenz[/color][/center]
[center][color=ed1c24]Annona Colony — Rear, Near Aerospace [/color][/center]
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The distance to the unknown dropped precipitously with each second. The smirk on Max’s face only grew. A lesser being would’ve lost consciousness by now — the blood in their body being forced into their legs despite the compression support of a normal suit, depriving their brain of much-needed oxygen — but for the superior body of a Martian, this wasn’t even near his limit. A sizeable portion of fuel had been expended on this rapid burn, but it was worth it to maximize the delta-V within a limited amount of time. He might have been bottom of the class in the mathematics of flight and orbital mechanics, but he at least understood that much. 

The interception course that the Schwartzschild team was taking had been well-planned — despite the evident disparity in performance parameters, it seemed that they would be able to catch up to it if it continued to approach Annona. Even if he was only supposed to be providing backup — Max shook his head in feigned disappointment as he saw notifications of retreating allies on the monitor. Lost limbs and damaged torsos, leaving to the pilots only the option of heading back for repairs. [color=ed1c24][i]Fools who can’t shoot down a missile or even lay their own bodies and lives on the line to protect the Empire[/i][/color], was his contemptuous evaluation. 

But now there was another strange blip on the monitor. The IFF tagged it as a friendly, but there was no other information available — something that he’d usually only associated with the Frankenstein’s-Monster-esque cobbled-together junks that pirates favored. 

With a shrug, he kicked it up the ad-hoc chain of command. [color=ed1c24]"Lady Schwartzschild, looks like we’ve got a mystery man joining the hunt. What’s the plan?"[/color] [@GreenGoat]