"Space," the professor said. "It was the human race's last frontier, and its grandest dream, finally realized in After Colony Year One with the completion of the first permanent space colony—an achievement so great, so unprecedented in our history, it changed the way we speak about time."

An image of the original Orbital Village dominated the screen behind the podium, a myriad of big wheels, turning in space.

Beside the door outside the lecture hall, the plaque read D-105. When Quatre asked where he might find the professor, the university's staff directed him here, and didn't question the reason for his asking even once. And why should they? The name had changed, and there was nothing suspicious about trying to track down a certain instructor. Perhaps they figured Quatre for an old colleague, or a former student, not knowing both were true, just not in any way they might have guessed.

"Consider the case of the pioneers who first looked back at the Earth from space, and saw it in its entirety for what it was: a fragile oasis of life floating through the dead vacuum of space. When they sent that image back to Earth, they did so with the conviction that once people saw it, they would realize the oneness of the human race and put aside their petty differences.

"They thought this again as the first settlements were constructed on the Moon, and again when the treaty was signed that banned nuclear arms. A full century after mankind began living in space, the dream of the Colonies was saved from economic crisis and almost certain failure by a handful of rich, altruistic men whose forefathers had made their fortunes exploiting the Earth. Once again people spoke of mankind's unification as if it were something that would last forever. But we all know how that turned out."

The story was familiar to Quatre, taking him back to his childhood, and the lectures that his private tutor would give him on the shuttle as Quatre daydreamed, pretending to pay attention. "This is your forefathers' history," Professor H would scold him—because Quatre couldn't fool him for long with his nods and vacant stare. "Someday you're going to be in their shoes. You'd do well to learn from their failures and successes."

As he stood at the back of the hall, looking down at the podium from the shadows near the door, Quatre thought of his old professor again. And how he had never suspected as a boy the double life his tutor had been forced to lead: a civil servant for the Winner family on the one hand, an agent of Colony separatists on the other.

The professor who spoke now neither looked not sounded anything like the Professor H of Quatre's memory. But little had changed from what Quatre did remember. Maybe the years hadn't been as kind to him as they had been to Quatre and the others—after all, hadn't he borne the brunt of everything tenfold what the rest of them had?—but in voice he hadn't aged at all. If Quatre closed his eyes and listened to that voice, he could still see in his mind's eye the young man he'd once considered one of his closest friends, and his greatest inspiration.

How many of the students who sat here had the faintest inkling who their professor really was, or what he used to be? They listened to his voice day after day, soaked up his lectures, and had access to his bio on the university's database. But Quatre would have betted his empire that none of them so much as suspected the truth. They had no way of knowing they weren't being told half the story.

"As the great human migration to Space began, it became an escape from the sins of tribal conflict, disease, environmental damage, and overpopulation that afflicted life on Earth. For the first time in history, humans were able to live independently of their mother planet. Self-sustaining and self-governing, the colonies were free societies in all but name. It's estimated as much as fifteen percent of Earth's population at that time moved in a mass exodus to the newly opened space colonies, encouraged by the promise of a better life and brighter future.

"But it also came at great risk, and expense. Radiation, and continued exposure to less-than-Earth-gravity environments led to a whole slew of new disorders, cancers, and lowered fertility rates. Not to mention, the fragility of the colonies themselves, which could be damaged or even destroyed by an impact with even a small near-Earth object.

"Considering the inherent vulnerability of the space colonies, the situation was ripe for insecurity, resentment, and mistrust. Colonists feared their dependence on Earth resources in the early days of space development would leave them enslaved to Earth governments. On the other side, the governments of Earth feared losing what dwindling control they still had in Space. Despite lower birthrates, they expressed fears of a second human race taking hold in Outer Space, one with superior technology that might turn around and seize control over them.

"So, who was right in the end? Mobile suits were developed in space for the mining of resources and construction, but perfected for military use on Earth. Both sides made use of them to the utmost during the Eve Wars, but to what end? It could be said that each side was only out to preserve its way of life. But when those goals conflict, who's to say which way of life is more deserving of preservation? Is there a price too great to pay for such ideals as liberty, or justice? Can there be a right answer when the human race itself is at stake?"

The bell rang, cutting the professor off in mid-thought. The rustle of students' computers going back into bags almost drowned out his voice as he said: "Remember, there will be a test tomorrow on chapters ten through twelve. If you haven't started the reading, now would be a good time."

A few boys groaned halfheartedly as they pushed past Quatre toward the doors. As the students filed out, none seemed to recognize him through his simple disguise. Few even bothered to look up.

The professor didn't acknowledge Quatre's presence as he organized his notes, but Quatre knew he hadn't gone unnoticed. "So," he said as he made his way to the podium, taking in the expanse of the hall now that the lights were up, "this is what you've made of yourself. A professor of political science."

"I take it it isn't what you expected."

"Maybe not, but now that I've seen you in action, I find it fitting. You do have a gift when it comes to finding the right words to get through to people. Besides, I've learned I shouldn't be surprised by anything you do, Heero."

Heero looked up at him at that name, and now Quatre could see the faintest of lines around his old friend's eyes, even if the eyes themselves had not been dimmed or dulled in any way by the twelve years of peace since they had last seen each other. The same keen spark shone deep inside them even as he said, "You shouldn't read too much into it. Most of these kids are only taking this course to fulfill their credit requirements."

Quatre had to smile. It was just the sort of thing his old friend would say. "Downplay it if you want, but I know you. You're still one of us. We're all doing our part to ensure the world never gives rise to other Quatre Winners, or Heero Yuys."

Wufei and Trowa were no different, one choosing the path of the enforcer of the peace, the other hoping to teach by the example of his past. Even Duo, in what was perhaps the purest way of all of them, was doing his best to lay the God of Death to rest by bringing new life into the world. "What better way to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past than to impart the wisdom of one who's witnessed them first-hand on the next generation."

"It's a pretty one-way relationship. I talk, they listen. They do if they want to pass with a decent grade, anyway."

"Maybe that's true. But out of every class, there will be at least a few who always remember you. Maybe not your name or your face, but they'll remember something that you taught them. Something they hear here will stick with them for the rest of their lives, and it will be because of you, Heero."

Heero's grunt indicated to Quatre that he wasn't too far from the mark, though Heero would never admit it in words. That would be too much like gloating.

"I'm sure talk like that is what won you the election by a landslide," he said. The slightest of smiles on Heero's lips showed his pride more clearly than words could. "You had even my class won over. They voted you in by a margin of over thirty points."

Quatre whistled. "Not bad. If only they were all eligible to vote in L4."

"To be fair, five percent of the votes went to a cartoon mouse who I'm pretty sure wasn't a viable candidate."

Quatre enjoyed a light laugh at that, but Heero abruptly sobered.

"You shouldn't have come here, Quatre."

Quatre expected no less from him after so long an absence. He'd come prepared for a battle. Maybe he should have been grateful they got through as many pleasantries as they did before Heero brought up the inevitable.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think any of your students recognized me."

"That's not what I meant. There was a reason I left the way I did," Heero said as he shoved the last of his notes into his bag, "and I would have appreciated your honoring it."

"If you thought you would be too risky an acquaintance to any of us, that still doesn't justify dropping off the map without a word. We all care about you—"

"Did you consider the possibility that I just didn't want to see any of you?"

The idea took Quatre aback, if only momentarily. If that were true, he would try his best to understand, though he didn't know what he might have done to offend Heero.

But experience had taught Quatre better than to take his old friend at his word. Now more than ever. "No. I don't believe you mean that. At least, not enough to go to the lengths you did to get away from us."

The wall Heero erected around himself might just as well have been made of glass, for as easily as Quatre saw through it, as if no time at all had passed between them. It was easier for Heero to persist this way, Quatre knew, less complicated to keep the rest of them at a distance; but Heero wasn't so selfish as to do it entirely for his own good.

"But it really doesn't matter," Quatre amended. "I didn't come here to ask you why you left. I don't blame you for it, either. That's all water under the bridge. I came here because it's been so long—"

"Relena told you where I was."

It wasn't a question. But nor did it seem like an indictment.

"I sort of weaseled it out of her," Quatre admitted, flashing an apologetic smile under downcast eyes. "She had every intention of keeping your whereabouts a secret. I want you to know that. She only told me if I swore on pain of death that I wouldn't tell the others."

"I guess I should have known she'd figure out where I was eventually." Shouldering the messenger bag that carried his papers, Heero switched off the podium light and stepped down. "Well, if you came here expecting the Heero Yuy you remember, I'm sorry, Quatre, but you wasted your time. There's no one here by that name, and I have papers to grade and an exam to prepare for tomorrow—"

"I got your letter, Heero."

It was a last-ditch effort on Quatre's part, as there was no way he could have known whether those words would have meant half as much to Heero as they did to him—or even anything at all after all this time. But he had to say something, or else let his old friend slip away and prove Heero's assertion that he had taken this trip in vain.

But Heero did stop, and turned around. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

"The letter you left Wufei to give to me," Quatre said, taking a step toward him. "After the Second Eve War. I know you remember. You wrote it so that it might give me hope going into the new era. You knew that, as someone of my family name and political standing, I had more opportunities to falter along the way than the others did, with more far-reaching consequences. You said you wrote it so that when I stumbled I might pick myself up and keep moving. You knew just how lost I would feel after the war, and you believed in me enough to want to ease my burden."

Just like you always did. Giving me permission to set aside my worries for a while and play with those dogs when permission was what I desperately needed. Knowing precisely when I could handle the responsibilities of a leader, when I was my own most vehement doubter.

Quatre shook his head. "I didn't know how much I needed to hear that from you again. Until I did. That letter helped me out of a dark place, Heero. I needed to thank you for that. In person."

"And you've waited the last twelve years just to do that?" Heero's eyes softened. Incredulousness was still a look he wore awkwardly.

Quatre couldn't help a smile. "As a matter of fact, I only found out about the letter a few months ago. Wufei had it all that time. He told me it changed his life. I think it was what finally convinced him to stay with the Preventers—although I'm sure Ms. Po had a lot to do with that, too. From the way he tells it, he owes his life's work to you. And that, I think," Quatre said, sobering, "is the greatest honor anyone can ever receive."

Heero, of course, was too humble to agree. Quatre wondered if he'd ever suspected, when he handed that small piece of paper to Wufei, with instructions to pass it on for him, that it would have the impact it did, on whom it did.

"That's why I couldn't blame him for taking so long to deliver it," Quatre said. "Not when I saw how much it meant to him. Besides, if he'd given it to me when you'd intended him to, I might not have been as ready to receive its message."

Heero considered that in silence. And Quatre had another chance to examine his old friend. The same calm poise was there, even as Heero had grown taller and older. He dressed the part of a professor, but there was still an air of apathy toward his outward appearance: his hair mussed, his clothing in need of ironing and seemingly at odds with his personality, as if he had taken over a dead man's wardrobe.

In the years since the war, Wufei and Duo had found their sources of strength and stability, and Trowa had discarded his various masks in favor of being himself, having found who that self was. Yet Heero, for all the peace he might have found here at the university, was still an intensely internal person, a trait which made him perfect for the scholarly life but just as much an enigma to Quatre as he ever was.

Then again, maybe Heero had moved on just as much as they had, but in his own private way. Perhaps he had made other friends among the faculty and staff, friends he saw socially outside of work, difficult as that was for Quatre to picture. Or maybe Heero was one of those rare people who preferred, were even happiest in loneliness—in which case, Quatre couldn't help envying him his freedom.

"Is that all you came here for?" Heero eventually said. "To thank me?"

Quatre sighed, knowing his time was up. "More or less. And to see with my own eyes that you were alive and doing well. But I guess now that my mission is complete, there's no reason for me to stick around and get in your way."

Heero had made it quite clear he did not want to be disturbed, let alone by the ghosts of his past. As someone who had been in the same boat—and a rather intimate boat that was, the very few who could say they'd not only survived the Zero System but gone back for seconds—it was the least Quatre could do to bow out now, and honor his wishes.

"Maybe there isn't," Heero agreed, "but now that you're here, I think you owe it to me to catch me up on all that's happened while I've been gone."

A wide grin leaped onto Quatre's lips before he could censor himself. Hope filled him with warmth, but he knew better than to get too ahead of himself. "What about your papers, and tomorrow's exam?"

"I've got all night to work on it. I'm long overdue for this." A smile tried to break through Heero's facade as well, but he was a little better at holding it in. "We can talk in private back at my office. I wouldn't risk the cafeteria if I were you with a disguise like that."

"What's wrong with it?" In his flat cap and cable sweater, Quatre had thought he would fit in seamlessly with the college crowd, and not stand out enough to draw attention.

"Nothing," Heero snorted, "if you're looking to be recognized. Come on. I'll make you a cup of coffee. Unless there's somewhere else you need to be."

His bodyguards would be waiting for him, but other than that, Quatre could assure him he had no prior engagements.

"Speaking of engagements," he said as they left through the faculty door, "you must have heard about Trowa and Dorothy by now."

Heero nodded sagely. "We had an interesting debate about conflict of interest in class when the news came out."

"I'm sure those two would appreciate their private life being used as a teaching tool," Quatre laughed.

"I honestly couldn't care less what they do behind closed doors, but they can't pretend their union doesn't have very public repercussions. I just hope they tread lightly where this mobile suit business is concerned, and keep in mind what it was we were all fighting for."

"You could always call them up yourself, give them a piece of your mind. I can't imagine a better wedding gift than that."

"Somehow I don't think they would appreciate it after all these years. Please tell me Duo hasn't done anything as reckless."

"Well, that depends on your definition," Quatre said, smiling to himself. Not that he saw their old friend as reckless at all. With the due date approaching fast, Hilde's pregnancy was going better than the couple could have hoped given their earlier difficulties, and Duo was as excited as ever to become a father.

It was just another reminder of how far the five of them had come since the war, and the gundams.

And yet, as Quatre tried to carry on a light conversation, with Heero playing the devil's advocate at every turn to foil him, some things felt like they hadn't changed a bit. As the world changed around them, as the war generation grew up and grew older, and found themselves preaching to children who had been too young to remember the tribulations they experienced, it was nice to know there were some consistencies that could still be relied on. Like Heero's sharp wit, brutal honesty, and martyrish tendencies.

And Quatre's willingness to forgive him all of it, in a heartbeat.

Quatre,

I'm writing this to you because in the era we're now approaching, voices like yours are going to be needed most of all if the human race is to survive this peace. The road ahead is not going to be easy, especially for people like you whose lot it now falls to to lead the way.

I know you didn't ask for this responsibility, but you were born for it. And not just because you're a Winner. You possess a strength inside you that few people ever find in their lifetimes. Zero recognized it. I think you recognized it yourself when you used the system again and found it couldn't control you any longer.

Now, once again, you have a responsibility to the world to use that strength, and I know you will use it for good.

There will be times when you doubt the path you've chosen is the right one. But it was men who were convinced they could do no wrong who made the greatest mistakes. There will always be doubt, and that is nothing to be afraid of. Doubt is what keeps us centered. If we use it wisely, and don't let it control us or lead us into inaction, even doubt can be a force for great change.

We are all colonies in and of ourselves, Quatre. Each man and woman in the Earth Sphere, living and dead. Each of us carries our own momentum, and each of us carves our own path through space and time. Each one of us turning, forever and ever. Where your own path leads is up to you, and you alone.

Keep turning.