Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai
Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all
original characters and plot copyright 2000 by
Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask
permission before reposting.
SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING
SAINAN NO KEKKA
ACT II, PART III
Author's Notes: Feedback is what keeps an
author moving! Ger and QS are both in
college and coping with overload, so it's nice
to sit down and see what people think of a
non-assigned project.
Quicksilver would like to extend sincere thanx
to Laurel of mitsukake.com for beta-ing the
Trowa section.
All sorts of stuff for SnK can be found at
http://www.method.org/gundam including HTML
versions and earlier sections.
Kotoba ni dasanai omoi
Kieteyuku hoshi dake ni hanasou ka
Jibun no shinjita michi o
Tada hitori arukou
Kaze no uta ga kokoro o nagusameru
Itsuka hohoemi o
Omoidasereba ii
Kurai sora ni kagayaku hoshizuku wa
Itsuka kiete itta
Densetsu no senshi
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Memories that words cannot speak
Do I tell only the fading stars?
My unknown beliefs
Each will walk away alone
The melody of the wind consoles my soul
Someday I shall be able
To remember how to smile
The light of the stars in the dark sky
Are soldiers of legend
Who fell long ago
--Gundam Wing, Hoshikuzu no Senshitachi
[Soldiers of the Stars, Treize Khushrenada image
song]
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Scene IX: The End of the Show
"And just as my eyes start seeing after all the
pain,
The twist in my life starts healing just to twist
again."
~-Ultravox, Lament
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Trowa looked at the four poles that stood in the
center ring. Catherine stole a peek at him,
winking as the ringmaster announced them for
their new act.
"You've seen them dance the dagger's edge; now
watch in awe as they dazzle us with their death-
defying acrobatic skills. May I present to you
Catherine Bloom and Trowa Barton!"
The light hit the siblings, shining off their
green-on-green costumes. They each wore a domino
mask studded with sequins, and green feathers had
been woven into their hair, giving them a wild,
untamed look. Bowing together to acknowledge the
eager applause, they sprang into action, doing a
short tumbling run before hurriedly climbing up
the opposite poles.
Mirroring each other with uncanny skill, they
quickly scaled the poles. Halfway up, they locked
their knees and leaned back, holding their bodies
at ninety degree angles from the poles. It was an
incredible display of lower body strength, and
they waited for the applause the audience would
want to give them. After that they finish by
grabbing the bar with their hands, arcing their
backs.
Over and over they kicked out, performing
seemingly impossible displays of strength,
agility, and just plain insanity. At one point in
the routine, they climbed to the apex, then let
go, free-falling for over thirty feet before
catching onto the bar again. Then they locked
hands and used the other to help them climb,
climbing over each other in a twisted game of
leap frog.
Finally the act came to a close with a dizzying
display of moves as they swung back and forth,
arching and diving and making it look like
gravity had been forgotten. Together the siblings
took a ten feet drop, smiling as they nailed
their landings perfectly.
The crowd gave them a standing ovation. They
bowed, and Trowa produced some explosive pellets
he had kept secreted on his person. With a deft
flick of his wrist, he threw them at the ground,
causing a flash of smoke. The light technicians,
having been expecting this, released a burst of
red and orange light, which the two performers
used to escape. Showmanship was something that
they definitely had down pat.
They collapsed in Catherine's trailer, waiting
together for the finale. Trowa pulled his mask
off and rubbed at the sweat on his face. "Think
it went well?"
She laughed, pushing her mask up so she could see
him. "If you're in the act, it always goes well,"
she said. "I swear, isn't there anything you
can't do?"
"If there is, I haven't found it yet," Trowa
said, humbly keeping his eyes on the ground. He
spoke nothing but the truth; Heero Yuy may have
been known as "the perfect soldier", but Trowa
Barton ran a close second.
"Oh, you!" Catherine said, punching him
affectionately in the arm.
"What do you want to do after we're done?" she
asked.
"Don't you have a date?" he asked. "I thought
Kirin was going to take you out and show you the
lovely city of Hong Kong."
She laughed and waved a hand, dismissing the
notion. "Kirin is always trying to show me
something," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Do you want me to get rid of him for you?" Trowa
asked in a calm and calculating voice, in the
same tone he might have used to ask her what the
weather would be like tomorrow.
"Trowa!" Catherine exclaimed in horror. "No, I do
NOT want you to 'get rid of him!' He's a friend
who just happens to be interested in me- not all
problems should be solved through violence."
Sometimes her little brother gave her a headache-
for every three steps he took towards being
normal, he would take two back. His instincts
were always to deal with a problem with violence,
something she was working hard to get out of his
system.
Trowa stared at her with his fathomless green
eyes for a second before nodding. "If that's how
you want it," he said, making no apology for his
first suggestion.
She barely refrained from belting him in the
face. He was just so aggravating, and the worst
thing was that he didn't MEAN to be aggravating.
"Trowa, you are walking a VERY thin line here,"
she warned him in her 'I'm the big sister, do NOT
mess with me' voice.
He blinked, then smiled. "Yes, Catherine," he
agreed easily.
She glared for a second more, then burst out into
giggles. "So what should we do this evening?" she
wanted to know. "I'm in the mood for exploring."
"I'll go with you," Trowa offered.
"Of course you will, silly. I wish I spoke
Chinese well enough to go to a movie," she sighed
wistfully. "I'm in the mood for a film."
"I can translate for you," Trowa said helpfully.
She blinked. "You speak Chinese?" she said in
amazement.
"Enough to get by. I understand it fairly well-
it was especially helpfully when dealing with
Wufei."
She smiled. It was rare Trowa made reference to
the people who had been his comrades during the
war. "We should be getting back to the ring- the
finale is about to begin."
Trowa pulled his mask down and nodded, obediently
following his sister out the door towards their
adoring audience.
That evening they browsed happily through town,
eating Chinese and seeing an English movie that
had been subtitled into Chinese. They had laughed
and kidded each other, and Catherine's eyes were
glowing when they returned to the circus. "Time
to go to bed, mon cher," she said, standing up on
her tiptoes so she could plant a gentle kiss on
his forehead. "Sleep well."
He hugged her. "Pleasant dreams, ma soeur," he
said quietly, heading off for the trailer which
he had been using.
He prepared for bed quickly, taking his second
shower of the day, and setting out his costume so
it could air. After grabbing a quick snack, he
buried himself beneath his blankets, prepared for
a dreamless sleep. He never dreamed when he
slept, which he considered a blessing.
It was dark when he felt a hand on his shoulder
rudely shake him awake. His first instinct was to
reach for the gun he kept beneath his pillow, but
he refrained from doing so, reminding himself
that he was in safe territory.
"What is it?" he asked quietly. The Ringmaster
stood over him, his face tense. Trowa hadn't seen
him look so worried since the war- obviously
something was wrong. "Is Catherine ok?" he
demanded concern for his sister his first
priority.
"She's fine, Trowa," the Ringmaster rushed to
reassured him. "However, I have some very bad
news."
He handed over a newspaper and clicked on the
light. After letting his eyes adjust, Trowa
scanned the article. "This is bad," he said
mildly.
"It's only a matter of time until everyone's
identities become public domain. When it does...
well, you should be careful. The question is what
we're going to do about this."
"We?" Trowa asked with surprised.
"Most definitely we. The circus is family- I
would have thought you'd learned that by now.
We're here for you, Trowa."
Trowa's mind began to run through the
possibilities. If he stayed here, he would be
traced easily, as he had hid in the very same
circus during the war. Surely that information
was part of the files that had somehow fallen
into a reporter's hands. And if he was traced,
everyone in his vicinity would be in danger. He
had powerful enemies, and those enemies wouldn't
care about civilians who got in the way.
Catherine.
If he stayed here, Catherine would be in danger.
Trowa rolled out of bed and started to get
together a few of the bare essentials he would
need.
The ringmaster watched him. "What are you doing?"
"Packing," Trowa answered, throwing together a
few outfits.
"Why?" the ringmaster demanded, rising to his
feet in agitation.
"If I'm here when the names are released,
everyone will be in danger. It's best if I leave
now, and get a head start."
His mind was racing through possibilities.
Where could he go?
Was there any place that was safe?
And how soon until he could eliminate the source
of the problem?
"What will Catherine say?" the ringmaster
demanded.
"She'll be upset," Trowa said, sighing slightly.
"But I have to leave."
The ringmaster looked saddened. "I understand, I
just don't like it. At least say goodbye to her
before you go."
Trowa grabbed his supply of ready cash, shoving
it into his pocket. With a sigh, he secured two
knives to his wrists, packed up two off his guns,
and slid another gun into the inner pocket of his
jacket. He had enjoyed being able to go around
without watching his back every second; it
saddened him that he had to return to his wartime
habits. "I'm not saying goodbye to Cat. She'll
manage to convince me to stay, or try to go with
me. And right now, she's nothing but a
liability."
The ringmaster had watched wordlessly as Trowa
had secreted a small arsenal on his person, but
he couldn't keep quiet when Trowa stated his
intention to leave without saying farewell to his
sister. "She deserves to hear from your own lips
why you're leaving."
"She'll figure it out. She's a smart cookie."
"She deserves better."
"Of course she does," Trowa agreed readily
enough. "However, she's not going to get it."
"Where are you going?" the ringmaster asked.
"I don't know, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell
you. Cat would get it out of you."
The ringmaster chuckled. "That she would." He
stepped forward and enveloped the teenager in a
hug, surprising Trowa. "You're always welcome
here. We're family, and don't you ever forget
that."
"Thank you," Trowa said. "Someday I hope to come
back," he said, for once admitting a desire he
had for himself. "But right now, it's just not
possible."
"Are you going to the Preventers? Perhaps they
would be able to help you?"
He shook his head, one of his brilliant green
eyes obscured by his hair. "They will be having
enough problems without one of the pilots showing
up asking for asylum. Besides, Lady Une and I
don't get along that well." Trowa reached out and
embraced the ringmaster briefly. "Take care of
Catherine for me, would you? She's the most
precious thing I have."
He left his trailer without looking back. It was
just a place- home was Catherine, her laugh and
affectionate smile. He had to walk by the trailer
where Catherine was sleeping on his way out.
Pausing briefly, he stared at it, wishing he
could go inside and watch her sleep. Just be
close to her for a little while longer. However,
time was of the essence, and anyway, Cat was a
light sleeper. She would awaken.
He blew a kiss towards where he knew she was
sleeping. "Au revoir, ma soeur. Je t'aime," he
murmured.
That day the teenager known as Trowa Barton
disappeared off the face of the Earth. When he
resurfaced again, violence would result.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Scene X: Drawn Back Through Distant Memories
"I don't think you unworthy
I need a moment to deliberate."
--Alanis Morrisette, Uninvited
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You're awfully quiet," Milliard remarked,
watching Dorothy eat her dinner in silence,
staring out the window of the restaurant. He had
purposely picked one of the most expensive
restaurants in the city, one situated at the top
of a tower and which rotated to show a panoramic
view of the surrounding cityscape. The city
itself was breathtaking even during daylight; at
sunset, as a myriad of lights stained the
horizon, it was stunningly gorgeous.
The White Dove was already known as one of the
best restaurants in the city. He'd eaten there
once before when he had come with Treize on a
business trip, and the taste of the roast lamb
he'd had still lingered in his mouth. It was also
one of the most expensive restaurants in the
country. Tomorrow, he was sure that he was sorely
going to regret coming today, but his paycheck
was due any day now, and he had promised to treat
Dorothy to the best food in this vicinity. Not
that she couldn't pay for herself. She was one of
the richest women in the world, heiress to a
massive fortune, and she could pay for the meal a
thousand times over.
No, it was just something he had to do. Because
he hadn't seen her in a long time, because he was
going to ask a favor of her that no woman in her
right mind would even consider, and...
And, well, just because.
"I'm thinking," she said, looking up at him with
pale blue eyes. Milliard couldn't read her.
Aboard the Libra, there wasn't much to read.
She'd been a crafty woman that he had been sure
never to underestimate, no matter how much she
insisted that she would follow him to the ends of
the earth.
"You've thought enough." A wry smile twisted his
lips as she blinked at him, and he took the
opportunity to reach his fork out and snag a
piece of her delicately cut squares of filet
mignon, popping it into his mouth as she finally
registered what he had done.
"Milliard!"
"Shh, not so loud," he warned playfully, bringing
one finger to his lips. "People are watching."
"Oh please," she said, a little bit of the old
scorn coming into her voice, the way he
remembered her. "It's not like your face isn't
plastered all over the front page of the tabloids
anyway."
Milliard rolled his eyes, then allowed himself a
small smile as she looked taken aback. She'd been
goggling at him in one fashion or another ever
since he had calmly walked into her sitting room
and asked her to dinner. He remembered her face
when she had seen him, as if she had seen a
ghost.
She'd know he was alive, he knew. Ever since he
had decided to go back to the Cinq Kingdom, he'd
had no peace from the press. But he'd never
imagined Dorothy - cool, calm, scheming Dorothy
Catalonia, to look at him like he was a spectre
out of some waking nightmare.
The Lightning Baron, come back from the dead.
As it became apparent that he was in fact
breathing flesh and blood, to his surprise, she
didn't relax. He'd tried to draw her out,
laughing and joking and making it quite obvious
that he wasn't the stern and haunted White Fang
leader anymore. It was awkward between both of
them. When they'd last seen each other he had
been commander and she subordinate. When they'd
last seen each other, he had never smiled.
He wanted to show her that he had changed.
He didn't understand why she would glance at him
when she thought he wasn't watching and then
automatically shift her gaze when he looked at
her. Why she seemed uncomfortable just making
idle conversation with him. None of it made
sense. He'd remembered Dorothy as a very
independent and confident woman, which was why he
had made the journey here in the first place.
Had he been wrong? Had Dorothy changed too much?
They'd all changed since the war ended...some of
them more than others.
Or maybe she was still afraid of Zechs Merquise.
She was staring out the window again, and he
resisted the urge to sigh. The lobster currently
on his plate was delicious as always, but he'd
barely finished half of it, wondering what he was
going to say to her. And her silences weren't
making this any easier.
"Dorothy, lighten up," he said.
Her confused gaze swung back to him. "Huh?"
Now he was worried. Never in his life had he ever
heard Dorothy Catalonia utter the word "huh?"
"Is something wrong?"
"N-no," she murmured, her gaze going
automatically back to her plate, as if she were
afraid to meet his eyes.
This time, he did sigh. "You can talk to me, you
know," he said, reaching out with his eyes,
grasping her gaze and holding it. She looked
slightly paralyzed.
"M-Milliard?"
"You can talk to me," he said gently, smiling a
little to lighten the intense stare he was fixing
her with. "Something's bothering you, isn't it?
You aren't the same as I remember. What is it?"
"I think we've all changed," she said stiffly,
twirling her fork through the food on her plate.
"That's not what I mean."
There was a silence in which she didn't seem to
breathe, and then with an inarticulate sound in
her throat, she wrenched her gaze away.
"It's-it's you!" she whispered to the window.
"You don't get it, do you? I thought you were
dead...and then I heard you were alive after
all...I never thought you'd remember me." Her
eyes that twisted back to him were haunted.
"What do you want with me?"
He blinked. "Dorothy?"
"It's not fair," she said softly. "Not fair at
all..."
Without thinking, he reached across the table and
grabbed the hand that was holding the fork in a
loose grip. The utensil clattered to the
tabletop. Her hand was small and warm and
trembling just a little bit.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said. "I came to
ask you a favor, and if you hadn't been expending
all your energy and effort trying not to talk to
me, I would have asked you earlier!" Despite
himself, some frustration seeped into his voice.
"Do you not want to talk to me? I can go away...
if you want. I can leave."
"No! No...please, stay."
There was a plea in her words, and as he looked
at her, she colored slightly. He resisted the
urge to stare at her open-mouthed.
Dorothy Catalonia was many things, but she was
never embarrassed.
"I'm sorry," Milliard said quietly, releasing her
hand. She snatched it back and hid it under the
table, as if nursing a wound. "I-"
What had possessed him to do that, anyway?
"What did you come here for, Milliard?"
The long platinum colored hair fell over her
eyes, and the simple white dress she wore made
her look very young. He suddenly felt the urge to
reach over and brush the hair out of her eyes and
tell her that everything would be all right.
She reminded him of Relena.
He had hardly known Dorothy when they were aboard
the Libra, even having met her once before. A
private party given by the Romefeller Foundation,
when he had been a young officer, a few years out
of the Academy, and Treize had insisted he
attend. Milliard had heard about Dorothy
Catalonia through hearsay only, and he was
surprised at how young she actually looked in
person.
Because according to the Academy rumors, the some
of the things she had done were not the doings
of a child.
He had decided to be brave that night, had gone
up to her and introduced himself, very formally,
hoping to impress her. It didn't go as he had
planned. She had raised one platinum eyebrow and
gazed impassively at him for a moment, and then
she'd swept away, not even bothering to answer
him. For the rest of the night, he'd avoided her.
When he had seen her on the Libra, she had hardly
looked older than she had that night, though it
had been more than four years. He had grown past
the awkward young lieutenant whom she had
embarrassed that night, yet he had still been
beleaguered with the feeling that she was
laughing at him. Laughing at her commander.
He had deserved to be laughed at. He couldn't
remember exactly why he had been there in the
first place.
Dorothy's skill with the Mobile Dolls was
amazing. That was how he had always thought of
her. Even now, sitting with her and looking at
her across the table, she was still in his mind
the scheming strategist. Maybe that was why she
had confused him so much tonight. Because he was
seeing Dorothy Catalonia the woman and not
Dorothy Catalonia the soldier, and he had been
trained to think of the soldier first, all his
life.
It was too confusing.
"Milliard?"
Her voice shook him out of the fog he had
immersed himself in, and he looked at her. "Yes?"
"Didn't you hear what I said?"
"No...?"
"I asked what you wanted." Her voice hardened.
Things weren't going well at all.
"I-" He stopped. This wasn't working. This was
not the environment he had imagined.
"Can we talk somewhere else?"
Dorothy looked suspicious.
"You're stringing me along. I don't like this."
"I promise. I just can't talk here. Not about
what I want to talk to you about."
She looked suspicious for a second more, then
shrugged. "As you like."
Milliard could feel the alternating emotions from
her as he paid the bill, as they departed the
restaurant and got into the car, and he
recognized some of them. She didn't trust him.
She thought he was making a fool of her. He
smiled to himself as he turned out of the lot and
onto the road. He could identify with that,
remembering a young officer alone at a party,
snubbed by a girl with long platinum hair and a
mocking smile.
"What are you smiling at?"
"Nothing," he said, still smiling.
"Milliard-"
"Don't worry about it." Turning onto an unpaved
road sheltered from the setting sun by graceful
branches of overhead trees. "Just remembering the
past, that's all."
She looked thoughtful, then began to laugh. "You
know what I was thinking about all the way to the
restaurant?"
"What?"
"That party we met at a few years back...when you
introduced yourself and I ignored you. Remember
that?"
Milliard started to laugh.
"It's not that funny."
"No..." He shifted the gear into park and turned
off the engine. "I was just thinking about that
too."
They sat in silence for a minute as the fading
sunlight dappled in through the windshield and
drew patterns on the dashboard.
"You've changed, Milliard."
"So have you," he replied, unbuckling his
seatbelt and stretching. The seat was made for
shorter human beings than he, and his legs were
cramped.
"You never used to smile like that." He looked at
her and this time she didn't look away but met
his gaze squarely, blue meeting blue. "You never
used to laugh."
"I do now," he said softly. "I'm trying...to be a
better man than I was."
"It's funny," she said. "I didn't know you at all
when the war ended...and now we're talking like
old friends. Is that strange or what?"
He looked away, ran a hand down the frame of the
window. "War bonds people, Dorothy."
"You heard the news about the Gundam pilots," she
said. "Haven't you?"
It had been on the news this morning when he had
turned on the radio, but he hadn't been
surprised. He had seen this coming, sooner or
later, in one form or another. Secrets like that
could never be kept secret for long. He'd even
seen that particular man around, the reporter who
had broken into secure files, when he'd been a
"security guard" for the Preventers headquarters.
That reporter was in prison awaiting trial now,
but the secrets were out.
"Yes. A shame."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You think so?"
"They were not children. Far from it. I did not
care for them, but I respected them as soldiers
and pilots, and now they will be punished for
being noble."
"You want to go outside?" she said suddenly,
opening the car door. "It's stuffy in here, and
it's such a nice sunset."
She disappeared into the trees as he was still
getting out of the car, and when he caught up
with her she was sitting on an overturned tree
trunk on the top of the hill. The countryside
stretched out below and the sun was just
disappearing over the horizon. A flock of
migrating birds flew across royal purple-tinged
clouds. Her long hair stirred slightly in the
breeze and she did not speak until he had taken
a seat beside her.
"What do you want, Milliard?"
He took a deep breath, looking over the darkening
landscape.
"Dorothy...have you ever considered going back to
being a soldier?"
Her head whipped around, and he held up a hand
quickly before she could open her mouth. "You've
definitely got the talent and intelligence for
it, and you're one of the best strategists I've
ever worked with. We could use you."
He couldn't read her expression in the dark. "We
as in...?"
"The Preventers."
"I knew you would say that," she said. "The
answer is no."
"Dorothy-"
"NO," she repeated firmly, "That part of my life
is over, Milliard, and I'm not going back to what
I was. I've changed now. I can't go back."
"Can't or won't?"
She paused. "What do you mean?"
"Look...I know you're the heiress to a massive
fortune and title. You belong in the upper
echelons of society, and your family must be
pressuring you to act the part, right? Am I
correct? They want you to become a lady and
attend social functions and marry a nice young
man. Right?"
She suddenly looked very fragile. "Not they," she
mumbled. "She."
"She?"
"My mother."
The Duchess Emily Khushrenada Noventa. He had
heard about her before, but only through hearsay.
He'd known she was Dorothy's mother, but for some
reason had never connected the two, had never
really believed that they were related in any
way.
"I don't understand," Dorothy said. Her hands
clenched in her lap. "She wants me to be some
social climber...she wants me to be like her.
Maybe she even thinks she can use me in her quest
for power or money or whatever she wants. I don't
know what she wants."
Tentatively, Milliard reached out a hand to touch
her shoulder, and she didn't flinch away, simply
sat there.
"I'm sorry, Dorothy," he said. "I didn't mean-"
"It's nothing." She looked up at him. "I...you
know I'd go with you, Milliard. I'd go anywhere
with you...if I could. If I was allowed."
"Why not?"
"My mother-"
"What can she do?" he interrupted, reaching over
and grasping one of her hands, shaking it. "Tell
me, what can she do to you?"
"She has more political power than I'll ever
have. With the right contacts, she can take away
my title, my property-"
"That's it!" he exclaimed, "That's just it.
That's all she can do. Do you seriously care
about the title and the property? Dorothy?"
"I-" she began uncertainly. "I don't know ..."
"Dorothy, I gave up my title and my lands long
ago, and I don't regret it at all. It's a
different world out there, and unlike most of
them, you've experienced it. That's why you're
different. Why you can never re-assimilate back
into their world. Because there's so much more
out there for you. You understand that, right?"
"You're asking me to go with you." It was not a
question.
"There's a situation on one of the frontier
colonies. And I need your help."
If he hadn't been watching carefully, he would
have missed the look in her eyes, the brief flash
of hunger and longing that he had known was still
there, if he dug deeply enough.
Dorothy Catalonia, you haven't changed as much as
you want to think...
"Right now."
"Yes. I leave in two days with Preventers troops,
and I thought I'd stop by and ask if you wanted
to come along."
When she spoke next, her voice was subdued. "Why
me? Why not...someone else? Noin?"
Noin.
The name was a flash of pain inside his heart.
"Noin isn't here anymore," he said, more harshly
than he intended. He felt her hand stiffen in his
grasp, and he tightened his grip.
"I'm sorry, Dorothy. I didn't mean-"
"I know," she murmured, looking away. The last
light of day was fading. He could see the
crescent moon emerge from behind wisps of cloud.
"I'm sorry. I'm always opening my mouth at the
wrong time, aren't I?'
"No."
"I..I need to think about this, Milliard. If you
could give me details, perhaps..."
He pulled her to her feet. "I have briefing
reports and things in the car. I'll go over them
with you when we get back. I just wanted to...
ask...before..."
"I understand," she said, with a hint of laughter
around her lips. "I told you, if I could, I'd go
anywhere with you."
He looked at her quizzically and she glanced
away, seemingly embarrassed again.
"Why do you say that?"
She didn't answer. He frowned, confused.
"Dorothy?"
"Look, Milliard," she said softly, grasping his
hand and pointing to the blackened sky. "Stars."
He held her hand tightly, looking into the sky
and trying to pinpoint with his eyes a planet too
far away to see, where someone with bright eyes
and a warm smile and the heart of a soldier
waited for him. He was coming for her, and he
would find her, no matter what the data and the
reports said, because his heart told him so.
I'd go anywhere with you...
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Scene XI: Privacy and the Right to Know
"And to right a wrong
And to meek the strong."
--Live, Selling the Drama
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"'If they're shooting at you, you know you're
doing something right,'" Banks murmured to
himself. He couldn't remember who had told him
that, but he fervently hoped it was true. He sure
felt like he was being shot at.
He had known he would get in trouble- hell, he
would have been disappointed if that wasn't the
case. Still, he hadn't been prepared for the
harsh realities of isolation. Every now and then
one of the Preventers would give him a plate of
food, casting disparaging and scornful eyes over
him. Aside from that, he was left alone to his
thoughts.
He understood their derision. He had been one of
them, if only on the surface, and he had betrayed
them. He wanted to force them to open their eyes
to that their leaders were really like, yet he
didn't have the heart. They were deluded, these
Preventers, and nothing he did would change them-
with one possible exception. Tell the truth.
Sometimes the truth was the most powerful weapon
of all. He was a reporter; ignorance was his
enemy.
The oppressive silence of the cell weighed
heavily on him- he had room to takes four steps
in either direction, and that was all. There was
nothing in the cell aside from a cot, a pillow,
and the smooth wooden bowl his last meat had
arrived in. The depressingly gray walls seemed to
want to close in on him. To keep from going
positively crazy, he mentally replayed the data
he had taken over and over in his head, clinging
to it like a child to a prize.
He still couldn't believe it. The pilots were
children. Their faces were so young, and he
remembered staring at them, wondering what it
would be like to have killed so many so young; to
have the certain knowledge that you would spend
the rest of your life with the burden of the
deaths of thousands on your conscience.
He was remembering the faces, particularly that
of the pilot of 04, Quatre Raberba Winner. That
had simply astounded him. It had been common
knowledge the boy had gone missing during the
war, but he has assumed that Winner Senior had
secreted the boy in some stronghold with a
platoon of servants and tutors, carefully
guarding the treasure of the Winner empire. After
all, the Winners were staunch pacifists, with
only one exception- an older daughter who had
joined the Federation army and severed all ties
with her family.
The door to the cell opened with a mechanical
hiss, and he looked up, wondering at the
disruption in the pattern which had established
itself. According to his time sense, he wasn't
due for another meal for three more hours. When
he saw the woman who entered the cell, his breath
caught.
He recognized her by the twin braids she wore.
Brigadier General Sally Po, a surgeon of notable
skill, and one of the leading officers of the
Preventers; second in command after Lady Une
herself. Banks had seen her at a distance, but
this was the first time he had ever been so
close. He was surprised at the vitally she seemed
to exude, and how pretty she was. Her features
were an exotic blend of Asian and European
heritage, and he wondered why no one ever said
anything about her beauty. The woman in front of
him had it all; brains, beauty, power. And right
now, she was looking at him like he was a
particularly disgusting bug she couldn't decide
how to crush.
"Muhammed Ali Banks," she said. She looked him
over, stepping further into the cell. Behind her
the door whirled shut, and she took a long look
at him, dissecting him to his very soul.
"General Po," he said. "I would rise to greet
you, but I have the feeling that anything I do
might be considered enough provacation to get me
shot."
"If I had my way, we'd hang you," Po said
quietly, walking closer and looking down at him.
He confronted her gaze fearlessly. "Really? That
surprises me. You have a reputation for
fairness."
"A bullet is too good for you." She walked back
and stood as far away as possible, which wasn't
easy, considering the size of the cell. "Why?"
"Huh?" he asked. He had been expecting an
interrogation, not just a simple question.
General Po stared at him. "I thought it a simple
enough question," she said, mirroring his thought
almost uncannily. "Why did you do it? The war was
over- was there really any need to go raking up
the old hurts?"
"The public has a right to know," Banks said.
"Even if it hurts it? We, as a world, were
recovering, damn it. Now you've gone and released
a cat among pigeons. You may have single-handedly
destroyed a very delicate peace."
"If it can be destroyed that easily, perhaps it's
not worth keeping," Banks said.
The General looked at him, contempt in her eyes.
"Peace is always worth keeping. Do you know how
many people died for this world we now live in?
DO you?" she demanded, her fists clenched at her
sides.
Banks shook his head. Po had a reputation for
being calm, and watching her explode like a
firecracker was...interesting, to say the least.
"I don't either. No one does. Millions, at the
very least. Federation, Oz, White Fang,
civilians- it doesn't matter. They all died, and
lie together, dead and buried in the ground, or
their remains are scattered beyond recovery. They
died for peace- died to see a world worth living
in. They may not have agreed on what that world
was to be, but surely they would not thank you
for stirring up ashes of a fire that should have
been allowed to die out."
"What about the survivors?" Banks demanded. "What
about those innocents who were left behind to
mourn how cruel fate had been to them? What about
those whose lives the Gundams shattered? Don't
they have the right to know the truth?"
"Sometimes the truth is better left hidden. What
about the pilots? Do you realize you've just
destroyed the lives of five young men? What about
their right to privacy?" Po retaliated viciously.
"They gave up that right the first time they
stepped into a cockpit of a Gundam," Banks said,
convinced that he had been in the right.
"Besides, they are just genetically engineered
mutants who were merely pawns in the game."
Suddenly Banks was aware of a sharp, stinging
sensation in his left cheek. The General had just
slapped him, and slapped him like she meant it.
Her eyes were shooting sparks as she spoke at him
with intense fervor. "How dare sit there,
preaching like you know what's best, speaking as
though you know everything. Did you ever meet any
of the pilots? Do you know what they are?
"True, the pilot of 01 may have experienced some
genetic tampering, and the Winners are renown for
genetically altering their offspring. Still, the
other three were as normal as anyone else, save
the fact that they were exceptional individuals.
The pilots are extraordinary people. I count
myself lucky to be able to call myself their
friend. They stood for something that is
obviously far beyond your capability to
comprehend- justice, right, and freedom. They
stood up and fought for the Colonies since no
one else would. Do you know how hard it is to
say, 'This is what I believe' and then act on it,
no matter what anyone else tells you?
"So how dare you! How DARE you?" Po demanded.
Banks was amazed. This was not the cool,
collected warrior who was becoming a legend among
her peers. This was an angry woman who looked
more then ready to strangle him with her own
hands. "I did what I thought was right."
"Sometimes we have to practice discretion. Since
you broke this 'story', there has been at least
thirty deaths in various riots across the world.
You also may have single-handedly toppled the
Preventers- quite an accomplishment. Topple the
only global peace-keeping force- how brilliant
you are. I'm sure you'll get a Pulitzer for it."
"I didn't do it for fame or awards! I did it
because it needed to be done! Tyrants deserve to
be toppled! You had no right to keep the
identities of the pilots secret!"
"We had every right! Since history began, every
government has kept secrets from their people,
secrets which help the government continue to
function. Yes, the pilots are young, but you just
destroyed their lives. We were well on the path
to forgiveness- many were the wrongs that were
committed, and not all were the fault of the
Gundams. In fact, they did what they could- they
were rebels. Yes, they may have resorted to
terrorist tactics, but there's little you can do
when you're five people against an entire world."
"Shouldn't we learn from the lessons history
teaches us? Shouldn't we have learned by now that
a peace that is easily shattered is no true
peace?" Banks argued.
"It is in human nature to fight. It is our
intention to suppress it. However, the difference
between the current government and that that the
Romefeller Foundation tried to impose on us is
that we do not rule through fear- we rule by
finding the common threads that bind humanity
together. You, however, have merely forced people
to look at when they had so many differences that
the world was going crazy. No one knows what will
happen; retrospect is the easiest thing in the
world."
She knocked on the door twice, paused, then
knocked again. It hissed open, and two guards
looked in. One, a petite female with Latino
features, immediately noticed the redness of
Banks' cheek. Her eyes darted back and forth, yet
she said nothing, wisely keeping her silence.
"The next time you hear an explosion, think that
you may be the one responsible. The next time you
hear people cry after a bomb rips theirs lives
apart, know that your actions may have led to it.
The next time someone dies, consider that you may
be the one to blame."
With that, she stalked out of the cell. Behind
her the door shut, locking with a resounding
clang.
END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT II
=====
Quicksilver
Lady of the Labyrinth
Full time student and part-time writer
"You haven't lived until you've danced the dagger's edge."
http://www.homestead.com/quicksilverslabyrinth
http://www.method.org/gundam
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