Hi!
Here's the final part of Act one- This is a work by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant.
Earlier parts and sidestories are available at: http://www.method.org/gundam
Is anyone actually READING this? Feedback WOULD be appreciated.....
SAINAN NO KEKKA
ACT I, PART III
Just wild beat communication
Nani mo yuzuranai de
Wakariaeru hito ga ireba
Tatakau koto dekiru kara
Just wild beat communication
Ai wo hanasanai de
Afureda shita atsui sugao
Motsureta mune toki hanatte
Tonight
Just wild beat communication
Don't surrender anything
Because we who understand each other
Will battle as one
Just wild beat communication
Don't let love go
The overflowing passion tangled
In the heart will reveal itself
Tonight
Scene X : Arguments of a Futile Nature
"The system gives you just enough
To make you think that you see change."
--Ani DiFranco, The Waiting Song
Sally Po, former revolutionary, sat behind a desk in the Preventers’ Headquarters
in Geneva, up to her elbows in unwanted paperwork. If someone had told her two years
ago that she was going to a beurocrat, she would have laughed in their face. Now she
might slap them if they reminded her of her duties. She was a woman of action, or she
had been.
How quickly things change, she thought, picking up the black ball point pen and
scribbling a few notes to her secretary. And I’m not sure that’s a good thing. I joined
the Preventers to maintain the peace, but how can I do that if I’m not at peace with
myself? I’m not happy with the person I’m becoming.
Her thoughts had been much along the same lines ever since she had accepted the
commission. Lady Une had argued long and hard to get her to agree, telling her that
many people still followed her lead, and that is she joined, many former revolutionaries
would join as well.
Having no clue what else to do with herself (she had been military all of her life),
she agreed, believing Une would find some kind of appropriate medical position for her.
To her surprise, Une made her Deputy Chief of Staff instead.
The argument that had followed had been intense, yet oddly polite. Neither
woman raised her voice, yet the passion was there.
Sally had been moving her belongings into her newly acquired apartment in
Geneva. She had been loath to leave her homeland, but consoled herself with the thought
that her family was less then two hours away by shuttle. At least she wasn’t on one of the
colonies, like Noin.
The messenger had arrived late morning, wordlessly handing her a thick vellum
envelop with a wax seal that had been imprinted with the elaborate series of triangle that
represented the Preventers before hurriedly departing. Breaking it open, she hastily
perused its contents, then bolted for the door, ready to do battle.
She must had set a record, for it took her less then fifteen minutes to find her way
to Lady Une’s office. Pounding once on the entry, she threw the heavy oak door open
and started in, tossing the message on the cherry wood desk.
Une hadn’t been surprised to see her. Frank brown eyes assessed the Chinese
woman before Une spoke. "Is something wrong, General Po?" she asked in a mild voice.
Sally tried to keep from flinching, but failed to do so. "That’s just it! Brigadier
General? My Lady, I am a doctor! When I accepted, I was under the impression that you
would find somewhere that needed someone with my medical talents, not an
administrator!"
Lady Une raised tired eyes. It had been only about a month since Treize
Khushrenada had died, and her love for him was already legendary. It was doubtful that
she would ever fall in love with anyone else; the memory of Treize was too powerful. So
instead, she worked to maintain what he had fought to achieve. "Sally, you know I would
love nothing better then to put you in a medical position. I need more medical
professionals, but you’re famous, and I need to put you somewhere noticeable even more.
There’s a lot of former soldiers from all sides who need to shown that the healing of our
world is taken place. We need to unite."
"I’m not a bureaucrat!" she protested.
"We all must do what we can," Une replied.
Sally decided to take a different tact. "But General? I’m only an ex-Colonel
from the long deceased Federation Army. How can you possibly justify giving me that
much of a jump in seniority?"
"You were a General already when you fought against Oz," Une returned without
rancor or resentment. "I’m merely giving you the rank you deserve."
Sally stubbornly shook her head. "No!"
Une sighed and rubbed her temples. "It’s too late. I’ve already appointed you,
through all the legal channels. If you resign, you’ll create a problems and instability."
Her eyes widened. "You trapped me!" she accused.
Une looked at her, and for a second Sally would have sworn she saw the familiar
glint of light across glasses, which was ridiculous since Une had had corrective surgery on
her retinas. "I did what I had to do," she said with quiet strength.
Sally spun on her heel and left, shutting the door with deceptive gentleness. It had
taken her months before she had forgiven Une for her duplicity. Sometimes she was still
angry, yet recognized now why Une had acted in such a fashion.
Une was using the Preventers to keep the peace they had all fought so hard to
achieve; a peace that was as tenuous as a fiddler on a roof. Squabbles broke out daily and
Une was constantly sending out teams to put out those fires. Sally herself often was one
of those people; with her ties to the Resistance, she had been instrumental in defusing two
such situations so far.
Still, that didn’t make her happy. She felt she could do a lot more good if she was
stationed in the field, healing lives one by one, rather then trying to keep fixing the system
as a whole. Anne was trying to bandage a body that needed surgery, and Sally was the
one of the ones most capable of performing that much-needed work. Still, she was stuck
behind a desk, only making calls to her contacts when a crisis arose.
Sally remembered the party after the war. It had been a time of celebration, yet
great sadness as well. She had been so happy when hostilities had ceased; so naïve in her
faith that everything would be okay now that the threat Libra had represented had been
eliminated.
Not everyone had been so optimistic. Noin had found a corner and quietly drank
by herself, rebuffing the occasional Maganac who offered his company. Sally kept an eye
on her, but understood. Noin had just lost the man she had loved, and she needed time to
readjust her worldview alone. Sally would check on her later.
Wufei, though, had been of more immediate concern. He had sat quietly,
glowering at Duo, who was busy trying to organize a game of "I Never". Wufei had
already rebuffed the incorrigibly cheerful American's invitation, but that didn't stop him
from muttering curses under his breath in Mandarin.
Many people didn't understand what he was saying, but Sally would have bet her
Doctorate that the rest of the Gundam pilots did. Quatre's pale skin blushed whenever
the Chinese soldier got particularly descriptive, Trowa would occasionally turn an
interested ear his way, Heero would break out of his brooding to smirk slightly, and Duo
would become more and more provocative the more Wufei swore at him.
Sally winced as Wufei let loose a exceptionally vulgar epithet, and decided to take
matters into her own hands. Feeling like she was walking unarmed into a heavy barrage
of Mobile Suit fire, she approached where he was sitting and tapped on his shoulder with a
gentle hand.
Wufei hadn't been drinking that evening. His left hand reached up and caught her
wrist, twisting it lightly. He obviously didn't like people coming up from behind, and she
cursed herself for a fool. Biting her inner lip, she caught a pained gasp before it could
escape. "I guess I should know better then o sneak up on one of you pilots, shouldn't I?"
she asked.
Wufei let go of her, turning his black eyes onto he face. "What do you want,
woman?" he snarled in Japanese.
She frowned and answered in Mandarin, which was their native tongue. "How
many times do I have to tell you? My name is Sally."
His eyes showed no acceptance. "What do you want?" he reiterated.
She raised a hand and ran it through her hair. She had let her braids loose this
evening, and the honey-colored locks tumbled freely around her face. She had forgotten
how pleasant it was to literally let her hair down. It was freedom. Wufei's hair was still
tightly pulled back, and she wondered, not for the first time, if it was partly responsible for
his grumpy attitude towards life.
"It's a party, Wufei. Can't you at least pretend to enjoy yourself? You're
dragging down the atmosphere," she teased, leaning close to him. She was tempted to
tweak his nose like a child who was misbehaving, but realized that he would most likely
hit her hard if she did such a thing.
"There's no reason to celebrate," Wufei said in his usual brash fashion. "Don't any
of these people realize how much work lays ahead of them? They're celebrating like all of
their problems are solved!"
Sally looked at him, and sensed the confusion and sorrow inside. Looking
around, she saw the other pilots were all occupied with the joyous climate that surrounded
them, though Heero's eyes would go vague now and then as he brooded on his own
problems. "How about we go somewhere and talk?" she suggested.
He nodded, wordlessly rising to his feet. She led him to the main hangar, where
all the Gundams were stored. Wordlessly he used the Zero G to propel himself up so he
was sitting on a somewhat battered Shenlong. She followed him, cautiously taking a seat
beside him.
"What's really bothering you, Wufei?" she asked gently.
He looked into her eyes. "It is not a matter that a woman can understand," he
said with his usual stubborn pride.
"Wufei, we fought together," she sad. "At least give me some credit," she said.
He looked her over, and she could feel him weighing her. She must have
measured up to whatever invisible scale he required, for he looked down at his clenched
fists, speaking slowly and carefully. "How come those people don't understated?" he said
with fierce intensity. "The war isn't over- it's just beginning."
"Oh?" Sally said quietly. "What do you mean by that?"
One of his hands reached out and caressed the side of the Gundam. Sally had
found that all of the Pilots seemed to get comfort from being near their machines, and had
even overheard Quatre talking to his at one point. Wufei was no different; if anything, he
relied upon it more then the others. "There is no such thing as peace," he said. "It's an
elusive dream."
"Then what did you fight for?" she demanded.
"I fought because someone had to. I fought for the Colonies. I fought- I fought
because there was no other way. I know nothing else."
Sally looked at him and barely refrained from sighing. "Be honest with yourself,
Chang Wufei. Why did you fight?"
He looked at her angrily and started to get up.
"Scared?" she teased lightly. "Chang Wufei afraid of the truth?"
"I fear nothing!" he declared, rounding on her. He hovered in the air, and Sally
lightly propelled herself towards him, so they were within arm's distance of each other. "I
fought for Nataku!"
She looked at him thoughtfully as he glared at her, as if her closeness was invading
some invisible private space around him.
"Wufei? Who is Nataku?"
She saw the look in his eyes change abruptly from anger to deep pain and then
bitterness and then the anger was back.
"None of your-" he began, but she stopped him.
"I'm not asking who Nataku was. Obviously whoever or whatever it was, it was
something close to your heart, and I don't want to intrude. But who is Nataku? Now?
To you?"
"She's-" Wufei said, then stopped. Sally waited for him to continue, but he simply
sat there, silent.
"She- she's more than a Gundam, isn't she?"
"Shut up, woman," he returned, but the words held no sting. They were simply
empty.
"Wufei-"
"I fought for her," he said at last, quietly. "I fought for Nataku. She was my reason
for battle."
"No, you didn't," Sally returned calmly, knowing she was hurting him. But it was
the only way she could make him understand. "You fought for penance. You're not a
fighter, Wufei. You're a scholar- or you were. Now, you've made yourself into a man
who walks two worlds."
He looked at her with eyes that were far too old. "So?"
"So, no matter what you do, you will be searching for your place in this life.
What I'm worried about is that you won't find it."
They were quiet. She knew Wufei was watching her, but she sat looking straight
ahead, waiting for a reaction.
Finally, Wufei's hand reached out and touched the side of the Gundam again, as if
the metal were the face or hand of a lover. Then he vaulted off Shenlong's shoulder,
disappearing into the darkness of the hangar.
He did not look back.
That was the last time she had seen him.
Sally snapped out of her flashback and looked at the papers she still had to go
through. At least then, she thought, I knew who the enemy was. Now, the enemy may be
myself.
Scene XI: A Soldier, not a Politician
"All my instincts, they return
And the grand facade, so soon will burn."
--Peter Gabriel, In Your Eyes
Quatre looked over the papers on his desk, trying to refrain from sighing. His
shoulders were cramped from the many long hours he had spent pouring over the papers,
and he was started to squint at the squiggly black lines that were suppose to represent
words. As head of the Winner Group, he had endless amounts of paperwork to take care
of.
Looking up at his secretary (personal assistant, he reprimanded himself firmly), he
handed the pen over. "That’s all for today, Mr. Bartlett," he said in his sweet voice.
Frances Bartlett looked at the slender young man who sat in front of him, having a
hard time believing that Quatre Raberba Winner was possibly the most powerful man on
the entire colony. The seventeen-year-old was slight, with long feminine lashes and huge
blue eyes. His frame was slight, and he was so soft spoken that sometimes Bartlett had to
lean closer to hear what he was saying. Still, he had inherited the family empire, and he
was doing his best to maintain -even expand- it. A respectable goal.
Still, Quatre wasn’t one of Bartlett’s favorite people. The boy had everything,
and he was weak. He had run away from home when he was thirteen, only reappearing in
time to have a few spectacular rows with his father (which no one knew the cause of)
before the elder Winner had died. Then he had disappeared in the confusion of the war,
finally surfacing when peace had been achieved. It gave him an aura of mystery the girls
adored, since he was refusing to tell where he had been, but Bartlett had an idea.
The boy had been hiding. The war had probably scared him witless, and like the sniveling
coward he was, young Winner had hidden for all he was worth. But now the prodigal son
had returned, and must be treated with respect.
Quatre looked up at Bartlett, sensing a sudden wave of hostility. Raising pale
blond eyebrows, he tilted his head inquiringly. "Is there something else?" he asked
politely.
"No, Mr. Winner. I’ll go send these off." The older man turned on his heel
abruptly and walked out, leaving the teen to himself.
Quatre finally released the sigh he had been holding in. Dealing with Bartlett
wasn’t his favorite thing, but the man had been his father assistant for as long as he could
remember, and he was good at his job. A lot of the older employees resented him coming
back and taking up the reign of the Winner Group, but it wasn’t HIS fault. He wanted to
get back to a normal life and enjoy the peace he had fought so hard to achieve.
Rising to his feet, he slowly stretched, feeling his muscles pull slightly. He’d been
spending too much time behind a desk. He needed to get back into shape- after all, who
knew? The next fencing match might be a rematch against the somewhat unpredictable
Dorothy Catalonia.
Wincing at the thought of her, his hand reflexively went to the scar on his
abdomen. He had been crazy to crawl back into Sandrock after it he’d been stabbed.
Still, he’d done worse.
Sometimes at night he would wake up, trying to remember where he was.
Dreams of the Zero System plagued him, and he cursed himself for being stupid enough to
build the thing in the first place. Still, he remembered the feel of it- it was like becoming
one with the universe, being in complete controlled. Even worse, in the still hours before
dawn, he longed to know that feeling again.
He felt apart from everyone else; no one could understand the terrible toil the Zero
System had imposed on him, except the others. Yet the other Gundam pilots were
scattered, disappearing into the populace as suddenly as they had emerged.
Quatre realized that he had the resources to attempt to track them, but doubted
that his attempt would get anywhere. Heero had the technical know-how to become a
different person, Wufei had always been unreachable except when he wanted to be found,
and Duo was most likely out on the colonies, where records and people changed daily.
Surprisingly, it was Trowa who would be the easiest to locate. Trowa’s heart
belonged to the circus, with his sister, Catherine. It was funny that he was the one who
had returned to family; Quatre was the only other one with any family left, yet he wasn’t
close to any of his sisters. He didn’t want to be.
Family was something that Quatre longed for, yet he didn’t dare let himself get too
close. He had been terribly hurt by his father’s death, and Iria’s as well. She had died
saving him, and he hadn’t forgiven himself for it. She had been a healer; he was a killer. It
had been such a poor bargain.
As he walked out of his office, he glanced out of his window, looking up at the
sky, where he had fought so many battles before. His real family was out there- the only
ones who could ever understand who he was.
Shutting his eyes, he remembered one of the few times they had all been together
on the Peacemillion, preparing for the final battle.
It was like all the times before- Duo was bouncing like a three year old who had
just been introduced to the wonderful world of pixie stix, and Heero was trying to decide
the most efficient methods to dispose of him. It made for interesting listening, and a
good distraction. None of them wanted to think of the battle they would shortly fight.
CRASH!
"I told you NOT to touch my laptop!"
Wufei paused, holding one of his weights mid-curl.
SLAM!
"If you have to jump on the bed, use your own!"
Trowa stopped reading his book for a second, an eyebrow lifting a minute degree.
BAM! BAM! BAM!!
"DUO!"
Quatre looked up from the financial papers he was reviewing. "Wasn't that
suppose to be a 'WHAM'?" he asked no one in particular. The fights were so common
that the other pilots were able to predict exactly what would happen.
Wufei nodded. "Duo must have done something even more annoying then usual,
if that's possible," he said in an irritated voice. "Anyone want to take a bet on how much
longer it is between Heero starts threatening to kill him?"
"Two minutes," Trowa said.
"Thirty seconds," Quatre said.
"Now," Wufei said, just as Heero bellowed his familiar "Omae o Korosu!"
Quatre giggled, and the door slammed open. Duo careened around the corner,
laughing madly, agilely avoiding every one of Heero's attempts to grab him by the braid
and strangle him.
Quatre knew that Heero was supposed to be the best soldier among them, but for
some reason, Duo always managed to get away with whatever mischief he created. Duo
dodged around Trowa and started to run in a circle around Wufei, still laughing like a
loon. Heero finally managed to corner the self-proclaimed God of Death, who looked
like a better name for him would be the God of Trouble. Duo gave him his patented
puppy-dog look, but Heero was having none of it.
"Can't you, for once in your pitiful life, just act your age? You're a Gundam
pilot, for God's sake! If you don't grow up REAL soon, you're going to get someone
killed! If you're lucky, it'll be YOU instead of some more vital member of the team!!"
Everyone stopped what they had been doing, stunned. Duo just stared for a
moment before taking off, out the door before any of them could do anything about it.
Heero watched with an impassive expression, but the other three turned to glare at him.
"That was uncalled for, Heero," said Quatre in a slightly reprimanding voice. "Duo is
always childish, but you can't find any fault in his skills or devotion to the mission."
Heero just stared at the closed door for a second before shrugging. "I have work
to do."
It had been that way. They hadn’t been close, had always fought and disagreed,
but in the end, they had learned to rely on each other. Each of them brought something
irreplaceable to the team, no matter what Heero had thought at the time.
That was how they had won the war. They had finally worked together, and in
doing so, made the whole more then the sum of its parts.
"I’m thinking of you," he whispered to absent comrades, then turned back to his
public persona.
Scene XII: Ghosts From the Too Vivid Past
"She's sun and rain, she's fire and ice."
--Garth Brooks, She's Every Woman
She still wasn't prepared for the sight of him as he appeared behind the glass door
that led into her office. It had been a year since Treize's death; a year since the Lightning
Baron's treachery and the throw of OZ into ruin, and seeing him even now brought back
waves of memories into her head that she could live without.
The uniform of the Preventers looked good on him, but hell, anything looked good
on him. He was just one of those men who had been born to please the human eye, and he
didn't even realize it. She knew he didn't realize it, because he had cut his hair. Those long
blond tresses were what every female officer and common soldier of any rank in the
Specials had dreamed of for years. She had been there herself, before Treize took her
under his wing. Zechs Merquise, the Lightning Baron, with hair the color of gold and eyes
the color of the deep sky, as beautiful as an angel and as strong as any god that had ever
walked the heavens.
That was what he had been once.
Now he was just another officer, waiting behind the door to her office to see her
because she had ordered him to, beautiful face blurring behind the shadow of another that
he had betrayed. She had gotten over girlish fantasies long ago. The war had changed her,
made her older and wiser and more aware that life was too short to waste on fantasy and
wishes.
At first she had lived under the impression that to get something done, she would
have to do it herself. But that wasn't what Treize had wanted. She still wasn't sure what he
wanted, after all this time.
Elegance, Lady, she heard him say as she closed the windows on her computer and
reached in her drawer for the briefing documents that she would give to the man who was
about to come into her office. Be elegant.
He was the one who had given her that title. She was no lady. She hadn't been fit
to serve as his right hand. She had wondered why he hadn't picked Zechs Merquise.
The figure outside the glass raised his hand to knock, and she beckoned to him.
"Enter."
The door slid open and he marched in with perfect arm swing and timing, stopping
two paces before her desk. The eyes that watched her beneath the impeccable salute were
hooded.
"Ma'am, Colonel Peacecraft reports as ordered."
"At ease." She waved to a chair. "Sit down."
She watched as he moved to sit, gingerly perching on the edge of the chair. Short
cropped blond hair glimmered in the light. He had put gel or something in it, and it looked
hard and unnatural. A military haircut wasn't for him, not the flamboyant boy with the fire
and the vision of galactic revolution.
He looked a bit like Treize, with a weary look in his eyes.
"Colonel, have you any idea what I'm about to brief you on?"
A brief shake of the blond head, a small smile. "I have no idea, Lady. I hope it's
something exciting."
"Anything is more exciting than paperwork."
He smiled. "That is true." Even the smile looked haggard.
She leaned forward across the desk, papers in her hand forgotten for a minute.
"Zechs, are you all right?"
The face hardened, the mask slammed shut. She had never known anyone who
could assume a mask as quickly as he.
"Lady, my name is Milliard Peacecraft. Zechs Merquise is dead."
She closed her eyes, sighing, pushing the papers across to him. She had been about
to ask him about the articles in the tabloids today, but she had already contacted him about
it, and he would respond when he was ready. One did not push Zechs-Milliard
Peacecraft. Not that she was worried about the articles being true. He was an honorable
man, unlike many of those in the media.
"As you wish."
He took the papers from her, reading silently, his face betraying nothing. She
watched him as his eyes scanned the paper. If he tried -if he only tried- he could help
them shake the world.
He had tried once. Maybe that was the problem. They were all so tired, and it was
too late to start over.
"Lucrezia Noin?"
She nodded, not taking her eyes off of him. For some reason, she had known that
would be the first thing he would say, had known that the name would jump off the page
at him as if it had been highlighted. "She was the first Preventer officer who was sent on
the mission. She-"
"-hasn't returned. Yes, I just skimmed that section. So this is your 'scouting'
mission. Did you order her to go?"
"No."
"Don't lie to me."
He watched her. She resisted the urge to squirm in her chair, not knowing why the
blue eyes made her so nervous. It wasn't like she was lying to him- more like, twisting the
truth. It was like an art to her, an elegance that Treize had admired. The only elegant thing
about her, apparently. She felt for a second that he was the superior officer and she the
offender, caught in some dishonorable act.
"All right, Z-Colonel Peacecraft. Yes, I ordered her to go, but she had requested a
hard mission. And this one was the hardest I could find."
"Apparently," he grated, throwing the papers down on the desk. He hadn't even
gotten halfway through the stack. Blue eyes glared.
"Major Noin was a perfectly capable officer who had the qualifications, the
experience, and the talent to handle a mission of this sort. I don't regret sending her."
"Was? Had? Is she dead?"
She debated several answers, and then decided that shrugging would be the best
option now. "I don't know. I haven't heard from her. It says in the briefing."
His shoulders went up and down in a brief sigh, the uniform which covered them
looking plain and poor compared to the ones he used to wear in the days of his glory. "I-
I'm sorry, my Lady. I don't mean to question the actions of my superiors."
The office was quiet for a minute as she looked at him and he looked at the table,
and then she laughed.
"You have every right to. You know that."
"I don't want to."
"To be perfectly honest, Milliard," she said, taking the papers back and throwing
them in the drawer under her computer, "I wish you would."
His head came up and that, and he frowned at her. "Why is that?"
"You ask me why? Such a question from Treize's protégé?"
One hand came up to rub his eyes wearily. "I was never Treize's protégé. He
wanted to make me into-into something I didn't want to be. That's why I broke away in
the end. Well, part of the reason," he amended.
"And the other part?"
He didn't answer. She hadn't expected him to.
"You have been in more engagements than I ever have. You know more about war
than I ever will know. You went to the Academy and studied with Treize Khushrenada.
You're a valuable man, Milliard. If things were going the way they should, you should be
running the Preventers, not I."
A shadowy smile crossed his face. "Well then, I'm glad things aren't going the way
they should." She started to say something else, but he raised his hand. "My fighting glory
days are over, Lady. I'm just a soldier now, like everyone else. I don't want to be treated
any differently. I-" He stopped, then sighed. "I'm tired."
"You had a vision, Zechs-"
"Milliard!" he snapped, the mask again falling into place.
"I’m sorry. I'm sorry, Milliard."
"Treize had a vision too," he said. "A grand one."
She looked away.
"I'm sorry," he said in his turn, after a minute. "That was uncalled for, Lady. I
apologize."
She flicked the computer monitor on, darkened the room with a flip of the lights.
Unshed tears stung the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away. Not here. not
now. The conversation was closed. In the light of the computer screen she saw him
looking at her, wondering, but she didn't have the strength to enter into another sparring
match with him.
Why did speaking with him always have to be a battle?
"Colonel Peacecraft, I have called you here to brief you on your mission to the
A007 Colony." It was an effort to roughen her voice into the distant briefing voice she had
been so familiar with just a year ago. It was her mask of protection, and as long as he had
his up, she would have hers. She did know something about human relations.
The projector screen flickered and showed a small planet, brown against the black
backdrop of space, then flickered in closer to show an actual picture of the colony. It was
like any other colony in any other part of space: sprawling, spider-like, metallic and ugly.
"A007 is a mining and test colony site settled mainly by peoples from Terran South
America. It produces many kinds of ore that are shipped back to Earth and its closer
colonies. Approximately eighty percent of the traffic out of A007 at this point is composed
of mining transports and other ore carrying vehicles."
She briefly explained the uprising to him, knowing he had skimmed that part in the
briefing notes and feeling no need to go over the Preventers involvement in the whole
crisis. It shouldn't have happened, she knew. And she knew he knew. It had been a
mistake on her part, one that Milliard Peacecraft would not have committed had he been
head of the Preventers. So many things.
"The Preventers sent Major Lucrezia Noin and a team of specially trained
commando troops to the A007 colony six months ago. We received their last transmission
approximately two weeks prior to the present date. At this moment, Major Noin is
missing, presumed dead. Less than half of the Preventer force remains."
"Now," she said, flicking a switch, and she heard him draw a breath at the image
that appeared on the screen.
"The A007 colony has apparently acquired OZ Mobile Suits from an unknown
source and are using them with great effectiveness against Preventer and government
troops. With Mobile Suit production suspended in the Terran part of solar space, it is
impossible for any of our troops to acquire them in time to match fairly against the rebels."
"That's an Aries," he said, sounding stunned. "And a Leo. How the hell-?"
She switched off the projector, sitting back in her chair and relaxing a bit.
Wondering if he had dropped the mask. Turning up the lights slightly, she watched him.
He looked puzzled.
"We have no idea. They're apparently getting them from some smuggler groups
somewhere out in the territories who have escaped government attention. Since the
Federation and the Romefeller Foundation fell apart."
"It's been hell out there. Yes, I know."
She nodded. He turned back to the desk, expression serious.
"When do I leave?"
She blinked.
"I do believe, Colonel, you are the only man alive who is capable of catching me
off guard."
"When do I leave?" he repeated, tone never changing. "I'm going. You know that.
How many troops will I receive? What types of weapons will I have access to? How is
communication between here and A007?"
Suppressing a smile, she held up a hand and rummaged through her hard copies for
a printout of stats she had acquired from Intelligence at the briefing a few weeks ago, the
last time they had had any contact with Noin.
"I wanted to give you the same kind of soldiers Noin had, but we don't have too
many trained commandos. Our organization is young, and most of our trained personnel
were-" She swallowed, not finishing. "There is a record of solar storms from A007's sun,
and the colony itself is having a hard time with their solar shielding. Success of
communication depends on how heavy the solar storms are."
He nodded. "I see."
"I can't give you much more information than that- they don't tell me much. I'm
just the commander." She attempted a smile, and he attempted one in return. "I will tell
the Intelligence executive officer to get in touch with you later on this week about details.
A transport is being prepared, and you need to contact personnel to get some paperwork
and to organize your forces. Weapons and supply will need to contact you as well."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'll contact the required people and let you know. When you leave depends on
how much preparation is required."
The look on his face was cryptic. "How much time do I have?"
"Preferably no more than a week. Why?"
"I-dd" he murmured, then flicked a glance at her. "You said we were in need of
specialized soldiers?"
"Yes I did." She frowned as his expression grew even more cryptic. "Milliard,
what are you thinking?"
He blinked, then looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure yet. I'll get back to you on that
one."
"Milliard!"
He rose from the chair and bowed swiftly. "With your permission, Lady, I'll be on
my way. I have some errands to run."
"I can't win with you," she said. "Zechs."
"Milliard," he ground out, and the mask clicked back into place. "Don't make me
tell you again. Lady."
He turned on his heel and strode through the doorway, the automatic door barely
sliding open in time. If he had gone any faster, he would have walked into the glass. Not
that it would have been a problem. Knowing him, the glass would have parted to let him
through.
It was he who should be the head of the Preventers. It was apparent to everyone
but him. Most things were, she had realized. Zechs Merquise saw what he wanted to see,
and right now, all he saw was Milliard Peacecraft.
He hadn't even seen all the data before he had accepted the mission. She had files
to show him, documents and printouts and slides and disks full of pictures, and she hadn't
even started before he had said yes. And from the look on his face, he already had some
tricks up his sleeve. She wasn't surprised. He had learned from Treize, the best tutor in the
art of war and treachery, and it was only fitting that he would carry on the legacy. She
wondered, if Treize could see them now, if he would be proud of the men and women they
all had become.
She wondered what would happen if indeed Noin was still alive, and if Milliard did
indeed find her, and all she could see was Zechs Merquise, who he said was dead.
Would Milliard Peacecraft die too?
Scene XIII: The Secrets that were Thought Lost
"Now I told you my reasons for the whole revival."
--Billy Joel, Keeping the Faith
His name was Muhammad Ali Banks, and he was destined to shake up the world.
From birth, he had been different- tenacious, a fighter; his father had been fond of
boxing (which most people considered to be a barbaric sport, preferring the grace and
speed of fencing), and had named his son after the most legendary of all boxers, hoping to
inspire the same spirit and drive that made people remember, and question.
The name worked. Banks had the fair complexion and coloring of his Irish
forbears, and a temper to match. He was a Christian with an Islamic name, and that set
him apart. The world wasn’t kind to him, so he wasn’t kind back.
He fell into investigative reporting almost by chance, yet he took to it like a dog
with a familiar bone. Here was something he could succeed in, reveal the truth (hard and
cruel though it may have been) and force the world to look at itself. It was thrilling and
dangerous, yet he never shirked from the challenge. Now, at the tender age of twenty-
seven, he was about to stumble upon the story of the century.
The war had made for excellent stories. He had covered many different aspects of
it, starting with the ruins of the Lake Victoria Base after the cadet barracks had been
bombed. He hadn’t been able to believe the destruction that had resulted. Attempting to
get an interview with Lieutenant Noin, one of Federation’s head instructors and
commandant of the base, had proven impossible. He had had to settle for the cadets
themselves, and the confused stories they told made him angry at the terrorists who had
attacked people -some of them no older then fifteen- while they slept.
He had made it his crusade then to get to the bottom of who the Gundam pilots
were and what was their motivation. Terrorists usually saw themselves as freedom
fighters, and he, remembering the long history of his homeland, was torn between the
desire to expose them, and the desire to understand. The reporter in him won out; he was
going to have the story.
Then General Noventa was killed by the self-same warriors. He remembered
watching the footage with horror- the Federation brass had never stood a chance against
the war machine people called 01.
Five Gundams, seeming to operate with separate orders. Sometimes they fought
besides each other, sometimes they fought one another. People wanted to know where
they were going to strike next. Children began to have nightmares about the Gundams
coming to get them. Families began to prepare bomb shelters, not that it would do much
good.
Gradually the mystery unraveled. The Gundams had been sent by factions in the
Colonies that wanted freedom from the rule of the Federation. Little by little information
was unveiled about it, though no one ever seemed to be able to answer the question that
burned in Banks’ mind:
Who were the pilots?
What motivated the pilots to take the risks they did? Where were they from, what
were they fighting for? Did they have families? Who were their allies?
Events happened so rapidly that people were STILL sorting out the mess. Zechs
Marquise was revealed to be the long-lost heir to the Cinq Kingdom, but yielded the
throne to his younger sister, Relena Peacecraft. She became the so-called Queen of the
World at bequest of the Romafeller Foundation, but was quickly deposed by Treize
Khushrenada. Banks had always considered himself an intelligent man, yet he was as
confused the dizzying display of political maneuverings as the next person.
Then White Fang emerged, and the Gundams prevented them from destroying the
Earth, making themselves world heroes in the bargain. Still, Banks refused to forget
those young soldiers who had died at Lake Victoria. He wanted to know the Gundam
Pilots- it had become an obsession.
In his pursuit of the truth, he had final come to a crucial decision. The law didn’t
matter anymore. SOMEONE knew the identities of the pilots, and that someone most
likely would be Lady Une, the leader of a new task force called The Preventers.
Lady Une was an enigma. She had been unpredictable throughout the entire war
(he had seen her before and after she went into space, and was hardly able to believe that
she was the same person), and afterwards had settled down to create a force to protect the
peace that was so hard won.
Still, she had been in the thick of the battles, commanding legions of Oz. She
would know. Many former soldiers had found their place in The Preventers, such as
Lucrezia Noin and Sally Po, the head of the Chinese rebellion against Oz. Perhaps the
Gundam pilots had managed to find their way into those ranks.
What Banks had decided to do was risky. He was going to break into the
personal files of Lady Une, undoubtedly some of the best guarded secrets in the world.
It had taken a while for him to get here. First he had to join The Preventers,
which had taken six months. After managing to be assigned to Headquarters, he had to
wait until he found a chance.
That chance had come. He had been assigned to guard the offices during the
night. With a regretful sigh, he had tranquilized his partner and hid her sleeping form in
one of the low-security offices. Realizing that there was no going back, Banks went to
Une’s office. He would likely find himself in jail for this stunt, but it would be worth it.
He would know.
Using his key, he entered cautiously, worried about possible traps. Carefully he
worked his way over to her desk, and jimmied open the lock on one of her doors.
Hard copies. Lady Une didn’t keep any of her truly personal information in a
machine, as a skilled hacker could access it. Pulling out the files, he started to rifle
through them until he found what he was looking for.
His green eyes widened in disbelief. This couldn’t POSSIBLY be right. The thick
files laid out all the information in crystal-clear detail. Yet his mind refused to accept it.
The pilots were CHILDREN.
Still, he couldn’t argue with the facts. Securing the files on his person, he walked
out of the office, locking the door behind him. If he were lucky, he would be able to give
the information to his editor before he was arrested.
Fortunately for him, he made it. Unfortunately, he actually printed it, causing a
storm of debate as hadn’t been seen in decades. The article that graced the front page of
his newspaper would be the first real threat to the fragile peace that had been established:
AND A CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM? GUNDAM PILOTS REVEALED!
END ACT ONE
Quicksilver
Lady of the Labyrinth
Full time student and part-time writer
http://www.homestead.com/quicksilverslabyrinth
"You haven't lived until you've danced the dagger's edge."
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