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.
AN: Well, it's here! We're back after sabatical.
Site addy is in my sig.... and FB is appreciated.
I'm starting to wonder if the sheer length of this
monster overwhelmed people.
SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING
SAINAN NO KEKKA
ACT VII, PART IV
Subete ga kirameite ita osanai
Hi no kiseki torimodoshite
I just feel rhythm emotion
Ayamachi mo itami mo
Azayaka na isshun no hikari e to michibiite
I just feel rhythm emotion
Kono mune no kodou wa
Anata e to tsuzuiteru so faraway
We're reviving the days of youth
When everything was shining
I just feel rhythm emotion
Mistakes and pain
Guide us towards a moment of light
I just feel rhythm emotion
The beat of my heart
Carries to you so faraway
--Gundam Wing, Rhythm Emotion
[Second TV opening theme]
**************************
Scene XII: Keeper of an Assassin's Soul
"I am not a pretty girl; that is not what I do.
I ain't no damsel in distress,
And I don't need to be rescued."
--Ani diFranco, Not a Pretty Girl
**************************
"Do I know you?" the blond woman said.
Atsuki sized her up for a moment, taking in the long,
immaculately dressed blond tresses, the simple but
elegant white gown, the wide, innocent blue eyes, the
high cheekbones. They looked enough alike, she
decided, that they could have been sisters in another
life.
She hadn't really seen the face of the Queen of Cinq
on the news or in the papers, but she had expected a
tall woman with a stern voice and a quick temper,
someone like Fatima Bint Narish. Political women, her
father had drummed into her at a young age, were
scheming, ruthless and bitter. They had to be, to
survive in a world where men were naturally dominant.
But at first glance, Relena Darlian Peacecraft was
none of these things, and for a moment Atsuki felt a
stab of doubt. Was this the woman to whom Heero Yuy
had reportedly been attached? No, not even a woman.
Relena Peacecraft was still a girl.
"No, you don't," Atsuki said at last, not bothering to
keep the disdain from her voice. "But before we're
through here, I think you'll know me better than you
want to."
"I think," Relena said calmly, "that you should get
out of my way."
Atsuki raised an eyebrow. "And why should I?"
"I'm the Queen of Cinq," Relena said, perhaps louder
than she needed to. Atsuki didn't move. "I have
important business to take care of. Now if you'll
excuse me."
"I won't," Atsuki said, moving to block her way. "Now,
really. I'd think that the vaunted high-profile Queen
of Cinq would be more polite to a mere commoner."
She saw the fire rise in Relena's eyes for a moment,
then saw the queen check herself with a visible
effort. "What do you want with me?" she said tightly.
"Oh, nothing much," Atsuki said. "I'd just heard
rumors that you were once...involved with Heero Yuy,
and I wanted to see for myself if they were true."
Looking her over again. "You look like a nice enough
girl. Why would you want someone like him?"
"Heero and I were never involved," Relena said
tightly. "We're acquaintances. That's all. I don't
know where you heard the rumors from, but they are
mistaken."
Atsuki narrowed her eyes. "Are they? Didn't you know?
He talks in his sleep."
She had the satisfaction of seeing the shocked look on
the other girl's face. Taking a step forward. "I just
want you to know...Wing - Heero - is mine."
"What makes you word it like I have a contract on
him?" Relena demanded. "Heero isn't anyone's...he's a
person. A person can't belong to another person."
"Can he?"
Relena narrowed her eyes. "I don't know who you are,"
she said, "and I don't know why you're attacking me
when I've never seen you before in my life. But I
advise you to kindly step out of my way before
anything drastic happens."
"Let me tell you about myself," Atsuki said. "I've
spent the last six years of my life in the Breaks of
L1. I'm what you'd call a whore. I sell my body to
men...and some women, if necessary...to survive. I run
drugs from dealer to buyer. I drink, I smoke, and I
have so many substances floating in my veins that you
probably couldn't extract pure blood from me if you
tried. What can you say to that, Relena Darlian
Peacecraft?"
Relena looked shocked. "What?"
Her mission had been to catch the queen completely off
her guard, and it was working. "Let me tell you
something, your majesty. Your perfect little world is
about to collapse in on itself, and you'll be at the
center. It'll pull you in. Life's not all you make it
out to be, Relena. You're not living in a cocoon
anymore."
Relena's face was white. "How dare you?" Her voice was
shaking with barely restrained fury. "How dare you
threaten me? Who are you to say things like this?"
Atsuki laughed, spinning lightly on one foot out of
Relena's reach, pausing with hands on the wall,
leaning forward. "Haven't you guessed?" She laughed
again. "I'm Quatre's sister."
She was around the corner before Relena could react,
jogging quickly up the carpeted hallway, up a half-set
of stairs, into a small, circular foyer filled with
display cases. She slowed to a walk, catching her
breath. She couldn't hear anyone behind her, and she
didn't think Relena would have followed her anyway.
She continued forward, passing through to the entrance
of a hallway on the other side of the room, walking
blindly, the memory of Relena's stunned face still
before her eyes. That was one of the stupidest things
she had ever done...yet she'd felt like she had to do
it. She had to make sure that Relena's claim on Wing
was not stronger than hers.
I told myself I'd never fall in love again...and now I
remember why.
Stupid, really. She didn't even know the other girl,
and now she'd probably have the Queen of Cinq hating
her for the rest of her life. Quatre wouldn't be happy
either, when he found out that she'd been going around
insulting royalty.
But she really didn't care.
The hallway ended abruptly in a sliding glass door
which looked out onto a green atrium of some sort. She
hesitated, then stepped forward. The door opened
automatically and she found herself amidst carefully
potted shrubbery. A fountain tinkled in the center of
the atrium and she tucked a strand of hair back behind
her ear, wondering why a military base had a place
like this.
"Atsuki?"
She jumped and spun around to where the voice had come
from behind her, taking a step back in surprise.
"Darkflight?" she stammered.
The dark-skinned boy frowned at her, obviously as
stunned as she was. "What the hell are you doing here?
I thought you were back home."
"I could ask you the same thing." She looked him over
with a critical eye. He had cleaned up a bit, combed
his hair somewhat, and shaved. His clothes were
second-hand, but decent. For a moment she felt
slightly embarrassed at her own fine silk garments,
courtesy of Scheherazade Winner's wardrobe.
"Talk about coincidences. I thought it was you from
the back...but..."he trailed off. "How'd you get
here?"
She sighed. "Long story. I should have guessed you've
have come along with Wing..."
"I almost didn't," Darkflight said, then paused,
narrowed his eyes. "Wait. How did you know Wing was
here?"
She almost laughed. "Well, he is the vaunted savior of
the colonies, after all. And apparently the world's
most wanted criminal at the moment. Wasn't too hard to
figure out."
"You figured out who he was?" Darkflight sounded even
more incredulous. His eyes were wide.
"I'm not as stupid as you think," Atsuki said.
He looked hurt. "I didn't say-"
She waved off the rest of his statement. "Right. I
know. Look, I'm not in the best mood right now, so...I
don't really feel like talking to anyone."
"Fine," he said, but she caught a trace of hesitation
in his voice.
"Darkflight?"
"What?" he muttered, turning away.
To all appearances he was still the Darkflight she had
known back in the Breaks, but something was different.
Wrong. She couldn't pinpoint it, but it was there. He
seemed more...fragile, somehow.
"You've changed," she said.
"So have you," he returned. A silence, then "I hardly
recognize you...I feel like I don't know you anymore."
"Did you ever know me?" she shot back, strangely
nettled by his comment, but he didn't even snap back
at her.
"It's only been a week..." Suddenly he looked up at
her with wide, stricken eyes and she almost jumped.
That was what had changed about him. Why it felt
wrong. The air of mystery and confidence and
deadliness that had always surrounded both him and
Wing was gone, vanished as though it had never been.
Here, in the Preventers military headquarters,
Darkflight was just another frightened boy.
"It'll be ok," Atsuki murmured, trying to force some
honesty into her words. "It'll...it'll all be all
right."
"What will be all right?" he said. There was a surge
of anger in his words. "What? Atsuki, what the hell is
going on?"
"I wish I knew," she murmured.
"Gundams and war and royalty and politics," Darkflight
said vehemently. "I don't belong here. I want to go
home. I...I don't know what's going on, anymore,
Atsuki. I feel like I've been dragged along for the
ride and then left on the side of the road when they
didn't need me anymore."
"Maybe you have," Atsuki said. "Where's....Wing?"
"You mean, Heero?" Darkflight's voice took on a
sarcastic edge. "I have no idea. He's too important
for someone like me now...they took him away. Told me
I couldn't come with him." He sounded a little
panicked. "Atsuki, we've always been together. If..."
He didn't finish the thought, but she knew what he was
going to say. If they take him away from me, I don't
know what I'll do.
Suddenly she felt like crying, but tears were no use
now, and she hadn't cried since she had heard Jaffa's
voice on the speaker in the phone booth, seen her
sister's face on the vidscreen and known with a
chilling certainty that nothing would ever be the same
again.
"Well," she said, "there's no use sitting here. Let's
go find someone who will tell us what's going on."
"You go." Darkflight sounded miserable. "There's no
point in me going anywhere."
"Moron!" she snapped. "You can't let the situation
control you. You're stronger than this. I know you
are."
He looked at her like she'd grown a second head. "Even
if we did manage to find someone, no one would tell us
what's going on anyway. Atsuki, we're nobodies."
There was a second in which she debated whether or not
to tell him. He was confiding in her because he
believed that they were the same: unwanted fugitives
without a purpose, drawn here by the central figure of
someone neither of them could bear to lose. And yet,
he had to know some time. And she wanted him to hear
it from her. It would lessen the shock that way.
"Darkflight," she said gently. "I'm not a nobody. I
can...What do you want? I can get it done for you.
Anything you want."
"Are you crazy?" he blurted. "You think you can
compete with the likes of that queen and those other
pilots for Wing?"
"Not only for Wing," Atsuki said, moving so she stood
in front of him, grasping his shoulders. "For
anything. You see, Darkflight, I came here with Quatre
Raberba Winner."
His eyes locked onto hers and he went still.
"You...with him? Why? How?"
For the second time that day she found herself
uttering the words that had been both her birthright
and her destruction, the words that even now she
wondered if she still believed to be true.
"He's my brother."
**************************
Scene XIII: The Prison of His Mind
"Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair!
Down we plunge to the prison of my mind!
Down that path into darkness deep as hell!"
--The Phantom of the Opera, The Point of No Return
**************************
And after, came the dawn of a new day.
He had been doubting that; even his normally
optimistic outlook on life had been severely tested.
He had survived so much before- being on the L2
streets, the Maxwell Church massacre, piloting
Deathscythe, the Zero... he had survived them all. But
politics and their repercussions would be the death of
him.
He looked at Hilde, who sat curled up on chair beside
him, her head resting on his right arm. Something had
happened during the flight; he wasn't sure exactly
what it was, but during his confrontation with
Shinobu, she had snapped back to herself, preventing
him from overreacting. Now she slept, a true, deep
sleep that was untroubled by the nightmares that had
plagued her since she had piloted the Zero. He was
relieved; for a while he had wondered if she had truly
broken.
And if he had broken with her.
Over in the co-pilot's seat Sally hummed softly, her
voice pleasant, though slightly off key. Duo wasn't
much of a musician, but he did have perfect pitch. She
tapped a course correction in, and then turned over to
him. In her hands was a VR set, a training tool that
he knew the Preventers were incorporating into their
basic training. Very expensive, and very addicting.
He'd heard of cases where people had literally starved
to death while attached to one of the things.
"You might like to use this," she said softly. The
headphones and goggles dangled off the tips of her
fingers enticingly.
He shivered. "No thanks," he said.
She smiled. "I thought you might want to brush up on
your piloting skills- it's been a while since you sat
behind the controls of a MS. One of the programs is
designed for Mobile Suit training."
His scowled deepened. "I don't think so. I really
don't like those things. They screw with your head. I
prefer to live in the real world."
Sally tossed it to him, and he instinctively caught it
instead of letting it fall. "Une gave it to me- you
can trust there's enough fail safes involved that
you'll be in no danger. Besides, it's not even
connected to the net. No need to worry about hackers."
He looked at the intricate mix of wire, chips, padding
and plastic. G had hooked him up to this type of
device very early in his training, and he hadn't liked
it at all. He valued reality, and VR was so "real" to
the participant that sometimes a person lost the sense
of self. What point was there in dealing with a harsh
and uncertain world when all you had to do was throw
on a headset and live out your greatest fantasy? Why
would anyone want to return to the real world? He'd
read about people who'd been hooked to systems for
years, their families forced to take care of them or
send them to nursing homes.
But it was a tool, and Sally was correct in indicating
that his piloting skills might be a touch rusty. Aside
from his brief flight to Earth chasing Hilde, it had
been over eighteen months since he had sat behind the
panels, since he had fought a battle. He knew he was
still exceptional, but that wouldn't help- he needed
to be extraordinary again. "Does this just work on
visual and auditory senses, or is there a tactile
component as well?"
"It's the latest. Works on everything- smell, sight,
touch, taste and sound. The wiring actually interfaces
with your brain and stimulates different parts of it
depending on what you do while in it. It shuts down
after four hours automatically, and takes another
eight hours to restart to prevent addiction. It also
has an emergency shutdown that Hilde or I can invoke
if your vitals start to destabilize."
He shivered. "It sounds like you're going to be making
me into a cyborg."
"Some of the technology may someday be used to create
one."
Before he could change his mind, he slid away from
Hilde to go sit into the co-pilots seat. It was a
complete-body support, which he would need- if this VR
set was as good as Sally claimed, he would forget
about his body and become immersed in full-sensation
simulation, designed to respond to his mind.
Hilde sleepily opened her eyes as she was suddenly
deprived of his warmth. "Are we there?" she asked.
"Another hour before we get to Beijing, and then about
ten minutes to the place where Wufei was living,"
Sally said. "Shinobu and Helena are getting some
sleep, and I wanted to give Duo a brief refresher in
MS combat."
Hilde's hand reached up and brushed sleep out of her
eyes. "How about I train with him? It's much more
effective for him to face a human pilot- machines
always are too... mechanical." She laughed light at
her joke. "And I'm a pretty good pilot- I out flew
Mercurius and Vayeate, after all... and those things
were programmed with Heero and Trowa's flight data!"
Sally smiled at her. "I only have the one set. And I
don't advise you to go into an VR right now,
anyway.... you're still not recovered from your
encounter with the Zero."
Hilde shuddered at the name.
Duo crammed the intricate mesh netting over his head,
trying to ignore the feeling in the pit of his
stomach. It wasn't a phobia, exactly. He'd just been
attached to one too many simulations. His last ones
had been at the hands of a rather sadistic Oz officer
who had shoved him into the Zero system. Not a
pleasant memory.
He felt Sally clip a little chip to the optical pad,
and paste another right behind his left ear with some
kind of gel. "These will record your vitals, and let
us know if you need to be brought out. I've scheduled
your session for an hour- if it goes well, we can do a
few longer sessions later. It'll also let us know if
you get overstimulated mentally," she said, hooking
the newest gadgets to box of some sort with long wire
relays.
His fingers secured the contact points carefully
before he tucked the small headphones into his ears.
Hilde watched him carefully as he lifted the heavy
goggles over his eyes, plunging himself into utter
blackness. Someone started fumbling for his hands, and
he obligingly let them slide the gloves onto him.
"If you want to end the simulation early, raise your
right hand and tap your ear three times- Hilde and I
will bring you out immediately. We'll also bring you
out if your vitals become too erratic. Ready, Duo?"
"Ready."
Suddenly he was in the cockpit of a standard Taurus.
>From the configuration, it was a White Fang model, the
very best of the best. He'd never liked Virgos, so he
considered the Taurus the superior "common" machine.
They had nothing on a Gundam, but if he had to pilot a
suit of a line, it was better that it was a Taurus.
Noin and Trowa had both relied on them. Besides, the
stick and panel configuration was eerily familiar. He
had always suspected that G's work had been used.
Almost instinctively, he checked the straps that help
him to the seat, and adjusted one. He preferred them
slightly loose, so he could move around. Heero had
called him an idiot for that, but Duo knew that a
pilot's comfort was important. How could you fight
feeling like you were tied down to a chair?
His fingers reached out and grabbed the stick, pulling
back slightly. If it had been Deathscythe, the suit
would have sprang into action at that slight bit of
nudging from him, but the Taurus wasn't nearly as
responsive. He frowned as he pulled a little harder,
wondering if this training really had any point. This
machine felt different... he couldn't "feel" it the
way he could Deathscythe; he couldn't understand it or
make it understand him. Hilde had teased him about
talking to his MS, but to him, Deathscythe was very
real and very much his friend.
The suit engaged, and he checked his coordinates.
According to the sim, he was somewhere off L3, which
was just fine with him. He liked space combat, though
it'd be infinitely more difficult since he didn't have
Deathscythe's stealth capabilities on his side. His
favored tactics had always been to sneak up on the
enemy, and attack them from behind. Unlike Wufei, he
had no qualms about honor- he was a terrorist, and
there was nothing wrong with knifing a man in the
back.
The scanners alerted him to the presence of an
incoming bogey. Glancing down, he saw that it was a
Leo. "Come on, give me a challenge," he muttered.
It took him three deft movements to engage the
Taurus's beam rifle as he deftly avoided the
half-hearted attempt at an attack the simulated suit
launched at him. He watched it explode, and sighed.
How boring.
Two more Leos came at him at complementary angles.
With a few more programmed commands, and a lazy jerk
of the stick, he destroyed them as well.
"Oi, Sally! Did ya start me on the beginners level?"
He laughed lightly at the notion, not feeling that
amused. Surely she didn't think his skills had
atrophied that much?
More Leos, trying various different strategies. He
fended them off almost half-asleep, wondering how much
longer this playing was going to last. If they were
going to start him in a sim, he wanted a real fight.
Two more Leos, and then the CMD identified a Taurus.
He brightened, focused his sensors, engaged it. It
feinted, dodged his first blast, and fired. He felt a
shudder as his sim suit took a hit. Impressive - this
was definitely simulated full-body immersion. Feeling
slightly more impressed, he let the other Taurus swoop
around him before he twisted to starboard and took
care of it with three carefully placed shots,
grimacing as he did so. Once upon a time, he could
have done it with one.
Another Taurus, same result. The old moves were coming
back to him and he started to feel almost nostalgic,
the suit rocking back and forth just as a real Taurus
would in battle. He was thrown once against the back
of his seat, but his straps held, thankfully. Even
though it was only a sim, he knew the mental anguish
the training program had been design to inflict on the
user wasn't light. The Preventers believed in the old
saying, "No pains, no gains."
And then came the mobile dolls.
Virgos.
He hated them more then anything- to him, they had
always seemed like a cowards' trick. He remembered the
final battle, when Dorothy had flown an entire
complement against him and the others using the Zero
system. He gritted his teeth, giving increased power
to engines, draining power slightly from his guns.
Fighting mobile dolls required intense, precise
maneuvering rather than heavy firing, and he needed
all the power his engines could give him.
This was only a Taurus, after all.
There were only three dolls, but that was enough to
keep anyone busy. Their movements were perfectly
coordinated...eerily perfect.
Is this a sim, or have I been dreaming? Is this real?
He winced as the sim rocked with another hit, then
another. The goggles jolted against his cheek, jarring
his teeth, causing him to bite the inside of his
mouth. Each Virgo had its own particular pattern,
since the minds behind them were unique. He sat up
straighter in the seat, forced himself to concentrate
on one doll at a time instead of setting the targeting
system on nearest enemy craft automatic target, which
he usually preferred when the opposition wasn't too
tough.
He caught the first one as it attempted to slip by his
port side around behind him. The second one,
apparently seeing his buddy's downfall, came zooming
in above him, careened too far in on his trajectory,
and Duo simply dropped down and behind it, catching it
perfectly in the engines. The fireball was
spectacular. The third one was in the middle of a
standard delta pattern flight run when he finished it
off with two well-placed shots.
The explosion faded away and he found himself staring
at the colony before him. It was quiet. His hands were
cold.
What's happening?
There was a quiet beep as the CMD registered an enemy
craft coming in at ninety-five klicks and he wiped his
sweaty palms on the sides of his pants, prepared to
engage.
Sucked in a breath as the craft registered on his
screen.
"Shit," he breathed.
It was Wing Zero.
There was no mistaking the crested head, the
frighteningly bright eyes and the green saber that lit
like a torch as the Gundam swooped in on its approach
trajectory. He watched in horror as it raised the
blade, swinging it high above its head, and his hands
were frozen on the stick.
"Oh fuck," he mouthed, and forced his fingers to move,
to push the stick forward, and spun into a diving roll
just as the sword began its downward descent. He could
feel the heat of it through the back of his Taurus as
it narrowly missed.
He could almost imagine it was Heero in there, Heero
with the grim lines of his face and the hard eyes,
emotionlessly raising the energy blade again for
another kill. Targeting the enemy, no matter who it
was. No matter if it was the boy who had once been his
best friend.
Were we ever friends, Heero?
Maybe...maybe it was Heero in there. His hands
trembled on the fire controls and he felt himself
shaking against his seat restraints. What if it had
come to this? What if he had to kill his best friend?
"Heero!" he yelled, fumbling for the comm button.
"Heero! Don't do this...it's me...it's your friend,
Duo..."
The Gundam turned eyes flashing, and the blade raised
once more. Duo spun to the side but it was too late.
He could tell as soon as he began veering off to port
that it would do him no good. Felt his mobile suit
shudder. Heard the tearing sound as the sword sheared
one of the Taurus' legs off and felt the immediate
loss of balance and the grinding of internal gears as
the Taurus tried to compensate for the sudden shift in
its center of gravity, and failed.
As he frantically adjusted the thruster controls,
fingers flying across the board, he could see Wing
Gundam turning again, this time in a killing stance.
Hot tears squeezed from his eyes as he brought the
heads-up-display to focus on the Gundam, abandoning
all self-control and gunning the mobile suit into a
straight course, squeezing the fire control with all
his might. He closed his eyes. If he was going to kill
his friend, he'd go down with him in the process.
No...Heero...
"HEERO!" he screamed, and braced himself for the
impact of collision.
Instead, he felt the Taurus jolt with a thousand tiny
impacts, opened his eyes to see shrapnel pelting the
windshield. Turning around behind him, he saw the
billowing smoke of an explosion.
His fingers dropped nerveless from the controls and he
gasped for breath.
What have I done? What have I done?
He barely heard the beeping of the CMD announcing
another enemy craft, transfixed by the explosion
behind him, at the knowledge of what he had just
destroyed. His vision blurred and he could barely read
the craft statistics, saw the readout scroll down the
screen in a brilliant haze of digital blue and green.
Gundam Deathscythe Hell, the targeting display read.
His heart almost stopped.
"No," he choked, shaking his head violently, as the
Gundam came in low and smooth between the stars, just
the way he remembered her, heartbreakingly and almost
blindingly beautiful. The Angel of Death.
The targeting display on the CMD blinked again. Pilot:
Duo Maxwell.
Deathscythe fired. He couldn't seem to control the
Taurus and it took the hit, wobbling on its axis,
spinning and falling. Deathscythe gave chase, like a
bird of prey diving for the kill, and he raised his
hands to his eyes, clawed at the plastic and metal
encasing them, aware that he was drawing blood. It
trickled hot and thick down his face, into his mouth.
"No...no...no..."
Deathscythe opened fire again, blasts spitting from
the gun like shooting stars across the landscape of
heaven.
"Oh God!" he screamed, raising both hands to his face
and the sticky blood. "Let me out! Let me out of here,
let me out of here, LET ME OUT-!"
"DUO!"
Suddenly the suit around him dissolved, and Hilde
knelt in front of him crouching on her knees. From the
way she held the goggles, he guessed that she'd just
jerked them off of him, bringing an unnatural ending
to the sim. Hilde took his hands, still encased in
the black VR gloves and stripped them off. "Your hands
are so cold..." she whispered softly. "He's going into
shock, Sally," she said accusingly. "We should have
brought him out ten minutes ago!"
Sally gave the girl a hard look. "He's a pilot- he'll
adjust. I didn't bring him out because he's going to
be piloting Deathscythe. He can't have us mothering
him- he needs to get back into shape."
"By giving him nightmares?" Hilde said. Her gentle
fingers took off the net and unhooked his head from
the wire mesh, taking the earphones from him. He was
aware that he was trembling, but did his best to
ignore it, gratefully accepting the tissue that Hilde
handed him to wipe off the blood from his face.
"You should have let me bring him out of it," Sally
said stubbornly. "It was only another eight minutes,
and it's not good to jerk someone out of a sim,
especially when they're having problems. The sudden
shock of transferring between realities can be
damaging to the individual."
"Sally..." Hilde growled, started to rise to her feet,
appearing as though she was quite prepared to wring
the General's neck.
"Hush, Hilde," Duo said to her. It was only three
shallow gashes, from what he could feel with his
fingers, but the bleeding wouldn't stop. "Sally is, as
usual, correct. It's her most annoying quality. I'll
be fine."
"But-"
A pinging from in front caused the three to stiffen
and turn towards the pilot, who had remained quiet
throughout their argument. "We can argue later," Sally
said. "We're here."
**************************
Scene XIV: The Angel Without Wings to Fly
"Down to the earth I fell with dripping wings
Heavy things won't fly."
-- Nina Gordon, Tonight and the Rest of My Life
**************************
The girl sat in a makeshift office, her eyes staring
blankly at the fax machine, which was cranking out
ream after ream of paper. Her long blonde hair was
slightly mussed, and her long white dress looked like
it had seen a hard day's use. Chris glanced out of the
window, surprised by the gathering twilight. Sixteen
hours before, he had been at Cliffside Heights; now he
was in Geneva, standing before the legendary Relena
Peacecraft herself.
Status.
Power.
Prestige.
It was weird to think that one person could throw
centuries worth of family planning into chaos just by
being. If Duo Maxwell had chosen another school, been
assigned a different roommate... but he hadn't. Helena
and Shinobu had been right- Chris had been hiding his
head in the sand, hoping that somehow the last month
was some kind of nightmare that he would wake up from.
Well, who could really blame him?
Still, he had had just about enough. He may have been
a staunch pacifist (why fight when throwing money at a
problem usually made it go away?), but even he had his
limits. And he'd reached his. Getting kicked out of
his room by his girlfriend so she could plot on how to
bring the Gundams back to Earth had been the final
straw.
Fine.
He would stop going with the flow. His friends had,
using their surprising connections and resources,
taken matters into their own hands. Well, he had the
same things. He was rich, his family was important
politically, and he had friends in high places- well,
his father did, and that was pretty much the same
thing.
He really should have said goodbye, but... he wanted
nothing to do with Helena at the moment. He loved her,
or thought he did, but sometimes love just wasn't
enough to make a relationship work. You needed
respect, and trust, and a whole slew of other things
that he and Helena apparently didn't have. They had
been shallow people before this crisis blew up in
their faces, and he recognized that Helena had grown
tremendously in the short amount of time that had
passed. And he hadn't.
Part of him wanted to blame Duo for turning his life
upside down, but he knew that would be unfair. Duo had
tried to keep them out of it, but it was just their
bad luck that they got sucked in. Life was like that.
He hated the idea of the Gundams, hated the fact that
someone might be bringing them back. He knew of the
devastation that had wrought last time, and he had a
hard time equating his smiling trickster of a roommate
with the heartless terrorists who had killed
thousands.
He wasn't exactly sure what he was doing here; Relena
had been nothing more then a distance figure to him, a
paragon. But when it had become apparent that no
amount of talking to Helena would stop the Gundams
from being brought down to Earth, he knew that he
would have to warn someone they were coming, someone
who could make a difference. The Preventers were
involved up to their necks, since Sally Po was
supplying transport. The World Nation... he didn't
trust. He'd been about ready to pull his hair out,
when he caught a clip of Relena's taped interview on
the pilots.
And that gave him his answer. The former Queen of the
World had the power to condemn the return of the
weapons, and persuade the public not to take up arms
in retaliation. The Johnsen name had been enough to
get him an appointment with her- after all, no matter
what happened political, economically the world still
went on.
The girl looked up from her daze, surprised to see
him, even though he'd been standing in the room for
over a minute, staring at her. "Can I help you?" she
asked politely enough, though her voice wasn't at all
like the vibrant soprano that he was used to hearing
speak on vid.
"I'm Christopher Johnsen," he said quickly. "My father
called your secretary to let him know I'd be speaking
with you."
She nodded absentmindedly, obviously recognizing his
family name as a financial leader. "I haven't talked
with my secretary in almost a week. You should talk to
Mr. Javert, he's in charge of Cinq's economics." She
turned her attention back to the papers, obviously
dismissing him. Her slender hands picked up a pile of
them, and she started to scan them, nibbling on the
tip of her pencil.
"That's not what I'm here about," he said.
"If you're here to complain about my politics, take a
number," she said with great fatigue. She scribbled
something in the margins on one of the reports,
thoughtfully pursing her lips before continuing. "I
have more important work to do than to listen to yet
someone else I've infuriated." Her words were
impertinent, yet again he noticed the lack of passion
behind them.
"Please, your Majesty, I have some information which
you might find important."
"What is it?" she asked, sounding entirely not
interested.
"They're bringing the Gundams back to Earth, dammit!"
he swore, losing his temper. He seemed to be doing a
lot of that lately.
She blinked, dropping her pencil. Then she blinked
once more, eyes narrowing and lighting up with the
life they had been missing. "Catherine?" she called.
Another girl poked her head out of an adjoining room,
bright eyes fastening on the stranger in their midst.
"Yes, Relena?"
"Mr. Johnsen says that they're going to bring the
Gundams back to Earth," she said.
The other girl looked startled. "Who is? Trowa doesn't
have Heavyarms, and the others are all accounted
for... except Duo, but.." The girl's eyes widened
substantially, and she stepped all the way into the
room. "Damn it. That's just the kind of half-cocked
thing that loony American would do," she growled.
"Um.. excuse me... but who are you?" Christopher asked
curiously. He had assumed the girl was one of Relena's
assistants, but the casual way she took a seat and
began to look at him inquiringly made him reconsider
his first thought.
"Catherine Bloom. Trowa Barton is my brother," the
girl answer, tossing her shoulder-length hair back
from her face. "And what I want to know is how you
come by this information, and if you have any details?
I doubt they'd let a crackpot get this close to
you..." This last was said to Relena.
Relena sighed wearily. "You'd be amazed. I once had a
person try to attack me with a pie. It takes all
types, I guess. Still, Mr. Johnsen, Cat does bring up
a good point. Who are you speaking of exactly, and
what makes you think this?"
"Duo Maxwell- he was my roommate at Cliffside. I'll
give you a minute to verify that if you need to."
"And we have a winner," Catherine said, rubbing her
head as though she was developing a headache. "I don't
suppose you know where he is right now?"
"Last I knew, he was going to... Maxwell's Parish? No,
Maxwell's Church. It's on a colony somewhere. But he's
already been and gone by now. My girlfriend and best
friend are helping him hide them."
The girls exchanged glances. "And why are you telling
us?" Relena asked cautiously.
"Because I know that you'll help me figure out some
way to stop another war," he said fervently. "Please,
your Majesty... you helped end a war before..."
Her eyes were sad as she looked at him. "I was merely
a pawn, saying things I didn't even begin to
understand." She rose to her feet and walked over to
the window, turning her back to him. "When I was
fifteen, everything was so black and white. I didn't
see any of the shades of gray that make life what it
is. I didn't realize that people aren't all good or
all evil- they're just people. Everyone has hopes,
dreams, fears, reasons... even though we may not
understand them.
"You get to a point where you start believing you know
enough, where you know someone and what they stand
for. And then life hits you upside the head, reminding
you that you're merely an actor in a grand drama." She
turned back to him, leaning against the frame. "I
can't do anything to stop the Gundams from coming
back. Duo has made that decision, and we're going to
have to let Une and the military deal with it. Maybe
if we're lucky, they'll do a good job. It's not a
political matter- it's a military one. It's time we
started to trust others to do their jobs- I can't do
everything."
"But- that doesn't sound like absolute pacifism," he
said. "That sounds like... capitulation." The girl who
stood in front of him was slender and proud, but he
was starting to realize she was human.
"I don't think it is. It's facing reality, Mr.
Johnsen. Let the Gundams come- trust Duo to do what is
right.
"When I was younger, I thought I could solve all the
problems in the world. I can't. I thought I could
save... someone special, show them the 'right' way to
live. I can't do that, either. I just had a very vivid
reminder that we all must be free to make our own
mistakes, and chose our own course in life. While it
may hurt the ones who love us, being true to what you
are is what's best."
While Relena spoke, Catherine had risen to her feet,
and put a mothering arm around the other girl.
Catherine was a good three inches taller then the
politician, and at least fifteen pounds heavier.
Relena seemed as fragile as a butterfly, and just as
ready to take flee. There was an ethereal quality to
her, and Chris became aware that the last month must
have been very trying. "Relena, go take a nap. You can
speak to Heero later this evening- I'll show Mr.
Johnsen out."
"But-" Relena started to protest.
"It'll be ok. Shoo!" Catherine propelled her gently
towards the door Chris had entered by, shooting her a
mothering look of admonition.
"Good-bye, Mr. Johnsen," Relena said, pausing at the
doorway and looking over her shoulder at him. "I
appreciate you taking the time to tell me of this,
it's just.... I'm not the one to deal with it. I
advise you speak to General Une."
And then she was gone.
Christopher felt like someone had taken a two by four
and hit him upside the head. This hadn't been what
he'd been expecting. He'd been hoping that Relena
would take up his cause, and find some action to
prevent a disaster. At the very least, he'd been
expecting to fire her up, and hear some words of
wisdom, something saying he'd done the right thing.
Something to convince him that abandoning his friends
in pursuit of a higher ideal hadn't been a mistake.
Instead he'd been treated to a young woman who seemed
tired by reality, imprisoned by her own exhaustion; a
woman who seemed unable to take action anymore. He
stared at the doorway where she had stood, unable to
believe that that slender girl had been the Queen of
the World, the Advocate of absolute Pacifism, the Dove
of her peace. He didn't want to believe it.
"Don't be too hard on her," another voice said, and he
jumped slightly. He'd forgotten Catherine was still
there.
"Shouldn't I be? She's just going to let it happen,
when it's in her power to possibly stop it!"
"Oh? And what's she supposed to do? She's a
politician, when it comes down to it.... a politician
of a small country will no standing military. While it
may have one of the strongest economies, Cinq won't be
able to do much aside from threaten sanctions- and who
would she sanction? You and I both know Duo wouldn't
care. Her pretty words won't get her anywhere this
time... and she has other matters to worry about.
Quatre is about to go on trial, she found out today
that one of her close friends just died, and another
of her close friends is a drug addict who won't have
anything to do with her. It's not pretty, Mr. Johnsen.
She's human, and a human can only take so much before
breaking."
"But-"
"Listen to her. She advised you to speak to Une- go do
that. Drop a request off here tomorrow and I'll have
Relena sign it to give you admission. Okay?"
"What good will talking to Une do? They're supplying
the transportation!"
Catherine raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't heard that, but
then again, I'm just a civilian, one with very little
standing. Une's a remarkable woman, though- talk to
her, and see what she says. She may surprise you."
**************************
Scene XV: Things that Blow Up in the Night
"Libert� , Egalit�, Fraternit�."
[Liberty, Equality, Fraternity]
**************************
The boy slid like a shadow across the darkened
pavement of the ally, silent like the onset of night,
his movements catlike and sure. The air was quiet with
the quiet of deep night, still and heavy and dead,
with fitful gusts of wind skittering dead leaves
across the broken pavement. The boy slipped into the
shadow of a tall building, crouching low just beneath
one boarded up window, feet moving swiftly and surely
through the broken shards of glass that littered the
area just beside where aging brick met the rings of a
chain link fence. He stopped. Waited.
Someone coughed.
That was enough for the boy, and he moved back the way
he had come, back through the alleyway, through the
inky blackness, avoiding the wells of light that
pooled at the foot of lone streetlamps jutting out
from the shadows of crumbling buildings. The long
unlit end of the fuse in his hand was cold to his
fingers, and he palmed it from hand to hand, staring
up at the sky.
He had arrived at the outskirts of Milan four nights
ago, with a pack on his back and a few coins in his
pocket, but he hadn't been worried. Cash was useless
here. The people who had what he needed wouldn't take
just any money, because it was a dangerous business
that they were in, and a wrong glance could mean
death. He knew that better than anyone, and so he had
bided his time, waiting invisibly in the alleys
smelling of rotting sewage and under the neon signs of
bars as the evening had dwindled and turned into
night, and he had seen what he wanted.
The man was heavily built, his neck as thick as two of
the boy's forearms alone, but that meant nothing to
the boy. He had followed the man inside the bar, stood
in the thick smoke cloud that obscured the air like
poison, as the man had ordered some cloudy yellow
drink and sat, sipping, staring into space. Then he
had moved softly, unheard under the grating, pulsing,
music, and tapped the man on the shoulder.
The man turned.
"I need something from you, sir," the boy had said, in
English, half-bowing politely, as if he was not facing
a grizzled drunk but instead had been ushered into the
presence of a king.
The scarred mouth twisted in a faint sneer. "How much
you pay?" The broken English was uttered with a heavy
Italian accent, but the boy understood him well
enough. Wordlessly, he untucked his shirt, drew back
the heavy material from his stomach.
There were two black rings around his waist, obvious
tattoos, thin rings but still visible in the murky air
of the bar. The man's eyes widened and the boy pulled
up the shirt further to reveal a third ring, this one
red, a dragon's shape, like the other two rings,
wrapped around his stomach, curving around to his
back.
"What you want?" the man demanded, obviously shaken.
"Come with me," he said, "and I'll show you."
The man looked at him warily, but the boy stared
steadily at him, unmoving, and finally he rose,
towering at his full height above the boy. "Show," he
ordered.
The boy made his way effortlessly back through the
smoke and the crowd, emerging outside into the cool
night, moonless with the cold pricking of stars the
only light besides the harsh street lighting. A dog
howled somewhere far away. It was getting colder.
"If you trick me," the man said from behind him, his
voice rough and threatening, "I kill you."
The boy smiled.
"Would you?"
There was an uncertain silence behind him, and the boy
spun around in a combat crouch. The big man was taken
by surprise and he stumbled backwards, hand grasping
for the gun that all inhabitants of this realm carried
under their clothes.
"I'm not here to lie to you," the boy said, and
shifted fluidly out of the crouch, reaching into his
pocket and pulling out a pouch. The man's eyes widened
as the boy pulled at the pouch's strings, lithe
fingers moving quickly and efficiently, pouring a
little bit of the pouch's contents into the palm of
his left hand. The powder glittered like snow.
"It's pure," the boy said. "All of it. How much can I
get?"
The man was still watching the powder warily,
unbelievingly, eyes going to the boy's face in wonder.
"How you get?" he demanded, one hand still resting
awkwardly on the gun under his jacket.
"I have my contacts," the boy said. "The nature of
which you do not need to know."
"You-" the man pressed, harshly. "How old? How you
get? How many you have?"
The boy closed his hand over the powder, holding the
fist upside down, ready to scatter it over the ground.
"If you don't want it-"
"Stop! Wait." The big clumsy fingers were groping
again, this time at his right side, taking out a bit
of scrap paper and a broken pencil. Scribbling. "Here.
Go here."
The boy siphoned the powder back into the pouch and
took the paper. "Thank you." He turned to leave.
"You liar! You no give me what you bring!"
The boy stopped in his tracks. "When I know you're not
lying," he said, "I'll give you what you want."
"You no come back?"
There was a short pause and then the boy reached into
his boot, drew out a small, slender pistol. "If I
don't come back," he said, "You're free to keep this."
The man reached out to the offered weapon, clearly not
convinced that this was not an elaborate game. "I
keep?"
"Only if I don't come back," the boy said clearly. "If
I return...It's still mine."
The man's eyes gleamed at him once from the darkness,
and then hand suddenly snatched the gun and then there
was silence. The boy stared at the spot where his
contact had been, then shrugged, looked down at the
paper in his hands. There was an address scribbled
there, an address and a name.
The gun was an old one, highly prized, and very rare.
It would be a shame to lose it, but he had other
bargain tools, and he could easily take it back even
if the man decided to keep it. Though he'd done his
research well before he had decided to take the
chance. The Italian Mafia was still as closed as it
had been to outsiders, but no one would dare question
the authority of a member of the Japanese yakuza to
get exactly what he wanted, in any country.
He rubbed at his stomach where the tattoos were,
hidden back under his clothes. It was not an official
designation, the tattoos, considering that he was not
even Japanese, and they had been gotten long ago, when
he was still a child. But they meant that he could be
trusted, and that was a valuable asset, especially
since the World Nation had begun to truly turn its
attention to the various organized crime groups
throughout the world since the war had ended.
The boy didn't know what to think of the World
Nation's current pet project, and he preferred not to
think about it, if possible. He did know that it would
not succeed. Where old groups died, new groups would
be born, whether they called themselves the yakuza or
the Mafia or the Tong or the Shionji Cartel or any
other name. The name was not important. And after a
while, the World Nation would give up.
He fingered the piece of paper in his pocket and
resumed walking, glancing at faded street signs,
picking his way steadily south. A few blocks later,
the streets widened slightly and a few cars passed him
by, their blinding headlights raking their way over
his vision, but he didn't look up, didn't stop, kept
walking.
Another few blocks and the streets abruptly shifted
back to the narrow maze that he had just exited,
except here the buildings were closer together, a
little more well-maintained. Laundry still hung
outside some rusted fire escapes, and there were
lights in the broken windows. A residential
neighborhood?
The address was of a street he was not familiar with,
but the street names seemed to be following a regular
pattern, and it was not long until he hit the street
he was looking for. There were no streetlamps at all
lighting the dark pavement, and as he stared into the
blackness, he felt the prickle on the back of his neck
that signaled he was being watched.
He straightened but did not turn.
"I'm looking for Gietti," he said. "Where can I find
him?"
A whisper of sound. "I am Gietti," the voice said,
low, deep, with only a trace of accent. "Who are you?"
"Yakuza."
"What brings the yakuza to my door?"
"Nothing," the boy said calmly. "I do not represent my
clan. I am here on private affairs."
The voice did not respond, perhaps studying him,
perhaps doubting that he was telling the truth. The
boy waited. He had told the truth, as far as the man
would ever know. It didn't matter that he no longer
belonged to the yakuza, or that he never really had a
clan in the first place. The tattoos on his stomach
spoke louder than any words ever could, and he would
be believed.
Apparently, the man came to the same conclusion. "What
do you want?" he said.
"Goods," the boy said calmly.
"Those are not easily bought," Gietti returned. "How
much are you willing to pay?"
Again, he reached down, pulled out the pouch. There
was a intake of breath, and he was undoing the tie of
the pouch when a hand reached out of the blackness,
clamped down over his wrist.
"Come with me."
The boy shrugged, stuffed the pouch back into his
pocket, and followed the dark shadow of the man's back
down the black street. The stones were uneven under
his feet, and he almost stumbled and fell several
times, but kept his eyes on his mysterious leader's
back, knowing that to lose this man in the darkness of
the street was to risk certain death. The Mafia did
not appreciate strangers wandering its territory
alone, no matter who they were.
The shadow stopped and there was a snick of a lock and
the creaking of an open door. He followed the
footsteps through the door, fumbling blindly up a
flight of stairs, heard the opening of another door.
There was a sizzling sound as a match was struck, and
as the light flared he found himself in a small,
square room. He didn't know what he had expected this
Gietti to look like, but the thin, hook-nosed, tanned
man in front of him was definitely not what he might
have pictured in his mind's eye.
"Proof," Gietti said, and the boy again untucked his
shirt, revealing the tattoos. Gietti stared hard at
them for a moment, then nodded once. He was in.
He stood quietly as the man crossed to the other side
of the room, carefully unlocked a cupboard, took out
several packets and laid them carefully in a metal
box. Closed the box and looked up.
"If you drop this, it will kill you."
"I know," said the boy. "Is it pure?"
"Mostly." Gietti said. "It will do the job. What you
do with it isn't my problem."
"I know," said the boy again. He waited until Gietti
had crossed back, holding out the box to him, then
took the pouch out of his pocket. Box and pouch
changed hands, the tanned Mafia member suddenly gazing
at the boy uncertainly.
"Do I...know you?"
The boy had turned to leave, business complete, but a
ghost of a smile crossed his lips.
"You might."
"Wait-"
But the boy was already opening the door.
"There's a flashlight on the table to your left,"
Gietti said. "Killing yourself by falling down the
stairs in the dark carrying nitroglycerin isn't a good
way to go."
"Thank you," the boy said simply. He hadn't looked
back.
He had gotten his pistol back from the burly man with
little argument. He had been ready for a brawl, though
he really hadn't wanted to fight, but surprisingly,
the man gave him back his weapon with little argument,
grabbing the pouch of cocaine eagerly and taking off.
The boy didn't watch him go. As long as he got what he
wanted, he did not care.
There was an anti-Gundam faction in one of the
outlying cities in France which had caught his
attention first, but he hadn't been sure what to do
about it. He was not angry. People had the right to
express their feelings, and he understood that on a
purely intellectual basis, if nothing else, because he
had never needed to let his feelings take control. It
was something that fascinated him, and he watched the
activities of the cell group for a few days, watching
as they traded information back and forth, watched as
they deliberated on their course of action.
They were confused. All of them were, he decided, not
just this particular group, because it was no concrete
enemy they were fighting, but something that couldn't
be named, five enigmas who embodied ideals rather than
facts. If that had not been the case, if they had
planned a set course of action, he would have had to
retaliate. But as it was, he simply sat and waited.
It was not that he wanted vengeance. It was because he
had once been a soldier and a warrior and it was an
eye for an eye. The old code was burned into his blood
too strongly, and they needed to know that they were
not fighting any simple enemy. They hadn't hurt his
friends yet, so he would not hurt them. But it was
something that had to be done.
A warning.
Then he had heard about the faction in Italy, heard
that they were going into action. They were an
American group, he learned, that had relocated to
Italy and had connections with the Italian and
American Mafia. He hadn't been too worried until the
French group had gotten word about possible action, as
they called it. Tempers and excitement ran high.
Something was going to happen. The killers, as the
resistance cells termed the military, were going to
pay.
He had made it his mission to ensure that nothing
would happen. At least, nothing that they were
expecting. They had ties to the Mafia, but so did he,
and he would use them.
The fuse in his hand was ice-cold to the touch and he
stood there for a split second longer, then bent down
and drew out the lighter from the front pocket of his
coat. Lit it and watched the flame waver in the rising
wind, then touched it to the fuse end.
The blue flames ate their way along the line, hungry,
ravenous. He dropped the lighter back into his pocket,
feeling as he did so the hard, flat, surface of the
other object that was stored there. He pulled it out,
not looking up as the flames licked at the broken wood
of the trash heaps along the road and as those burst
into flames as well, not watching the fire as it raced
down the line into the blackness. The book's surface
was tattered with age and the letters on the cover
stood out sharply silver in the crimson flickering
light.
Les Mis�rables.
The boy smiled, a gentle smile, as he bent down and
placed the volume at his feet. They would find it, and
he would let them make of it what they would, but it
should be sufficient enough to let them know that they
were being watched.
He heard the frantic running of feet and straightened
quickly, fading into the darkness. Shouts of "Fire!
Fire!" echoed through the night air and he closed his
eyes, imagining the controls in his mind. Grasped the
imaginary weapons controls, moved his hand into
position, and squeezed the trigger.
"You're dead," he said softly.
The wind was cool on his cheeks, and the heat of the
flames was warm on his skin, and as the first
explosions began, the boy turned his back on the fire
and began to walk.
END ACT VII
Link to information on the Italian Mafia:
http://www.alleged-mafia-site.com/
Link to information on the Yakuza, the Japanese Mafia:
http://web.dar.net/~northrup/yakuza.html
Link to information on Nitroglycerin, the chemical
compound used in explosives such as dynamite:
http://www.ch.ic.ac.uk/mim/environmental/html/nitroglyc_text.htm
Up Next: ACT VIII :: Junsui de aru ga Yue no Kiken na
Kagayaki
(The Dangerous Brilliance of a Pure Cause)
=====
"No matter what the bible says, the battle always goes to
the strong. And I am strong. I don't need to prove that to
anyone anymore."
-Excerpt from Sainan no Kekka- Act Seven, Scene VII
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Quicksilver/
http://www.midnightrevolution.org/gundam
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