SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING

SAINAN NO KEKKA
ACT II, PART III

 
 
Scene IX: The End of the Show

 
Trowa kept his eyes on the four poles in the center of the ring as Catherine stole a peek at him, winking as the ringmaster announced them for their new act. He wanted to look around again, to see the audience through the dazzle of the spotlight, wavering as if their heads were enveloped in smoke. They were mostly Asian, a Hong Kong audience that had seized onto the romance of a traveling circus troupe in this day and age, and even the ringmaster had been a little surprised when the letter had come from the city's mayor asking them to stop in for a few shows.

He had gone walking through the streets of the city earlier in the day, comfortable in his anonymity. Downtown Hong Kong was a pleasant mix of ethnicities, and it was enjoyable to walk through the streets, listening to the chatter of different languages around him, watching those Asian faces with their Asian eyes and black hair flit in and out of his vision.

Half a year ago, it would have made him homesick. But he rarely thought of his oyabun anymore. He was dead, he reminded himself, dead to the clan, dead to the world. He was Catherine's now, and Catherine's alone.

The ringmaster raised his hands. "You've seen them dance the dagger's edge; now watch in awe as they dazzle us with their death-defying acrobatic skills. May I present to you Catherine Bloom and Trowa Barton!"

The light hit the siblings, shining off their green-on-green costumes. They each wore a domino mask studded with sequins, and green feathers had been woven into their hair, giving them a wild, untamed look. Bowing together to acknowledge the eager applause, they sprang into a short tumbling sequence that led them both to opposite sides of the stage, where two willowy poles rose high into the air. Mirroring each other with uncanny skill, they quickly scaled the poles. Halfway up, they locked their knees and leaned back, holding their bodies at ninety degree angles from the poles. They waited for the admiring applause, and then grabbed the bar with their hands, arching their backs.

Over and over they kicked out, performing seemingly impossible displays of strength, agility, and just plain insanity. At one point in the routine, they climbed to the apex, then let go, free-falling for over thirty feet before catching onto the bar again. Then they locked hands and used the other to help them climb, climbing over each other in a twisted game of leap frog.

Finally the act came to a close with a dizzying display of moves as they swung back and forth, arching and diving and making it look like gravity had been forgotten. Together the siblings took a ten feet drop, smiling as they nailed their landings perfectly.

The crowd gave them a standing ovation. They bowed, and Trowa produced some explosive pellets he had kept secreted on his person. With a deft flick of his wrist, he threw them at the ground, causing a flash of smoke. The light technicians, having been expecting this, released a burst of red and orange light, which the two performers used to escape. Showmanship was something that they definitely had down pat.

They collapsed in Catherine's trailer, waiting together for the finale. Trowa pulled his mask off and rubbed at the sweat on his face. "Think it went well?"

She laughed, pushing her mask up so she could see him. "If you're in the act, it always goes well," she said. "I swear, isn't there anything you can't do?"

"If there is, I haven't found it yet," Trowa said, humbly keeping his eyes on the ground, knowing the statement would draw a quick reaction out of her; laughter, usually, or light-hearted banter.

"Oh, you!" Catherine said, punching him affectionately in the arm, then tugging on his sleeve. "What do you want to do after we're done here?"

He stretched his legs out in front of him "Don't you have a date?" he asked. "I thought Kirin was going to take you out and show you the lovely city of Hong Kong."

She laughed and waved a hand, dismissing the notice. "Kirin is always trying to show me something," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'd rather spend some time with you. I see precious little of you these days for free time. When we get time together it's always for practice."

"Do you want me to get rid of him for you?" Trowa asked in a calm and calculating voice, in the same tone he might have used to ask her what the weather would be like tomorrow. It was mostly in jest. Mostly.

"Trowa!" Catherine exclaimed in horror. "No, I do NOT want you to 'get rid of him!' He's a friend who just happens to be interested in me- not all problems should be solved through violence!"

Trowa knew what she was thinking - that for every three steps took towards being normal, he would take two back. It would do no good to explain to her, so he simply stared at her for a second before nodding. "All right," he said, making no apology for his first suggestion.

She barely refrained from belting him in the face. He was just so aggravating, and the worst thing was that he didn't mean to be aggravating. "Trowa, you are walking a VERY thin line here," she warned him in her "I'm the big sister, do NOT mess with me" voice.

He blinked, then smiled. "Yes, Catherine," he agreed easily.

She glared for a second more, then burst out into giggles. "So what should we do this evening?" she wanted to know. "I'm in the mood for exploring."

"I'll go with you," Trowa offered. "I found a very good restaurant a few blocks from here."

"Of course you'll come, silly. Gosh, I wish I spoke Chinese well enough to go to a movie," she sighed wistfully. "I'm in the mood for a film."

"I can translate for you," Trowa said helpfully.

She blinked. "You speak Chinese?" she said in amazement.

"Some Cantonese and enough Mandarin to get by. I understand it fairly well - it was especially helpfully when dealing with Wufei."

She smiled. It was rare Trowa made reference to the people who had been his comrades during the war. "Sounds like a plan. We should be getting back to the ring- the finale is about to begin."

Trowa pulled his mask down and nodded, obediently following his sister out the door towards their adoring audience.

That evening they browsed happily through town, eating Chinese and seeing an English movie that had been subtitled into Chinese. They had laughed and kidded each other, and Catherine's eyes were glowing when they returned to the circus. "I'm far too awake to go to sleep, but bed calls, mon cher," she said, standing up on her tiptoes so she could plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Sleep well."

He hugged her. "Pleasant dreams, soeur," he said quietly, heading off to his own tent, four down from hers. At first he had considered protesting that they were too far apart, then decided not to press the issue. It wasn't as if they were still at war. Besides, any assassin who would come looking would be looking for him, not his sister.

He took his second shower of the day and set out his costume so it could air. After grabbing a quick snack, he buried himself beneath his blankets, prepared for a dreamless sleep. He never dreamed when he slept, which he considered a blessing.

It was dark when he felt a hand on his shoulder rudely shake him awake. His first instinct was to reach for the gun he kept beneath his pillow, but he refrained from doing so, reminding himself that he was in safe territory.

"What is it?" he asked quietly. The ringmaster stood over him, his face tense. Trowa hadn't seen him look so worried since the war - obviously something was wrong. His hackles rose. "Is Catherine ok?"

"She's fine, Trowa," the ringmaster rushed to reassure him. "However, I have some very bad news."

Trowa rolled over and clicked on the light, noticing that the large bulky object the ringmaster was holding in his hand was a rolled up newspaper. Several suspicions crossed his mind immediately, and he discarded them. No use jumping to conclusions. After letting his eyes adjust, Trowa reached for the paper, which the ringmaster handed to him without a word. The man's hand was cold, a little clammy.

He scanned the article. "This is bad," he said mildly.

The ringmaster seated himself in the folding chair beside Trowa's bed. "To say the least. I'm not fooled by these platitudes they've put in with this thing, that all other information is strictly for military only. I'm sure you'll agree. It's only a matter of time until everyone's identities become public domain. When it does...well, you should be careful. The question is what we're going to do about this."

"We?" Trowa asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. He glanced up from the article to the face of the ringmaster, shadowed in the dim lamplight. The man nodded.

"Most definitely we. The circus is family- I would have thought you'd learned that by now."

Trowa had no answer to the ringmaster's last statement. Loyalties were something not to be spoken aloud, his oyabun had taught him, and to voice that seemed very strange.

"If you stay here, we'll do our best to keep you safe." The ringmaster shifted, folding his hands. "However, it's your choice. You don't have to answer now - get some sleep first."

Trowa shook his head. Sleep was not an option at this point - it was like a mission. He'd received the news, the clock had started ticking, and what he chose to do with the information he'd been given was on his own time. If he stayed here, he would be traced easily, as he had hid in the very same circus during the war. Surely that information was part of the files that had somehow fallen into a reporter's hands. And if he was traced, everyone in his vicinity would be in danger. He had powerful enemies, and those enemies wouldn't care about civilians who got in the way.

Catherine.

If he stayed here, Catherine would be in danger.

Trowa rolled out of bed, reaching over under the folding chair and dragging out a large duffel bag and a pair of tennis shoes.

The ringmaster got up hastily. "What are you doing?"

"Packing,"Trowa answered, throwing a few shirts and pants into the bag, along with a flashlight, some socks, a water canteen, a toothbrush, and then rummaged under the bed for a jacket.

"What? Now? Why?" the ringmaster demanded. "It's the middle of the night!" He reached out a hand and Trowa pushed it away gently before the man could touch him.

"It's the middle of the night, and that's the best time to leave. Look here-" he pointed to the article, which had fallen off the bed and now lay faceup on the floor next to his feet. "This is just round one. They're going to come after me, no matter if my name is published in the news or not. If they managed to get this information from Une, they would have got all of it, and that means my name, and if they have my name, it won't be too hard to trace Trowa Barton, Gundam pilot, with Trowa Barton, circus performer. It'd be best if I leave now, and get a head start."

Where could he go?

Was there any place that was safe?

And how soon until he could eliminate the source of the problem?

"What will Catherine say?" the ringmaster demanded.

"She'll be upset," Trowa said. "But that makes it even more urgent. I have to leave now, before she finds out."

The ringmaster looked saddened. "I just don't like it. At least say goodbye to her before you go."

Trowa grabbed his supply of ready cash, shoving it into his pocket. With a sigh, he secured two knives to his wrists, packed up two of his guns, and slid another gun into the inner pocket of his jacket. "I'm not saying goodbye to Cat. I can't. She'll manage to convince me to stay, or try to go with me, or to find out where I'm going. And right now, she's nothing but a liability. You can tell her, when she asks, that I'm not going to L3. That's the first thing she'll think of."

The ringmaster had watched wordlessly as Trowa secreted a small arsenal on his person, but he couldn't keep quiet when Trowa stated his intention to leave without saying farewell to his sister. "She deserves to hear from your own lips why you're leaving."

"She'll figure it out. She's a smart cookie."

"She deserves better!"

"Of course she does," Trowa agreed readily enough, recognizing that some of the ringmaster's concern for Catherine was simply the man's inability to express his own concern. "However, she's not going to get it." And neither are you. I'm sorry. It was amazing how the old habits returned, as if he had never tried to leave them behind. He felt the world of the circus slipping away from him again, felt certain that as soon as he left the confines of the camp and stepped out onto the street, Doktor S would be there waiting for him with a contingent of yakuza guards behind his back, ready to take him away.

"Where are you going?" the ringmaster asked.

"I don't know, and even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Same goes for you as with Cat. You'll be safer in the dark."

The ringmaster closed his eyes for a moment, shoulders slumping slightly. Trowa felt remorseful for a split second, then banished the thought from his mind. He was surprised when the ringmaster stepped forward and enveloped the teenager in a hug. "Remember. You're always welcome here. We're family, and don't you ever forget that."

"Thank you," Trowa said. "Someday I hope to come back. But right now, it's just not possible."

"Are you going to the Preventers? Perhaps they would be able to help you?"

He shook his head, one of his brilliant green eyes obscured by his hair. "They will be having enough problems without one of the pilots showing up asking for asylum. Besides, Lady Une and I don't get along that well." Trowa reached out and embraced the ringmaster briefly once more. "Take care of Catherine for me, would you? She's the most precious thing I have."

He left his trailer without looking back. It was just a place - home was Catherine, her laugh and affectionate smile. He had to walk by the trailer where Catherine was sleeping on his way out. Pausing briefly, he stared at it, wishing he could go inside and watch her sleep. Just be close to her for a little while longer. However, time was of the essence, and anyway, Cat was a light sleeper. She would awaken.

She had his music box, and for now, that would have to be enough.

He blew a kiss towards where he knew she was sleeping. "Au revoir, ma soeur. Je t'aime," he murmured. The gate to the fencing enclosing the circus tent setup was very close, and he did not look back as he passed her trailer, swinging open the metal chain links and padding through without a sound.

Au revoir, ma soeur. Je t'aime : French, "Goodbye, my sister. I love you."

 
Scene X: Drawn Back Through Distant Memories

 
"You're awfully quiet," Milliard remarked, watching Dorothy eat her dinner in silence, staring out the window of the restaurant. He had purposely picked one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, one situated at the top of a tower and which rotated to show a panoramic view of the surrounding cityscape. The city itself was breathtaking even during daylight; at sunset, as a myriad of lights stained the horizon, it was stunningly gorgeous.

The White Dove was already known as one of the best restaurants in the city. He'd eaten there once before when he had come with Treize on a business trip, and the taste of the roast lamb he'd had still lingered in his mouth. It was also one of the most expensive restaurants in the country. Tomorrow, he was sure that he was sorely going to regret coming today, but his paycheck was due any day now, and he had promised to treat Dorothy to the best food in this vicinity. Not that she couldn't pay for herself. She was one of the richest women in the world, heiress to a massive fortune, and she could pay for the meal a thousand times over.

No, it was just something he had to do. Because he hadn't seen her in a long time, because he was going to ask a favor of her that no woman in her right mind would even consider, and...

And, well, just because.

"I'm thinking," she said, looking up at him with pale blue eyes. Milliard couldn't read her. Aboard the Libra, there wasn't much to read. She'd been a crafty woman that he had been sure never to underestimate, no matter how much she insisted that she would follow him to the ends of the earth.

"You've thought enough." A wry smile twisted his lips as she blinked at him, and he took the opportunity to reach his fork out and snag a piece of her delicately cut squares of filet mignon, popping it into his mouth as she finally registered what he had done.

"Milliard!"

"Shh, not so loud," he warned playfully, bringing one finger to his lips. "People are watching."

"Oh please," she said, a little bit of the old scorn coming into her voice, the way he remembered her. "It's not like your face isn't plastered all over the front page of the tabloids anyway."

Milliard rolled his eyes, then allowed himself a small smile as she looked taken aback. She'd been goggling at him in one fashion or another ever since he had calmly walked into her sitting room and asked her to dinner. He remembered her face when she had seen him, as if she had seen a ghost.

She'd know he was alive, he knew. Ever since he had decided to go back to the Cinq Kingdom, he'd had no peace from the press. But he'd never imagined Dorothy - cool, calm, scheming Dorothy Catalonia, to look at him like he was a spectre out of some waking nightmare.

The Lightning Baron, come back from the dead.

As it became apparent that he was in fact breathing flesh and blood, to his surprise, she didn't relax. He'd tried to draw her out, laughing and joking and making it quite obvious that he wasn't the stern and haunted White Fang leader anymore. It was awkward between both of them. When they'd last seen each other he had been commander and she subordinate. When they'd last seen each other, he had never smiled.

He wanted to show her that he had changed.

He didn't understand why she would glance at him when she thought he wasn't watching and then automatically shift her gaze when he looked at her. Why she seemed uncomfortable just making idle conversation with him. None of it made sense. He'd remembered Dorothy as a very independent and confident woman, which was why he had made the journey here in the first place.

Had he been wrong? Had Dorothy changed too much? They'd all changed since the war ended...some of them more than others.

Or maybe she was still afraid of Zechs Merquise.

She was staring out the window again, and he resisted the urge to sigh. The lobster currently on his plate was delicious as always, but he'd barely finished half of it, wondering what he was going to say to her. And her silences weren't making this any easier.

"Dorothy, lighten up," he said.

Her confused gaze swung back to him. "Huh?"

Now he was worried. Never in his life had he ever heard Dorothy Catalonia utter the word "huh?"

"Is something wrong?"

"N-no," she murmured, her gaze going automatically back to her plate, as if she were afraid to meet his eyes.

This time, he did sigh. "You can talk to me, you know," he said, reaching out with his eyes, grasping her gaze and holding it. She looked slightly paralyzed.

"M-Milliard?"

"You can talk to me," he said gently, smiling a little to lighten the intense stare he was fixing her with. "Something's bothering you, isn't it? You aren't the same as I remember. What is it?"

"I think we've all changed," she said stiffly, twirling her fork through the food on her plate.

"That's not what I mean."

There was a silence in which she didn't seem to breathe, and then with an inarticulate sound in her throat, she wrenched her gaze away.

"It's-it's you!" she whispered to the window. "You don't get it, do you? I thought you were dead...and then I heard you were alive after all...I never thought you'd remember me." Her eyes that twisted back to him were haunted. "What do you want with me?"

He blinked. "Dorothy?"

"It's not fair," she said softly. "Not fair at all."

Without thinking, he reached across the table and grabbed the hand that was holding the fork in a loose grip. The utensil clattered to the tabletop. Her hand was small and warm and trembling just a little bit.

"I don't want to hurt you," he said. "I came to ask you a favor, and if you hadn't been expending all your energy and effort trying not to talk to me, I would have asked you earlier!" Despite himself, some frustration seeped into his voice. "Do you not want to talk to me? I can go away if you want. I can leave."

"No! No...please, stay."

There was a plea in her words, and as he looked at her, she colored slightly. He resisted the urge to stare at her open-mouthed.

Dorothy Catalonia was many things, but she was never embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," Milliard said quietly, releasing her hand. She snatched it back and hid it under the table, as if nursing a wound. "I-"

What had possessed him to do that, anyway?

"What did you come here for, Milliard?"

The long platinum colored hair fell over her eyes, and the simple white dress she wore made her look very young. He suddenly felt the urge to reach over and brush the hair out of her eyes and tell her that everything would be all right.

She reminded him of Relena.

He had hardly known Dorothy when they were aboard the Libra, even having met her once before. A private party given by the Romefeller Foundation, when he had been a young officer, a few years out of the Academy, and Treize had insisted he attend. Milliard had heard about Dorothy Catalonia through hearsay only, and he was surprised at how young she actually looked in person.

Because according to the Academy rumors, the some of the things she had done were not the doings of a child.

He had decided to be brave that night, had gone up to her and introduced himself, very formally, hoping to impress her. It didn't go as he had planned. She had raised one platinum eyebrow and gazed impassively at him for a moment, and then she'd swept away, not even bothering to answer him. For the rest of the night, he'd avoided her.

When he had seen her on the Libra, she had hardly looked older than she had that night, though it had been more than four years. He had grown past the awkward young lieutenant whom she had embarrassed that night, yet he had still been beleaguered with the feeling that she was laughing at him. Laughing at her commander.

He had deserved to be laughed at. He couldn't remember exactly why he had been there in the first place.

Dorothy's skill with the mobile dolls was amazing. That was how he had always thought of her. Even now, sitting with her and looking at her across the table, she was still in his mind the scheming strategist. Maybe that was why she had confused him so much tonight. Because he was seeing Dorothy Catalonia the woman and not Dorothy Catalonia the soldier, and he had been trained to think of the soldier first, all his life.

It was too confusing.

"Milliard?"

Her voice shook him out of the fog he had immersed himself in, and he looked at her. "Yes?"

"Didn't you hear what I said?"

"No."

"I asked what you wanted." Her voice hardened. Things weren't going well at all.

"I-" He stopped. This wasn't working. This was not the environment he had imagined.

"Can we talk somewhere else?"

Dorothy looked suspicious.

"You're stringing me along. I don't like this."

"I promise. I just can't talk here. Not about what I want to talk to you about."

She looked suspicious for a second more, then shrugged. "As you like."

Milliard could feel the alternating emotions from her as he paid the bill, as they departed the restaurant and got into the car, and he recognized some of them. She didn't trust him. She thought he was making a fool of her. He smiled to himself as he turned out of the lot and onto the road. He could identify with that, remembering a young officer alone at a party, snubbed by a girl with long platinum hair and a mocking smile.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing," he said, still smiling.

"Milliard-"

"Don't worry about it." Turning onto an unpaved road sheltered from the setting sun by graceful branches of overhead trees. "Just remembering the past, that's all."

She looked thoughtful, then began to laugh. "You know what I was thinking about all the way to the restaurant?"

"What?"

"That OZ party we met at a few years back at my grandfather's house, when you introduced yourself and I ignored you. Remember that?"

Milliard started to laugh.

"It's not that funny."

"No." He shifted the gear into park and turned off the engine. "I was just thinking about that too."

They sat in silence for a minute as the fading sunlight dappled in through the windshield and drew patterns on the dashboard.

"You've changed, Milliard."

"So have you," he replied, unbuckling his seatbelt and stretching. The seat was made for shorter human beings than he, and his legs were cramped.

"You never used to smile like that."

He looked at her and this time she didn't look away but met his gaze squarely, blue meeting blue. "You never used to laugh."

"I do now," he said softly. "I'm trying...to be a better man than I was."

"It's funny," she said. "I didn't know you at all when the war ended, and now we're talking like old friends. Is that strange or what?"

He looked away, ran a hand down the frame of the window. "War bonds people, Dorothy."

"You heard the news about the Gundam pilots," she said. "Haven't you?"

It had been on the news this morning when he had turned on the radio, but he hadn't been surprised. He had seen this coming, sooner or later, in one form or another. Secrets like that could never be kept secret for long. He'd even seen that particular man around, the reporter who had broken into secure files, when he'd been a "security guard" for the Preventers headquarters. That reporter was in prison awaiting trial now, but the secrets were out.

"Yes. A shame."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You think so?"

"They were not children. Far from it. I did not care for them, but I respected them as soldiers and pilots, and now they will be punished for being noble."

"You want to go outside?" she said suddenly, opening the car door. "It's stuffy in here, and it's such a nice sunset."

She disappeared into the trees as he was still getting out of the car, and when he caught up with her she was sitting on an overturned tree trunk on the top of the hill. The countryside stretched out below and the sun was just disappearing over the horizon. A flock of migrating birds flew across royal purple-tinged clouds. Her long hair stirred slightly in the breeze and she did not speak until he had taken a seat beside her.

"What do you want, Milliard?"

He took a deep breath, looking over the darkening landscape.

"Dorothy...have you ever considered going back to being a soldier?"

Her head whipped around, and he held up a hand quickly before she could open her mouth. "You've definitely got the talent and intelligence for it, and you're one of the best strategists I've ever worked with. We could use you."

He couldn't read her expression in the dark. "We as in...?"

"The Preventers."

"I knew you would say that," she said. "The answer is no."

"Dorothy-"

"NO," she repeated firmly, "That part of my life is over, Milliard, and I'm not going back to what I was. I've changed now. I can't go back."

"Can't or won't?"

Her voice was hard, sneering. "What do you know?"

"I know you're the heiress to a massive fortune and title. You belong in the upper echelons of society, and your family must be pressuring you to act the part, right? Am I correct? They want you to become a lady and attend social functions and marry into status. You're a status symbol. That's what I know, because I was born to that too."

She suddenly looked very fragile. "Not they," she mumbled. "She."

"She?"

"My mother."

The Duchess Emily Khushrenada Noventa. He had heard about her before, but only through hearsay. He'd known she was Dorothy's mother, but for some reason had never connected the two, had never really believed that they were related in any way.

"I don't understand," Dorothy said. Her hands clenched in her lap. "She wants me to be some social climber - she wants me to be like her. Maybe she even thinks she can use me in her quest for power or money or whatever she wants. I don't know what she wants."

Tentatively, Milliard reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, and she didn't flinch away, simply sat there.

"I'm sorry, Dorothy," he said. "I didn't mean-"

"It's nothing." She looked up at him. "I...you know I'd go with you, Milliard. I'd go anywhere with you if I could. If I was allowed."

"Why not?"

"My mother-"

"What can she do?" he interrupted, reaching over and grasping one of her hands, shaking it. "Tell me, what can she do to you?"

"She has more political power than I'll ever have. With the right contacts, she can take away my title, my property-"

"That's it!" he exclaimed, "That's just it. That's all she can do. Do you seriously care about the title and the property?"

"I-" she began uncertainly. "It's not-"

"Dorothy, I gave up my title and my lands long ago, and I don't regret it at all. It's a different world out there, and unlike most of them, you've experienced it. That's why you're different. Why you can never re-assimilate back into their world. Because there's so much more out there for you. You understand that, right?"

"You're asking me to go with you." It was not a question.

"There's a situation on one of the frontier colonies. And I need your help."

If he hadn't been watching carefully, he would have missed the look in her eyes, the brief flash of hunger and longing that he had known was still there, if he dug deeply enough.

Dorothy Catalonia, you haven't changed as much as you want to think.

"Right now."

"Yes. I leave in two days with Preventers troops, and I thought I'd stop by and ask if you wanted to come along."

When she spoke next, her voice was subdued. "Why me? Why not...someone else? Noin?"

Noin.

The name was a flash of pain inside his heart.

"Noin isn't here anymore," he said, more harshly than he intended. He felt her hand stiffen in his grasp, and he tightened his grip.

"I'm sorry, Dorothy. I didn't mean-"

"I know," she murmured, looking away. The last light of day was fading. He could see the crescent moon emerge from behind wisps of cloud. "I'm sorry. I'm always opening my mouth at the wrong time, aren't I?'

"No."

"I..I need to think about this, Milliard. If you could give me details, perhaps..."

He rose to his feet. "I have briefing reports and things in the car. I'll go over them with you when we get back. I just wanted to ask, before..."

"I understand," she said, with a hint of laughter around her lips. "I told you, if I could, I'd go anywhere with you."

He looked at her quizzically and she glanced away, seemingly embarrassed again.

"Why do you say that?"

She didn't answer. He frowned, confused.

"Dorothy?"

"Look, Milliard," she said softly, grasping his hand and pointing to the blackened sky. "Stars."

He held her hand tightly, looking into the sky and trying to pinpoint with his eyes a planet too far away to see, where someone with bright eyes and a warm smile and the heart of a soldier waited for him. He was coming for her, and he would find her, no matter what the data and the reports said, because his heart told him so.

He had to believe that.

I'd go anywhere with you...

 
Go to Dorothy story Love

 
Scene XI: Privacy and the Right to Know

 
"'If they're shooting at you, you know you're doing something right,'" Banks murmured to himself. He couldn't remember who had told him that, but he fervently hoped it was true. He sure felt like he was being shot at.

He had known he would get in trouble- hell, he would have been disappointed if that wasn't the case. Still, he hadn't been prepared for the harsh realities of isolation. Every now and then one of the Preventers would give him a plate of food, casting disparaging and scornful eyes over him. Aside from that, he was left alone to his thoughts.

He understood their derision. He had been one of them, if only on the surface, and he had betrayed them. He wanted to force them to open their eyes to that their leaders were really like, yet he didn't have the heart. They were deluded, these Preventers, and nothing he did would change them- with one possible exception. Tell the truth. Sometimes the truth was the most powerful weapon of all. He was a reporter; ignorance was his enemy.

The oppressive silence of the cell weighed heavily on him- he had room to take four steps in either direction, and that was all. There was nothing in the cell aside from a cot, a pillow, and the smooth wooden bowl his last meat had arrived in. The depressingly gray walls seemed to want to close in on him. To keep from going positively crazy, he mentally replayed the data he had taken over and over in his head, clinging to it like a child to a prize.

He still couldn't believe it. The pilots were children. Their faces were so young, and he remembered staring at them, wondering what it would be like to have killed so many so young; to have the certain knowledge that you would spend the rest of your life with the burden of the deaths of thousands on your conscience.

He was remembering the faces, particularly that of the pilot of 04, Quatre Raberba Winner. That had simply astounded him. It had been common knowledge the boy had gone missing during the war, but he has assumed that Winner Senior had secreted the boy in some stronghold with a platoon of servants and tutors, carefully guarding the treasure of the Winner empire. After all, the Winners were staunch pacifists, with only one exception- an older daughter who had joined the Federation army and severed all ties with her family.

The door to the cell opened with a mechanical hiss, and he looked up, wondering at the disruption in the pattern which had established itself. According to his time sense, he wasn’t due for another meal for three more hours. When he saw the woman who entered the cell, his breath caught.

He recognized her by the twin braids she wore. Brigadier General Sally Po, a surgeon of notable skill, and one of the leading officers of the Preventers; second in command after Lady Une herself. Banks had seen her at a distance, but this was the first time he had ever been so close. He was surprised at the vitally she seemed to exude, and how pretty she was. Her features were an exotic blend of Asian and European herritage, and he wondered why no one ever said anything about her beauty. The woman in front of him had it all; brains, beauty, power. And right now, she was looking at him like he was a particularly disgusting bug she couldn't decide how to crush.

"Muhammed Ali Banks," she said. She looked him over, stepping further into the cell. Behind her the door whirled shut, and she took a long look at him, dissecting him to his very soul.

"General Po," he said. "I would rise to greet you, but I have the feeling that anything I do might be considered enough provacation to get me shot."

"If I had my way, we'd hang you," Po said quietly, walking closer and looking down at him.

He confronted her gaze fearlessly. "Really? That surprises me. You have a reputation for fairness."

"A bullet is too good for you." She walked back and stood as far away as possible, which wasn't easy, considering the size of the cell. "Why?"

"Huh?" he asked. He had been expecting an interrogation, not just a simple question.

General Po stared at him. "I thought it a simple enough question," she said, mirroring his thought almost uncannily. "Why did you do it? The war was over- was there really any need to go raking up the old hurts?"

"The public has a right to know," Banks said.

"Even if it hurts it? We, as a world, were recovering, damn it. Now you've gone and released a cat among pigeons. You may have single-handedly destroyed a very delicate peace."

"If it can be destroyed that easily, perhaps it's not worth keeping," Banks said.

The General looked at him, contempt in her eyes. "It may not be the best world that we live in at this moment, but did you expect to force your ideas on people who don't understand? Do you know how many people died for this world we now live in? DO you?" she demanded, her fists clenched at her sides.

Banks shook his head. Po had a reputation for being calm, and watching her explode like a firecracker was interesting, to say the least.

"I don't either. No one does. Millions, at the very least. Federation, OZ, White Fang, civilians- it doesn't matter. They all died, and lie together, dead and buried in the ground, or their remains are scattered beyond recovery. They died for peace- died to see a world worth living in. They may not have agreed on what that world was to be, but surely they would not thank you for stirring up ashes of a fire that should have been allowed to die out."

"What about the survivors?" Banks demanded. "What about those innocents who were left behind to mourn how cruel fate had been to them? What about those whose lives the Gundams shattered? Don't they have the right to know the truth?"

"Sometimes the truth is better left hidden. What about the pilots? Do you realize you've just destroyed the lives of five young men? What about their right to privacy?" Po retaliated viciously.

"They gave up that right the first time they stepped into a cockpit of a Gundam," Banks said, convinced that he had been in the right. "Besides, they'rre just genetically engineered mutants who were merely pawns in the game."

Suddenly Banks was aware of a sharp, stinging sensation in his left cheek. The General had just slapped him, and slapped him like she meant it. Her eyes were shooting sparks as she spoke at him with intense fervor. "How dare sit there, preaching like you know what's best, speaking as though you know everything! Did you ever meet any of the pilots? Do you know what they are?

"True, the pilot of 01 may have experienced some genetic tampering, and the Winners are renown for genetically altering their offspring. Still, the other three were as normal as anyone else, save the fact that they were exceptional individuals. The pilots are extraordinary people. I count myself lucky to be able to call myself their friend. They stood for something that is obviously far beyond your capability to comprehend- justice, right, and freedom. They stood up and fought for the Colonies since no one else would. Do you know how hard it is to say, 'this is what I believe' and then act on it, no matter what anyone else tells you? So how dare you! How DARE you?"

Banks was amazed. This was not the cool, collected warrior who was becoming a legend among her peers. This was an angry woman who looked more then ready to strangle him with her own hands. "I did what I thought was right.-"

"Sometimes we have to practice discretion. Since you broke this 'story' there have been at least thirty deaths in various riots across the world. You also may have single-handedly toppled the Preventers- quite an accomplishment. Topple the only global peace-keeping force- how brilliant you are. I'm sure you'll get a Pulitzer for it."

"I didn't do it for fame or awards! I did it because it needed to be done! Tyrants deserve to be toppled! You had no right to keep the identities of the pilots secret!"

"We had every right! Since history began, every government has kept secrets from their people, secrets which help the government continue to function. Yes, the pilots are young, but you just destroyed their lives. We were well on the path to forgiveness- many were the wrongs that were committed, and not all were the fault of the Gundams. In fact, they did what they could- they were rebels. Yes, they may have resorted to terrorist tactics, but there's little you can do when you're five people against an entire world."

"Shouldn't we learn from the lessons history teaches us? Shouldn't we have learned by now that a peace that is easily shattered is no true peace?" Banks argued.

"It is in human nature to fight. It is our intention to suppress it. However, the difference between the current government and the one which the Romefeller Foundation tried to impose on us is that we do not rule through fear- we rule by finding the common threads that bind humanity together. You, however, have merely forced people to look back at when they had so many differences that it seemed impossible to reconcile them. No one knows what will happen; retrospect is the easiest thing in the world."

She knocked on the door twice, paused, then knocked again. It hissed open, and two guards looked in. One, a petite female with Latino features, immediately noticed the redness of Banks' cheek. Her eyes darted back and forth, yet she said nothing, wisely keeping her silence. "The next time you hear an explosion," Po said with deadly finality, "think that you may be the one responsible. The next time you hear people cry after a bomb rips their lives apart, know that your actions may have led to it. The next time someone dies, consider that you may be the one to blame."

With that, Sally Po stalked out of the cell. Behind her the door shut, locking with a resounding clang.

 
END SAINAN NO KEKKA ACT II

Act II Part II | Act III Part I | Back to Sainan no Kekka