SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING

SAINAN NO KEKKA
ACT V, PART II

 
 
Scene V: Code Name: Heero Yuy

 
The night was the same as always, with the crickets chirping in the grass outside and the brook bubbling in its natural course, and the full moon bright in the sky.

He couldn't sleep.

He didn't know why. He had gotten hardly any sleep the night before, staying up to translate a particularly hard chapter of a twentieth-century English novel into Chinese. He was not doing this for any sort of repayment, but there were words that begged to be written out, pored over, analyzed. It was his own project. The text fascinated him. Who could have thought that so much could be written in such a few pages?

Ulysses, the novel was called, probably one of the most controversial novels of the twentieth century, and on the surface a jumble of confused thought. But there was so much more than that inside the words, if one read deeper. He looked forward to that part of the day after dinner when all the mundane work was done, the meditation finished, when he could put down everything and immerse himself in that book. He forced himself to, every evening. It was a way to forget.

He had translated his usual few pages tonight, his brush making the soft, soothing scratching noises on the sheet of parchment, and he had closed the book, turned out the lights, and lay down. But something kept him awake.

He sat up, pushing back the blankets with one hand. His soft mattress was at the far corner of the bedroom. The moonlight wavered brightly at the other side of the room, by the door, and he considered getting up, lighting a candle, and translating another page. He was not going to get any sleep anyway, so he might as well get some work done.

Pushing himself to his feet, he padded to the door and opened it soundlessly. His bedroom led directly into the study, and he scrabbled for some matches on the writing table, struck one and lit the candle stub at the corner of the desk. The weak light flared to life, highlighting the unfinished characters on the parchment, the tattered paperbound book, the black ink inside the inkwell, and throwing everything else into shadow. The shadows were deep and thick tonight.

He dipped his brush into the ink and carefully made the first stroke of the next character. The ink flowed dripping, like water. Black water. Like blood. The words on the page swimming like the depths of the ocean.

-History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.

Something moved.

He paused, lifting up his head, eyes scanning the shadows. He had not had problems with rodents in the past, but one never knew. Or maybe it was some night creature from outside which had mistakenly ventured in. That did happen from time to time.

He waited for a moment, but the noise did not repeat itself, and he turned his attention back to the book. Scratch. Scratch.

All history moves toward one great goal, the manifestation of God.

The movement again. This time he put down his brush and stared hard into the darkness. There had been no noise that time, but he was sure something had moved. No matter how hard he wanted to forget, some things never changed, and possessing the instincts of a trained assassin was one of them.

Animal? Human?

"Who's there?" he said sharply. His voice sounded strange in his own ears. He had not spoken...since his journey to Beijing.

Nothing. The candle's flame flickered.

Maybe he was jumping at shadows. Maybe he really was insane, and had spent all his time trying to convince himself otherwise. Maybe...maybe the war had not happened and everything was a dream.

He turned to sit down again, and there was no warning, just a splintering sound as the wooden slats of the window crashed down and something was grappling at his throat. Instinctively, his hands went up, but he was already on the ground, hitting his head hard. His vision swam for a moment even as he realized that there were hands around his neck, squeezing.

I will not die like this!

He brought his hand up hard, and his attacker's grip loosened just a bit, but enough for him to jerk his neck out of the other's grasp and roll into a crouching position. The face of the other was shadowed in the dim candlelight, but he could tell by the black outfit and the trained, smooth, fluid gestures that this was no ordinary killer.

One trained assassin, for another.

This was his penance.

The assassin came at him again, and he dodged smoothly, wishing he had his sword. That would be the quickest way. The beautiful weapon, sunk in the depths of the ocean along with his Gundam.

The assassin made another pass and this time he caught a glimpse of the face. Everything except for the eyes was wrapped in black, but the skin around them was dark. He wondered who had sent the assassin. He wondered how they had found him.

There was no noise, only a grunt as the assassin came at him a third time, and before he could dodge he felt a viselike grip around his abdomen and he was lifted high into the air, kicking, then flung towards the ground. He broke his fall as best as he could, but felt a sharp pain in his ankle as he stumbled, fell.

A muffled curse escaped his lips and he rolled to his feet awkwardly. He would not go down without a fight. There were two of them now, at opposite corners of the room, watching warily. He wondered if this was more difficult than they had expected. Did they know who he was?

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Neither of them answered, but the one on the right moved to guard the doorway back to the bedroom. The one on the left rushed at him, but he saw it coming and rolled to one side. The attacker jumped to the ground to meet him, and he heard a snick, felt the blade of the dagger coming before he saw it. It was aimed for his neck, but he twisted his head and it thudded into the ground next to his ear. He slammed a fist into the assassin's collarbone, heard running footsteps as the other's partner came close.

There was no time to be subtle.

He kicked out, freed himself from the other's hold with ease, landed on his feet. The assassin had rescued his knife and rolled to his feet, crouching warily. He almost missed the imperceptible nod that passed between the two before the other one moved, jumped. He tried to dodge, but one hand had grasped his upper arm, and he gasped before he could stop himself. This one was strong.

And better trained, too, he realized as he was flung to the ground. Another snick of a dagger and again he tried to dodge, almost succeeded as the tip of it grazed his shoulder and he felt a sting as it drew blood. And again. Two cuts.

No, this one was not only better. Far better. He was gasping for breath and no longer trying to gain the upper hand, but just trying to stay alive, one step ahead of the other in this deadly game. He could sense the assassin's partner standing above them, but there was no way that a third person could join this fight without it becoming messy.

So these two liked to keep their work clean, did they? Well, he would give them clean.

He couldn't see this one's face. Everything had been wrapped except for the twin holes where the eyes would be, and the light was too dim for him to see anything.

"Who...are you?" he gasped again, but again there was no answer. He did not expect any. A fist slammed into his nose, and he fell back, grasping at something, anything, to stop his head from cracking open on the hard floor, and he felt soft cloth beneath his hand. Pulled. Heard it rip as the head cloth came free.

He heard an intake of breath. Obviously, the assassin had not expected this. So much the better. He felt hands trying to loosen his hold, but he held on tightly, pulling with all his might, trying to drag his attacker down to the ground with him. The cloth came loose in his hand.

Dark hair. A scar cutting the naked face clean in half. Hard cobalt blue eyes.

He heard himself gasp, heard the cloth fall to the floor. Heard the whispers of a remembered conversation.

You're not our leader anymore.

Was I ever?

"You-!"

The other's face twisted in a sheer mask of undisguised anger.

"You'll pay for that."

That voice.

"You!" He cried, lashing out, fear and fury and sheer, raw shock coursing through his body. It couldn't be. It simply could not be. "What are you doing?"

The dagger came at his head again and he felt it graze his cheek this time, by his eye.

"Stop! Heero!"

He saw the other's partner freeze at the name, but the unmasked one did not waver.

There was no doubt about it. That face...that voice. It was Heero Yuy's. Longer hair, several years older, bony and drawn, but it was Heero.

"Heero Yuy!" he shouted again desperately, and this time he saw his attacker come to a halt. "Stop it! Don't you know me? Heero!"

The assassin wavered, hesitated for just a little too long.

He sprinted forward, grasped the other's shoulders before he could attack, twisted his arm, clawing to knock the dagger out of his grasp. Looked into the blue eyes as they struggled desperately.

"Heero! Listen to me. Heero! Stop! Damn you, don't do this!"

I thought you were my friend, he wanted to say, but that would be the ramblings of a madman. Heero Yuy had no friends. Heero Yuy was the perfect soldier.

But if the boy in front of him was Heero Yuy...

He suddenly realized that the other had stopped struggling, was standing silent in the middle of the room with the dagger raised on one hand, eyes no longer looking into his but staring into the shadows beyond. The arm was trembling, and the dagger dropped to the floor. He watched it fall as if in slow motion, glittering in the candlelight.

"Who are you?" The voice was hoarse. The partner was crouching, wary, by the door. He was still masked.

"Don't you recognize me?" He swallowed. This was madness. Madness. How had... "Heero."

"Who...who are you?"

"My name is Chang Wufei." His name. Chang Wufei. It was strange, after all this time, to speak his name out loud. After all this time. "You don't remember me?"

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps he had the wrong person. Perhaps this was only someone who looked like Heero, who was really trying to kill him for the crimes he had committed. He was a killer.

"I..." The blue eyes were haunted, now, swinging back and forth between him and the partner in the corner of the room, like the eyes of a caged animal. "Heero Yuy."

"Heero," he said. "Heero, what's going on?"

"Heero Yuy." That voice, speaking that name. He saw the throat swallow convulsively, the hands grasp at nothing. "Heero Yuy. I...I am..."

He was running forward before the boy had begun to fall to his knees, a small sob loosening from his throat, and he was holding him up as the eyes moved over his features, confused and frightened and lost. He saw them widen and the recognition come into them. The whites were showing around the dark irises.

"I...You are..."

"What's going on?" The harsh voice of his partner.

"I...My name...is..." A spasm through the thin frame, and then without warning, he jerked against Wufei, stumbling back, into the wall, eyes wide with horror, as if he had seen a ghost.

"Wufei?"

He didn't dare speak a word. The silence was fragile, like crystals in the air.

"What am I doing here?"

"Heero?"

There were tears rolling down his cheeks, glimmering in the candlelight. "Oh my God." A stunned whisper. "Oh my God. What am I doing here?"

"Heero?" Wufei said again, reaching out one hand, suddenly seeing the room through a golden haze, as if he was within the workings of the Zero System once more. "Do you remember me?"

"What have I done?" came the whispered voice again. "What am I doing?"

Wufei took one step towards Heero, and the boy flinched away from him.

"Leave me alone!"

He withdrew his hand, staring at the tears on the other's cheeks, wondering what had happened to the pilot, the perfect soldier, the one who never wept for the fallen. Wondering how he had ended up here, of all places. Wondering why he was trying to kill him.

"What have I done?" The strained whisper. "I..."

He could see Heero's thin shoulders convulsing, watched as the boy buried his face in his hands. He was so thin. How had he gotten so thin?

One year. It had been one year, and already they were strangers. It was too much.

Without thinking, he reached out and gathered the boy to himself, fiercely, letting him sob against his chest, all fears of human contact forgotten. The memories came rushing back, suddenly. Of the war. Of his friends. For so long he had been haunted by the dead, he had forgotten his friends. They were all haunted, he realized. All of them.

Quatre.

Trowa.

Duo.

Heero.

Heero pushed away from him and Wufei let him go, watching his stunned partner out of the corner of his eye. This wasn't over yet.

"Wufei." The voice was low. "I'm sorry. I didn't...I didn't know what-"

"Forget it," he said. "It's been a long time."

Heero swallowed. "I suppose it has."

The partner took a step forward. "What's going on?" he demanded again, harshly. "Wing! What's the meaning of this?" He looked at Heero when he said this.

Wing?

"I'm sorry, Darkflight," Heero said. He did not sound sorry at all, just lost, confused, and angry.

Darkflight?

The dark-skinned boy reached up and pulled off his cloth mask. His features were darkly handsome and well-defined in the candlelight. His tone was that of a leader. It was how Heero had sounded, one year ago.

"Wing. I'm waiting."

"I...I am. I was." Heero swallowed. "My name is Heero Yuy."

Darkflight blinked. "What?"

"You heard me," Heero said harshly. "Heero Yuy. I was a Gundam pilot. In the war."

Darkflight didn't move, simply stared at Heero, who turned away from him, staring into the darkness of the room. "You're joking."

No answer. Wufei felt the need to reach out, pick up the fallen knife and cut through the tension of the room with it.

"Damn it, Wing." Darkflight sounded defeated, bewildered. "Why didn't you ever tell me? Why?" A thud as he threw his own knife to the ground. "Damn you, why?"

"I'm sorry," Heero said again. "I couldn't...remember..."

He couldn't remember?

Wufei suddenly felt a deep sorrow for the boy who stood in front of him, the boy that was only a shadow of what Heero Yuy had been. He reached out a hand again, but Heero made no move to take it, did not move forward, did not move back. He simply stood silent and still, the tears still rolling down his cheeks, lost in the depths of some memory.

"Wing..." Darkflight said, the hurt in his voice coming through audibly. He turned abruptly and walked to the door. "Fuck you, Wing. Fuck you."

The door slammed shut behind him, and then it was only he and Heero in the candlelit room. Heero made no move to speak, and Wufei did not either, even though he wanted to, wanted to ask what had happened to him after all this time, and who was Darkflight, and how had he gotten the scar, and how he could have forgotten, and why. But he simply reached out and touched Heero's shoulder, tentatively, hoping that the other could hear all that he could not put into words.

"Welcome home," he said.

 
Scene VI: Twenty-four Hours a Day

 
An hour after Relena had departed to collect her bags from the hotel she had checked into, Une was looking at Gils-Reve, who was now a Captain. She had jumped him clear over the rank of First Lieutenant to give him the power he would need to issue orders in her name, and so far, he had worked very hard to prove to her that she hadn't made a mistake. She was rather pleased with his performance- he was the best aide she'd ever had. She would hate to lose him when he got promoted again, and something told her that that would happen quickly and often.

Pierre Gils-Reve was a natural diplomat. He was able to soothe many of the feathers Une ruffled, and turn her harsh statements into more tactful orders. His paperwork was flawless, he had a quick wit, and like Major Li had promised, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. Gils-Reve had even had the forethought to replace all the breakable objects in her office with cheaper (and more easily replaced) versions for when she lost her temper. The amount of coffee cups and paper weights she had gone through in the last few weeks was simply unbelievable. At the moment, though, he was trying every ounce of her self control.

It wasn't his fault, Une recognized intellectually, yet there was always the temptation to shoot the messenger who carried the bad news. And it WAS bad news. She hadn't had any GOOD news in weeks. She was starting to get tired of it. Just once she would like to be told the situation was getting better, rather then worse.

"Please repeat what you just said," she requested in a dangerously level voice.

Gils-Reve hadn't been around Une that long, but he recognized the signs of an imminent fit of rage. Her eyes were narrowed, her cheeks were stained with a faint flush, and she was clenching a fist so tightly her knuckles were white. He mentally reviewed a dozen different ways to rephrase his rather blunt report, but rejected them all. Une wouldn't appreciate his temporization, and he wanted to make sure she had little reason to get even more upset. Watching her had made him seriously start to wonder exactly how much a person could take before they snapped.

He chided himself internal for his wandering thoughts, and decided to deliver the same honest news that he had just learned. "Ma'am, Quatre Raberba Winner has been placed under arrest and is being extradited to Geneva." He braced himself for the inevitable explosion of temper.

It didn't come. She had been standing up, leaning against her desk, and reviewing a hardcopy of a report when he had entered. With deceptive calm, she walked around and perched on her chair, like a bird ready to take flight. "Under whose authority was the arrest made?" she asked, still speaking in her quiet, reasonable tones.

This isn't good, Gils-Reve thought, barely refraining from slipping a hand up to loosen his collar so he could breathe more easily. Such a show of weakness would not be viewed well, and he was finally beginning to earn her respect and trust. It wouldn't do to have all his hard work undermined by a few tense moments. "Under the authority of the World Nation, a small investigative task force was created yesterday, led by Fatima bint Narish. Someone leaked Quatre's location to her, and she sent a man named José Martino to place him under arrest."

She shut her eyes slowly, then remarkably enough, she started to laugh. Her laughter was almost painful in its self derision, and he winced. This isn't good, he thought for the second time in less then a minute. "Ma'am?" he asked.

No answer was forthcoming from her, and he saw tears start to form at the corners of her eyes. She raised an elegant hand to brush them away, and Gils-Reve began to wonder who he should contact - what was the proper procedure to follow when the commanding officer of the military went insane before your very eyes? Greatly daring he said, "My Lady? Can I do something for you?" Perhaps he was out of line using her other title, but he simply couldn't reconcile the General with the woman who was falling apart in front of him.

She choked back her laughter, shaking her head. "I'm sorry for scaring you like that, Captain. But you must admit the situation is rather amusing, in a masochistic sort of way." Then Une picked up one of the paperweights on her desk. It was an interesting work of blown glass, pretty but not too expensive. Then she smiled at him coldly. "You might want to go into your office for a few minutes," she advised.

Gils Reve almost tripped over his feet in his eagerness. As he shut the door, he heard something shattered with resounding force. He sighed tiredly, and made a mental note to call a maid in to clean.

Five minutes passed before she called for him to enter. He carefully averted his eyes from the pile of glass that was all that was left of the paperweight and coffee cup that had been on her desk. "Okay, I believe I can discuss this reasonably now," she informed him, though her color was still running slightly high.

"First things first. I want you to put Major Carrington on getting Quatre into our custody - the World Nation doesn't have the jurisdiction to arrest someone, and there's no way I'm going to let them get away with it. They're walking on MY turf. The World Nation is playing in MY backyard, and its going to be by my rules.

"Next, contact Li and tell her to expedite - I don't care WHAT means she uses, but I want the rest of the pilots. There's no way anyone else is going to get their hands on them - by the end of this week, I want all the pilots accounted for, and if possible, I want them on base, under guard.

"Third, get our lawyers ready. It looks like we're going to have to fight the World Nation, and I want them prepped. Inform them to look into international law, particularly past precedents on War Crimes Tribunals. See about hiring extra lawyers if need be - I want a full staff on this twenty-four, seven. Cost is not a concern. If I'm right, Quatre Winner will foot the bill, as he'll be up against a full tribunal shortly."

Gils-Reve made mental notes and started to lay a game plan. "Is that all, ma'am?" he asked politely.

"No. I'll need a few minutes to think, but I'm going to have matters firmly in hand shortly. There's no way anyone is getting the better of me."

Gils-Reve nodded and left, and Une sat down again. "I'm tired," she whispered softly. "Treize, I'm so sorry I couldn't do my job right. If I had, none of this would have happened." She gave herself the brief luxury of wallowing in self-recrimination, then shook it off. "No time for self-pity," she muttered.

A hand came up and started to pull at the pins which had held the hair away from her face. The bun had gotten messy, and one of the pins was digging into her scalp in a most uncomfortable fashion.

The problem with the World Nation was that no one was exactly sure what it was. Less then two years old, the government had been put in place by the countries who had survived Operation Meteor and the resulting chaos. They formed a strong Confederation aimed at establishing free trade and opening relations with the colonies.

Each country had to sign the charter before it would receive any of the advantages the World Nation granted- and those advantages were well worth it, to most nations' thinking. So far around eighty percent of the world had ratified the treaty, and the remaining twenty percent were still debating the merits of membership. Une was under no illusions; within five years, the entire world would belong.

She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. It was a pleasure to see Treize's ideals being followed, seeing everyone working together towards peace, but she recognized that few of those in power believed in the actual peace- no, they wanted power. Right now the world wanted peace, an end to war, and that's what the clever politicians would give them. Une was under no illusions; the moment peace went out of style, the politicians would do an about face.

With a sigh, she began to move through reports on her desk, mentally considering what strategies she could employ to get ahead of the World Nation.

The Preventers were the only legal international military force, and were loosely connected with the World Nation. Une had been lucky enough to form the force right before the charter of the World Nation was created, and had used all of her influence to ensure that her group would remain independent, yet affiliated with the new government. The charter hadn't quite defined what rights her force had, but now was the time to figure it out- she was going to fight every inch of the way to protect the pilots.

Why can't anyone understand what they did for us? she wondered. Why must we put another burden on them? Didn't they suffer enough? The pilots aren't the one to blame for the war- the blame, if we must attribute it to someone, is for those who let the Federation become a monster. If anything, the pilots deserve our thanks.

She remembered her words before the war had concluded, during the final battle between Epyon and Wing Zero:

This battle doesn't hold any meaning for those on the colonies or the earth, but this is a battle which MUST be fought because it is on the parts of both to protect the colonies. AC 195... The curtain endeavors to fall upon the history of wars; but these two MUST fight or peace will not be accomplished. Do you feel it? The grief of this fight? Do you see it? The peace that extends behind this? This is the enigma of peace which must be addressed by everyone!

She had been so naive then. She had believed that the Eve Wars would truly be the last battle- she, like Dorothy Catalonia, had thought the war too horrific for people to ever want to see another. Yet here it was, less then two years after "the war to end all wars" and already the world was moving back towards tension- and tension could create another war.

Une wondered where her faith in humanity had gone. Treize-sama, is there something wrong with me? Why am I forgetting what you stood for? Can you forgive me for my lack of faith? She stared at her plans, wondering why she now had to fight another battle- hadn't the world been satisfied by the sacrifices of the Eve Wars?

Une looked up from her notes in surprise as Captain Gils-Reve walked into the office with a staff sergeant at his side.

She tilted her head. "Yes?" she asked politely.

"Ma'am, this is Staff Sergeant Takamura. He's in our personnel department."

Une nodded. "It's a pleasure, Sergeant," she said. Her expression was slightly puzzled as she looked at her aide. Didn't Gils-Reve realize that she had more important matters to deal with then personnel problems? It was Sally's department, not hers.

"I realize you have a lot of concerns, but Takamura has some important information to relay," Gils-Reve said politely.

"Yes? My time is limited, gentlemen," she said with barely concealed impatience.

The staff sergeant nodded and began to speak hastily, clearly uneasy about being in the presence of so much rank. "Well, I'm one of those whose been sorting through the people who've been applying to see you or get onto base for some reason, especially since the news of the pilots broke. Most of them are no one of import, but someone interesting came through."

"Yes?" Une asked, wondering exactly what was up.

"I even did DNA tests to cross-check, but... we have a Catherine Bloom waiting to meet you. She's Trowa Barton's sister." The staff sergeant seemed almost embarrassed. "She's in my office- I've never actually referred anyone to you, so I contacted your aide."

Une felt like someone had hit her upside the head. Now this was something she hadn't been counting on. "Catherine Bloom?" she asked. "I've heard of her, but I thought she was still with the circus." She shut her eyes, trying to run through the implications. Perhaps Trowa had sent his sister to her with a message? she thought hopefully. Trowa had always been a favorite of hers, and it would be a relief to have him on her side once again. Someone she could trust, someone who would understand the incredible pressure she was under, and someone who might actually be able to help. She felt her spirits begin to lift. This might be the much-awaited good news she had been praying for. It was about time, after all.

"Can you bring her to me at once?" she asked, keeping her voice under control through much effort.

"Yes, Ma'am," the sergeant said, leaving with dignified haste.

Une's hands began to fidget with the papers on her desk as she stacked the plans into a neat pile. "See that these are filed in your office? I'll need them later, so make sure they're ready in a second."

Her aide accepted the documents and left the room, carefully shutting the door behind him. Une shut her eyes and started to count backwards from a hundred, a meditation technique she used to keep her composure. She hated waiting; she was a woman of action.

She had reached thirty seven for the second time when the alert button on her desk beeped. "Ma'am, Catherine Bloom is here to see you."

"Send her in," she said.

The door opened and a young woman walked in. Une quickly took her measure, and was surprised that she WAS surprised to find herself satisfied. She should have expected no less from Trowa's sister.

The woman moved with a fluid grace that was reminiscent of her younger brother's. She had short curly hair that brushed her shoulders, and sharp blue-gray eyes. Her body was trim and athletic, and though she looked slightly uncomfortable in her business suit (which looked painfully new), their was a confidence in her carriage that demanded respect.

The girl held out her hand, completely ignoring protocol. "Hello, Lady Une. My name is Catherine Bloom, and I'm Trowa Barton's older sister."

 
Scene VII: Introducing Lilah Winner

 
She had put on her most presentable dress and hat for the occasion, but she didn't think it would really matter. No matter what she wore, when she looked in the mirror, all she could see was a whore. A dirty woman, a filthy woman.

They hadn't seemed to mind on the shuttle or at the airport. The only ticket she could afford was a fourth-class ticket back to Earth, and even that had cost her half of the money she had been saving up over so many years. Looking back, she couldn't remember why she had been saving the money. It was the same - the same as then, except she was alone on this ride, looking out the window bleakly at the blackness of space.

She had gotten off at the airport at Riyadh, clutching her single ragged suitcase and pulling her wrap around her in the midst of the crowds of well-dressed businessmen and wealthy women with designer sunglasses on their heads and highlights in their hair. The Islamic influence was subtly visible in the design of the building itself, but other than that, she might as well have been back on L1.

Quatre was no longer at home. She had read in the news, on the shuttle, about his subsequent disappearance soon after the news release, and she was not surprised. It wasn't his disappearance that was the problem.

There was a public communications booth a few blocks from the airport, and she ducked into it, hearing the rumble of the cars outside on the busy highway. The sun glared in through the frosted glass windows and she wiped the sweat from her forehead, placed her bag on the ground gently, rummaging through the front pockets for the spare change she had dumped in before leaving.

No, Quatre's disappearance was not a problem. The problem was the call she was about to make.

With trembling hands, she slipped the coins into the slot, one by one, hearing them clink as they dropped in. Every clink was a death knell, every coin one more log on her funeral pyre.

She took a deep breath and clutched at the vidscreen. The friendly automated voice startled her and she stepped back with a yelp before realizing it was a machine.

"Please enter the number you wish to call," it stated pleasantly, then proceeded to repeat the instructions in Japanese and Arabic. She licked her lips, raised her hand to punch in the code.

It was like slow motion. She watched as her fingers tapped in the code, the code which had been ingrained in her memory since she was a child. It was one of the luxuries of being wealthy, having an emergency network which could be answered from any location on planet if activated from a particular area.

If you are ever separated from us...if you have this code...anywhere on Earth, we will answer.

She pushed the last number. The screen faded to black, and she twisted her hands together. She was sweating again. Why was that? The sunlight weighed down on her and her legs felt weak.

REDIRECTING, the screen said.

A flash.

"Who is this?" A tired voice. Her mind went blank, and she forced herself to take deep, even breaths, to remember to breathe.

She had forgotten how authoritative Jaffa could sound even when she was tired. The screen flickered on, and it was her sister who stood there, several years older than she remembered, but it was Jaffa. Her sister.

"Ja-Jaffa."

Jaffa narrowed her eyes. "Do I know you?" Her voice was low, bordering on the edge of suspicion.

"Jaffa, I..." She felt the tears forming at the corners of her eyes, and she turned away violently from the screen. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know I haven't...I didn't...but I wanted to see if Quatre was all right, and I..."

There was silence from the direction of the viewscreen and she couldn't bear to look back. Jaffa had probably hung up in disgust, looking out from her side of the communications link and seeing only a foreign woman, a woman who was too dirty for words. It was on her soul. The tears dripped slowly down her cheeks, dripping on the concrete.

"Li-Lilah?"

She froze.

"Is that you?"

Jaffa's voice was breathless, almost incredulous, and she almost couldn't bear to face back to the screen, to face the sister she left behind so many years ago.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"Lilah?"

Jaffa's eyes were wide, the pupils shockingly dark, her face close to the screen as if she could reach through the comm channel just by the mere action. "Lilah! That...It is you!"

She closed her eyes. "Jaffa, I-" Here it came. They didn't want her. They had never wanted her.

"You're alive! May Allah be praised..."

Her eyes flew open and she saw that Jaffa was crying. Her older sister, crying for her. Her hands went to her mouth, and she hesitantly touched the screen with one hand, unable to stop the flow of words as she babbled frantically, hoping it was not all a dream.

"Jaffa, I-I'm sorry, I didn't tell you where I'd gone and I thought you had forgotten all about me and I didn't mean it honestly I didn't mean it I-"

"Lilah," her sister whispered in amazement. "You're alive."

"I-I would have-"

"Where are you?" Jaffa demanded. She saw a whisper of movement in the background.

"Ri-Riyadh...just outside the airport...there's some public comm booths near the-"

"I know the place," Jaffa said crisply, all business again. "We're coming to get you."

"What? I-"

"See you there," she said, and the comm went dark.

She stood there for a second, feeling the blood rush back between her eyes and her temples, not even realizing she had not been breathing. Her knees buckled and she sat down hard on the concrete floor of the booth, cradling her head in her arms, and cried.

She must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew was someone was lifting her carefully in strong arms and she was being carried. Danger! her mind screamed, and she began struggling, her cries muffled in the thick cloth of a shirt. Then there was a soothing voice in her ears, and the arms lowered her carefully as her eyes adjusted to the light. It was dusk. The lights of the city were pinpoints of stars, and the roar of the traffic had lessened somewhat.

"Lilah?" said a familiar voice, and she turned around and looked into the dark eyes and saw the long hair that had been wrapped into a bun, the trailing wisps making a halo around her head in the fading light, the dark circles under her eyes, and the uncertain smile.

"Jaffa," she said solemnly, feeling the butterflies in her stomach. How should one respond to a name one had not heard in more than seven years? How should one speak to a sister that one had willingly left behind?

And then Jaffa was enfolding her in warm arms and she felt the tears coming again. She had not cried this easily, in the Breaks.

In the Breaks, she had been nothing, but at least she was not the least of the nothings among the other empty nothings of that place. Here, she was truly nothing. She was a street waif in the arms of a princess.

"No," Jaffa murmured when she tried to pull away. "Let me...let me look at you. Lilah."

She flinched. Jaffa's sharp eyes missed nothing.

"Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head, turning away and picking up her bag. There was a tall, muscular Arab standing a few paces behind them, watching with impassive eyes. She slid her eyes away from his gaze.

"Come on," Jaffa said, putting one hand gently on her shoulder. "Let's...let's go home."

Numbly, she let herself be pushed into the backseat of the old brown vehicle that the Arab had apparently driven to Riyadh. Jaffa slid in beside her, and the Arab took the wheel, easing them out into the flow of traffic on the highway. Jaffa's eyes were on her again. It was awkward.

"Look," Jaffa finally said softly. She raised her eyes at that, met her sister's dark ones. Her sister...did she have any right to call her that? "I'm not going to ask where you've been. I'm not going to ask what you've done. You're a woman and you have a right to your privacy. But if you ever want to talk to me...I'll be here."

She nodded silently, wanting to open her mouth and tell Jaffa everything. About the Breaks. About the running. About the men and the hunger and about the fear. About the girls, all those girls trapped in that hellhole with nowhere to go, trapped for the rest of their lives, to die there. About how long the days were and how terrible the nights.

About Wing.

"How did you know?" she finally whispered, staring out the window at the shadowed sand. Riyadh was far behind them now, a mass of light in the distance.

"Know what?" Jaffa said gently.

"That...who I was."

"You look like Quatre," Jaffa murmured.

She closed her eyes. "What if...what if I'm an imposter? What if I'm out to get something from you? Why are you trusting me?"

"Lilah-"

"Stop calling me that!"

She hadn't meant for the words to come out so forcefully, in a fit of anger and between the sobs that were once more catching in her throat, but Jaffa simply sat silently until her shoulders had stopped trembling, then reached out and offered her a handkerchief.

"I won't call you that if you don't want me to."

That's not my name. That's not...I'm not Lilah Winner. I'm not sure who I am, anymore.

She took the handkerchief hesitantly, glancing at her sister's face as she did so, feeling an inward twinge at the mixed joy and sorrow there, and the terrible tiredness. Jaffa was probably tired too, she realized, from the media bombardment and the events surrounding the news release.

"How is Quatre?" she asked at last.

Jaffa didn't answer for a long time, and she sat, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, preparing for the worst.

"They...arrested him," Jaffa said finally. "This morning. I don't know how they found us. All I know is that all of a sudden, they were knocking on our gate, demanding entrance, showing the official orders. Rashid," she gestured to the Arab driver, who nodded solemnly to her in the rearview mirror, "and Reeshya tried to stop them...but Quatre wouldn't let them. He walked away willingly with them."

"I'm too late then," she whispered. "Aren't I? I'm always too late..."

"No!" Jaffa grabbed her shoulders. "You're not too late. There's still hope, Li-there's still hope. There's always hope."

"Not where I come from," she said bitterly, turning back to the window, feeling a wave of hopelessness come over her, seeing a pair of beautiful, haunted blue eyes in her mind. Two pairs, one sky blue and one dark and pained. "Hope doesn't exist there."

She heard Jaffa sigh. "Don't give up. We'll make it. We have to make it."

Without thinking, she placed her hand on her sister's shoulder, trying to smile. "I'm sorry...I don't mean to-"

"I'm glad to have you back with us," Jaffa said firmly, placing her own hand over the one resting awkwardly on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. "Very glad."

She removed her hand without a word, watching the desert go by, the roar of the engine in her ears and the night moon just rising. It was getting cold. She had forgotten how cold it got here at night.

"We're here," Jaffa said, and the suddenness of the words amidst the silence made her jump. In the distance she could see faint walls rising out of the sand, a wide gate, lights. A city?

"Where is this?"

"This," Jaffa said, with a note of pride in her voice, "is the Magunac compound. Rashid and his men live here. They're generously offering us their hospitality in time of crises."

"We serve Quatre-sama," Rashid said, in a deep rumbling voice that mirrored the rumbling of the engine. The gates began to open as the vehicle neared, and Jaffa turned towards her with a questioning look.

"How...should we address you?"

She gazed back into the black desert for a minute, then settled back in her seat, hugging her suitcase. Some things changed, and yet some things never did. Life was funny like that.

"You can call me Atsuki."

 
Scene VIII: The Siren Song of Zero

 
The quick, sharp sound of her breathing seemed to be all there was in the world. There was nothing else left, aside from the faint memory of Duo- who was he? She had loved him, hadn't she?

But what was this idea of love?

In, out, in, out.

The sounds of breathing.

The feel of her heart pounding rapidly against her ribcage.

Hilde had never felt so alone in her life- she had done this for Duo, risking her very sanity, yet she was so very lonely.

Did he understand?

Would he understand?

Her pupils dilated, and suddenly she was aware of so much more. It was like she had been wearing blinders her entire life, and suddenly they had been ripped away. It was like her entire life she had been blind, or deaf, or missing some other vital sense, and all the sudden it had come flooding back to her, new and waiting to be touched, waiting to be utilized.

Lean back into the sensation of everything.

Be one with the universe.

Know the truth- I can show you.

She blinked, and her memory was flooded with knowledge. She could see ahead of her, behind her, and what was coming.

Behind her... there was something there. She hit the dial on the sensor that would bring up a visual.

Deathscythe Hell flew behind her, still wearing the wounds of its last battle. It was battered and she knew that it wasn't running at 100%- blinking, she suddenly knew that it was at 68% maximum operating capacity. "How did I know that?" she whispered, and shivered uneasily. Her voice was echoing oddly in the cockpit, reminding her just how alone she was.

Deathscythe was moving closer, and suddenly she was in comm range. "HILDE!" Duo's frantic voice came over the system. "Hilde, answer me!"

She raised a trembling hand to hit the reply, but hesitated. "He's going to be so angry with me." He hand continued to move, but she hit the other button instead of the one to open the comm channel. She was suddenly bereft of him as all communications went out. "I'm sorry, Duo," she said.

Her fingers began to plot her course. She hadn't had time to lay in the instructions earlier, because she had...appropriated Wing Zero rather rudely. "Be honest, Hilde. You stole it," she said, laughing a little. The sound of her voice was her only entertainment.

She wasn't that good of an navigator- dealing with three dimensions was difficult at the best of times, and when you considered that space had no "up" and "down", matters were made even worse. She had to do this, though, since Zero, like Deathscythe, had been damaged. Unlike Deathscythe, its final plunge into the atmosphere of Earth had caused much more damage, including some to its operating systems. Duo had fixed them enough to bring it out to L2, but he had done the piloting from within Deathscythe. The nav computer had been shot to hell.

Hilde hadn't known that the auto-pilot and nav computer were part of the systems that had been damaged. She had to input all the data manually, and it wasn't a fun task. Even better, she was constantly having to check on the Gundam to make minor course corrections. Still, her hands just seemed to trip over the keys as she entered her specifications.

She knew this - she had been born to do this.

Whispering voices, promising truth.

Sink back into me, trust me.

I can show you your dreams. I can show you the past, the future, the present. Do you want to know? Come - prove yourself. You're a girl, but you're as good a pilot as any of the others. Now you can show that - prove to them - to him - that you are worthy of love. Worthy of calling yourself a soldier.

She struggled to avoid it. She knew it was the Zero system, heard stories about it from Duo after he had woken up in the middle on the night, tangled in their blankets, and sweating. Usually he would speak to her about what caused them, and often times he'd speak of the voices of the Zero system. He usually wouldn't tell her what had happened exactly, but she could guess. Then he would make love to her with a frightening thoroughness, almost as though he was reassuring himself that he was still alive.

"Anyone who tried to use the Zero system went mad- no one mastered it," she whispered.

But weren't all of them men? What if a woman was to fly? Perhaps... perhaps.... perhaps...

Such a tempting idea... too tempting. The idea wasn't - couldn't - be her own. Dammit, it was the Zero system, working on her.

Insidious contraction, she thought. She wouldn't fall under the monster's spell. She would be strong. For herself, for... what had his name been?

You're a soldier, she thought. That's all you need to know.

Hilde blinked, and suddenly the memories of her training began to surface.

She had signed up with OZ during the middle of the war. Her family had been against it, but she had been adamant. Someone had to protect the Colonies, and she would be proud to do it. It was true that males outnumbered females by a 5:1 ratio, but that didn't bother her. It was true there was an unseen glass ceiling that no female had yet smashed through, as evidenced by the lack of female Generals, but she could live with that as well. What mattered was that she was doing something she believed in, something that mattered.

Her family had been against her.

Yes, remember? Remember your mother?

"Hilde, if you walk out that door, you won't be coming back!" Her mother's voice had been high and full of anger, but Hilde knew well enough to detect the undercurrent of fear.

Hilde met her mother's eyes, eyes that were so much like her own. "I'm sorry, mother, but sometimes we have to stand up for what we believe in. Peace - OZ offers us a chance at peace. The Colonies have been at war for decades, and now there's a chance that we may find it. I'm going," she said. She stepped towards her to give her a hug, but Greta Schbeiker was having none of that. "Leave," she said.

Her daughter nodded, compliant for the last time, as she left. Greta was killed in one of the uprisings against OZ a week later.

Hilde wished, more then anything, that she had had a final hug.

Well... if you can fly the Zero system, master it, you can show your mother that you made the right choice.

She growled and mentally pushed the thought aside. Damn contraption. If I have my way, I'm going to be making it into a Ferris Wheel when this mess is done with, she said, speaking to the machine as though it was alive to respond to her thoughts. As if it would care.

Hilde drifted in and out of consciousness as she took short naps, waking every now and then to make minor course adjustments. The fifth time she awakened from a doze, her eyes fastened on the welcome sight of Earth. "We're here!" she said.

She looked at the Earth, and smiled. It was so very beautiful - a beautiful blue sphere suspended in ebony darkness. She felt as though she could reach out and touch it.

"Hey, Hil?"

She jerked, surprised. She was positive she had turned the communications system off, but Duo was talking to her, speaking in his warm voice. She blinked, and then she saw him. He was holding the beautiful Earth in his hands, cradling it close to his chest. He was stunning in his beauty, a fey creature that was so far above her that she had to shade her eyes from the glistening boy who had once been her lover. "Duo?" she asked in amazement. How could he be here... hadn't she been flying?

Or had that been a dream?

His wink convinced her that it was no other. "Wanna play a game of catch?" he said, holding the ball out to throw it.

"No!" she yelled, horrified. She wasn't sure what would happen if she missed catching the ball, but was sure it would be a Very Bad Thing.

He gave her his hurt-puppy expression. "Ah, Hilde... you know me better then that. I was just teasing." He held the ball out, and stared into its depths, a smile on his face. "It's so beautiful." Then his expression perked up, as though he was hearing something she could.

"Duo?" she asked, curiously.

He ignored her, half turning to a shadowy figure. Hilde couldn't make out any features, but Duo obviously recognize the person. "Oi! Glad to see ya!" he said, speaking to the newcomer. "We're in trouble, some people want to-" he was cut off by a brilliant flash of silver that jammed into his stomach.

Hilde let out a silent scream. What's happening?! His shoulders blocked her view of who he was talking to, but it had been a friend. Duo wouldn't have been that relaxed if it hadn't been.

Duo's purple eyes were wide in shock and betrayal. She watched helplessly as he started to lose his grip on the orb he had been holding. "But I thought we were friends," he whispered in pained surprised. His blood-coated fingers went entirely limp, and the globe slipped.

Hilde was suddenly able to move, and found herself face with three choices: she could catch the sphere, catch Duo, or catch the perpetrator. She lunged forward, making her choice.

"But I thought we were friends...."

Tears stained her eyes as she grabbed the ball, hugging it close to her chest. "I'm so sorry, Duo, sorry, sorry..."

He collapsed backwards, and she suddenly saw that he had been stabbed by a silver knife. "Kitto OK, babe... you did what you had to." Duo's eyes lost their light, and soon there was a blank emptiness in his face, an emptiness that was all the more disturbing due to Duo's usual effervescent nature.

"But I thought we were friends...."

She clung to the globe, her eyes full of tears. "Duo.... DUO!" she yelled, feeling agonized. She knew she had made the right chose, but why did it hurt so much?

Hilde suddenly was aware of a beeping.

Beep.... beep... beep....

Harsh breathing, breath that was her own.

The fading golden light.

"But I thought we were friends...."

Her numb fingertips hit the button that was begging for attention. Yes, she was going to earth.

Wing Zero, the most feared of all Gundams, shifted slowly into the form of an aircraft. In a moment that was eerily similar to one from two years before, the battered craft began its rapid descent towards the Pacific Ocean.

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