SHIN KIDOU SENKI GUNDAM WING

SAINAN NO KEKKA
ACT V, PART III

 
 
Scene IX: The Fated Hand of the Returning Past

 
Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten, the pitch blackness of night giving way to a sort of pale, pre-dawn non-colored sky, but darkness and daylight held no meaning at the moment. All that was real was the wall behind his back, the floor beneath his feet, the ceiling above his head, him.

No, not even he was real.

Wufei had gone off somewhere. Wufei. Chang Wufei, the achingly familiar name with which came a dread feeling of darkness and death and blood. When he had heard it that first time, in the Beijing alleyway, he should have known. Why hadn't he recognized it?

He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, fighting nausea. His head ached and his eyes hurt, and when Wufei had left the room, murmuring that he'd be back, he had staggered to the wall, slid to the floor, and simply lain there and shook. He couldn't cry anymore, so he just shook, silently, trembling, curled up in a tight ball of fear and remorse and guilt.

Chang Wufei.

I am-

You are-

He remembered who he had been, now, as if he had never forgotten. Heero Yuy. Gundam pilot. He had been a killing machine, a single-minded assassin, the perfect soldier. He had killed thousands. He was guilty.

They were all guilty.

He couldn't remember much more than that.

It was easier not to think, because if he thought anymore than he would start shaking again, so he simply let his mind blank. It was just like being drunk, except the clouds in his mind were not the alcohol-fogged vapors that he had become so accustomed to, but clear and lucid clouds of smoke, like burning water.

How could he...how could he face Darkflight? How could he face Wufei, who of all people would hold it against him that he had left them and forgotten...made himself forget...who he had been? He would ask about the scar. Unconsciously, his fingers moved upwards to touch the hard ridge of tissue. How had he gotten the scar? Wufei would want to know, and he still couldn't remember. His brain shied away from any possible scenarios of a conversation between him and the Chinese pilot - former pilot - and he let himself drift in a gray fog of nothingness.

He heard the door open but did not respond, laying on his back with his eyes closed. The soft voice spoke above him, out of the clouds of his past.

"Heero?"

"Are you God?" he whispered.

A pause, then the mere whisper of a breath and a thud as something - someone? - dropped down on the mat beside him.

"I'm not God. Just...a messenger."

Unwillingly, he opened his eyes and pushed himself to a sitting position, locking gazes with the hard, brown, almond one he found in front of him, which was maybe not as hard as he remembered.

"I'm not the person you used to know."

"Neither am I," Wufei replied, as if he had conversations on a daily basis with ghosts returned to life. He felt something pushed into his hand. "Here. Eat. You look like you haven't eaten in a week."

"I...haven't," he said, not meaning to speak the words aloud, but Wufei's head turned sharply.

He waited for the other boy to say something, anything, but instead the silence between them turned uncomfortable and he was the first to break it, looking down at the thing in his hand, a mess of sticky rice on a plate of leaves.

"What's this?"

"Something Chinese." Wufei's voice was curt and his hand movements jerky as he handed over a pair of chopsticks. "Eat it all."

"I-"

"Eat, dammit!"

He bent his head obediently and ate, and he could still feel Wufei staring at the top of his bent head, as if wondering how their roles had been reversed.

When he finished, Wufei handed him a cup of water, which he drank in a single gulp. "It's good," he said. "Do you have a well?"

"A stream. Outside." A slight tilt of the head towards the back of the house. "Where's your friend?"

He shrugged. "I don't know." Digging in his pocket, he pulled out the box of cigarettes and the lighter, opened the box.

"Don't smoke in my house."

He hesitated a moment, then shrugged again and put the box and lighter back in his pocket. The silence was uncomfortable again, and he shifted. He'd never had problems with uncomfortable silences before, he being, most of the time, the one who had held the upper hand. Uncomfortable silences were ones in which you held the gun to someone's head, or paused to give the final barking command.

"What happened to you, Heero?"

He felt his hand clenched automatically at the name, at the question asked almost hesitantly, shyly, forced himself to relax.

"I..." he said, then took a deep breath and let it out. "I wanted to forget."

"I'm sorry," Wufei said. He sounded genuine.

"What for?"

"This. Everything. I didn't know that you-"

"I was sent to kill you, you know."

"I figured that out," Wufei said, almost sarcastically, grabbing the chopsticks and the cup out of his limp hands and pushing them behind him. "Look, Heero-"

"I'm not the person you knew," he said, hoarsely. "I'm not-"

"Look at me!"

As if guided by that voice, he swung his gaze around to meet the hard almond one once more.

"It's not your fault that the war happened," Wufei said, in a low voice. "It's not your fault that people died. But you did this to yourself and you're going to have to face the consequences. I-" he broke off, turning away. "I was there, at Tiananmen...at the riots. I thought the war was over. I thought I could run away. But..."

"But," he whispered, finishing the unfinished sentence as if it had been his own, "I couldn't run forever."

"No," Wufei said. "Did you..." He folded his hands in front of him. "How much do you remember?"

"Not much," he said truthfully, trying to think without thinking. "I remember...Zechs Merquise. And Treize Khushrenada. Treize...you killed him."

A muscles on the side of Wufei's face twitched, but the boy showed no other emotion. "Yes. I did."

"I remember...leaving the Peacemillion. Rele...Relena didn't want me to go. She tried to come after me...I wouldn't let her. I left her." A bird twittered in the morning stillness, but the silence was no long uncomfortable, only full of things unspoken. "I went back to L1. I don't know why I did that. I guess...I guess I thought I could go home? But Doctor J was dead, and they didn't want me anymore. Their creation, their pet, their monster. They threw me out. I was a mistake."

"You're not a mistake," Wufei said. "Or if you are, then we are all mistakes."

"I wandered the streets...I met Darkflight. He didn't ask, and I didn't ask. I liked it that way."

"So you teamed up."

He nodded slowly. "There's blank spots even after that...I..."

"You're a drug addict," Wufei said bluntly, and he stiffened.

"How did you-"

"I can see, can't I?" the other boy said dryly. "You're too thin, even for someone who hasn't been eating. Your eyes are bloodshot, not just from lack of sleep, there are scars up and down your arms, and people don't just forget sixteen years of their lives by sheer wanting."

So Wufei knew. "I can't change who I am in a day," he said. "I can't go back to...who I was. You know that more than anyone. The drugs...are a part of me. I can't help it." His hand was beginning to shake, and not just from fatigue. He hadn't had a needle in a day and a half. He watched it distractedly, knew Wufei was watching it too.

"Don't blame yourself," Wufei said.

"I'm not sure who I hate more," he murmured. The bit of flesh under the knuckle throbbed to his words. "The boy who I was then...or the one I am now."

"You're no boy. None of us. Human, maybe...but not much more than that. "

"What have you been doing?" he said, moving his hand so that he was sitting on it, so at least the shaking was not visible.

"Nothing." Wufei laughed, a short mirthless bark. "I call myself a scholar, but in reality it's nothing but moping around and feeling sorry for myself. I'm good at that, you know?"

He almost smiled. "I remember."

"I'm glad you came."

"What?" he said, startled. "I came to kill you, remember?"

"I know. But instead...you...made me realize that there's something more that I have to do."

"What's that?" he said, but Wufei was gathering up the sticky leaves and the chopsticks and the cup and standing up.

"I'm going to go put these away."

He stood up cautiously, not trusting his legs, but they held under him. Wufei held the door open for him and he stood in the alcove of the small kitchen while the other boy dropped the utensils in a bucket of water.

"Heard anything about...the others?"

"I'm sure it's in the news or somewhere out there." A towel was flung his way. "Make yourself useful. But no, I'm not exactly the most informed person you'll see out in the Chinese countryside. I'd think you'd have heard something, living on L1."

"I...no," he said, wiping the chopsticks and placing them in the open box offered to him. "I never followed the news either."

"Trowa was in the circus, at the last I heard. Quatre was back on L4. Duo I know nothing about."

Duo Maxwell. Why did something stir in his memory at the sound of that name?

"Heero?"

"It's nothing," he said, stepping back out of the doorway. It was almost fully light now. He wondered where Darkflight was, again, then decided that it was better if the other boy had decided not to come back. He had no idea how to explain himself to the one who knew him simply as the assassin Wing.

Wing. Wing Zero.

Duo had taken Wing Zero. He wondered if it was destroyed, though he didn't think Duo would have destroyed his Gundam without permission. Then again, he couldn't really remember what Duo Maxwell had been like, only that they had been friends.

Had they?

"What was Duo like?" he said to the air.

There was no answer and for a moment he thought the other hadn't heard. "Wufei?"

"I heard you," Wufei said, and he turned to find the Chinese boy staring at him. "It was just..."

"What?"

"If you don't remember Duo," he said, "how much more have you forgotten?"

"Was he important to me?"

Wufei was still staring at him.

"Look," he said, jaw clenching. "I'm sorry if I'm offending you, but I remember next to nothing. Nothing! You can't expect me to draw all this information out of midair!"

"I didn't mean -" Wufei began, and then abruptly, " never mind."

"Then tell me about Duo Maxwell."

"Out of all of us...I think he was the closest to you."

He couldn't think of a reply to that, so he simply walked to the window and opened it, staring out. He could faintly see the stream Wufei had mentioned through the low bushes and the few sparse trees. The sun was beginning to rise through the purple clouds, and he dug through his mind for any memory, any at all, of Duo Maxwell.

A smile. A wink. The flash of a gun. The flip of a....braid?

"Did Duo have long hair?"

"Yes. He had a braid." He felt the other boy come up beside him. "Do you remember something?"

"I...I'm not sure." He pressed one hand to the edge of the window frame. "It's hard."

"The sun's coming up," Wufei responded, turning away.

"Wufei."

"What is it?"

"You said...earlier. That my coming here made you realize what you had to do. What was that?"

There was a rustle of clothing as Wufei turned back towards him, and the memories suddenly spilled back in a jumbled rush, of a glittering sword and the roar of Shenlong and a hoarse cry for justice and the intense words and proud eyes of a warrior. In his memories, Wufei was dressed all in white.

"I remember you," he said wonderingly, as if awakening from a dream. "You were carrying a sword."

"I am going to win the war," Wufei said, and for the first time he could remember, the pilot of Shenlong smiled.

"Heero Yuy, would you like to come with me?"

 
Go to Heero story Flowers in the Snow

 
Scene X: Anything for You

 
Catherine Bloom shook her head, shining droplets of water beading on her face. It would have to be raining, she thought with little amusement. At least the weather suits my mood.

She pulled her collar up, trying to keep the water from running down her back. Catherine had spent her life traveling around with the circus, and even though she hadn't been to the historical Geneva, she wasn't all that impressed. It was a pretty city, but she preferred the ancient architecture of Rome or the stark newness of a Colony city. Besides, it was raining, she was getting wet, and that made her cranky. All in all, Geneva wasn't making that good of a first impression. Never mind that she had been stuck in the city for more then a week, filling out endless paperwork.

Getting onto the Preventers base was easier said then done. She'd tried to tell the guard at the gate that she simply must see Lady Une, claiming to have information on Trowa Barton, but the guard had merely raised an eyebrow with a tired look. Going into a nearby office building, he'd returned with a stack of forms five centimeters thick, requesting that she fill them out within a week as he took her name.

Catherine wasn't deterred. She'd returned to her hotel and started work immediately, sleeping only a few hours each night until she had finished work on the seemingly endless supply of legal jargon. Producing three forms of I.D. had been difficult, but a quick call to the ringmaster had him procuring her birth certificate.

Hailing a taxi, she stepped into the street, sliding onto the battered seat. One of the seat's corners were so frayed that she could see the yellowed stuffing poking out. "Where to?" the driver asked in French.

Catherine smiled. The dialect was different then she was used to dealing with, but she would be able to make herself understood. "Preventers Headquarters," she requested politely.

The driver, a grizzled old man in his sixties, raised an eyebrow as he started the meter. "You're not going to join those protesters, are you?" he asked in a tired voice.

"I'm hoping to arrange a meeting with a Preventer," she said cautiously. Never discuss politics with a stranger, she thought. If anyone learns that Trowa is my younger brother, I'll be in physical danger.

The cab driver snorted. "Good luck. They're slightly busy at the moment, and if you think you have the right to start yelling at them, I suggest you rethink it."

"What?" she asked in surprised. She hadn't been expecting that.

"The pilots aren't the bad guys of the piece- neither was OZ." The taxi turned onto a wide street and she could see tall buildings in the distance. The base. "The bad guys are the ones who did nothing, and were content to let society degrade just to fulfill their own ambition."

"Yes," Catherine said softly.

"I remember the Eve Wars. I remember that pilot- he would have been Heero Yuy, that was the guy who flew the one that looked like a bird, right? I remember how that bit of Libra was going to fall on Earth, and how he put himself between us and a new ice age. He didn't have to- hell, chances were that he would get killed. But he did it anyway, cause it was the right thing to do. It was one of the most glorious meteor showers I've ever seen." He smiled, and his grizzled face was suddenly welcoming.

Catherine felt her spirit lift. She had been questioning the worth of it all, why Trowa had laid his life on the line for these people, for the people who hated him for standing up while they cowered in their corners, afraid. "Thank you," she said.

"Thank you?" he parroted, unable to understand what the lovely young woman in the back of his cab was refering to.

"For reminding me why we bother," she said, and then she pulled out her wallet, starting to count out the money she would need to pay him.

The cabdriver gratefully accepted the rather large tip she handed over, and then wasn't able to keep from smiling when she grinned so her cheeks dimpled at him. It was rare that an attractive young woman gave him any attention whatsoever.

"I don't know why you're here," he called out the open window as she closed the door of the cab, "but I hope you get what you're looking for."

She waved at him as he drove away and then shivering slightly, glanced up at the gray skies. She wished it'd just let loose and rain, rather then this indecisive trickle that slowly soaked into her clothes and left her feeling ragged and unclean. Well, there was no use in standing and watching the clouds. Clutching her purse firmly with one hand, she headed towards the gates of the base.

The pedestrian gates were slightly smaller than the vehicle entrance gates, but no less imposing. There were marks on the sidewalk, for order if a line needed to be formed, she supposed, but there was no line today. The uniformed guard leaned out of the booth, looking bored and superior at the same time.

"Papers?" he said, and she dug in her purse, handed him the neatly folded papers. He riffed through them briefly, handed her back all of them except the bottom one.

"You need to head straight when you get through the gate and then take a left on Liberty Avenue. Go in the front door of the first building on your left and they'll tell you where to go from there."

"I see. Thank you," she said politely, putting the papers back in her purse. The guard simply waved her on through the opening gate and she walked quickly through.

The Preventers base sprawled out in front of her, and the white sidewalk seemed unending. A trickle of military vehicles roared past her on the smooth, paved roads, but aside from that, the base was quiet. She supposed the weather was keeping everyone inside, or perhaps paperwork involved in the Winner trial. She had seen the news on television, about Quatre's capture. The thought of that innocent boy in captivity made her walk faster. The same thing could happen to Trowa. If she was not careful.

The base itself was square. That was the only word she could think of to describe the neat, packaged look of the buildings, the streets, even the greenery. The trees looked like they had come straight out of a horticulture magazine, and the streets were as clean as if someone had scrubbed them with a toothbrush every evening after retreat. Catherine knew that the base was only two years old, having been constructed after the war ended, but this sort of manufactured atmosphere only served to heighten her anxiety. She had never been on any sort of military base before last week, and the beautiful white buildings looked like they hid more than they revealed.

She followed the directions the guard had given her and pushed open the door to the building that looked much like all the other ones she had seen on base. "Visitor's Check-in," the sign on the counter read. The inside looked like a waiting area, with rows of chairs. Almost all of them were filled.

Catherine swallowed and walked up to the counter, where a brusque woman with technical sergeant ranks on her sleeves was busy typing away on a computer and chatting on a phone at the same time.

"Excuse me," she began, and the woman turned to her, cutting off Catherine's words.

"You have papers?"

Catherine dug the papers out of her purse again and the woman took them, grabbing a pencil and making little marks on the sides of the pages. Catherine waited, glancing around the room. It was well-lit, with plants by the one hallway that led out of it. She couldn't see past the wall to see where the hallway led. Offices, probably.

"Please wait here," the sergeant said, stuffing the papers back into Catherine's hand.

She sat down gingerly in one of the chairs, shuffling her feet and trying not to appear self-conscious. There was very little noise in the room besides the clacking of the sergeant's computer keyboard and her muffled phone conversation. Most of the people sitting in the chairs seemed as ill at ease as she, and she looked around, trying to scan the crowd without being conspicuously nosy.

Most of the people in the room were older men and women. Many of them looked worried and sat with their eyes on the floor and their hands in their laps. There were a few teenagers. Applicants to join the Preventers, maybe? They were brave souls...she couldn't think of a single reason to join now, with the Gundam crisis in such motion.

A dark-haired, bulky sergeant appeared in the doorway, scanning the room. "Mr. Ching?"

The Asian man in the corner stood, taking a deep breath. The sergeant nodded to him and Mr. Ching disappeared around the corner into the hallway beyond. Catherine forced herself to relax. The elevator music from the ceiling speakers soothed her nerves somewhat, but her mind kept going back to the same scenarios. If they didn't accept her papers. If Lady Une was busy. If-

"Catherine Bloom?"

She blinked, startled. The man waiting in the hallway was the security officer from last week who had given her the paperwork. Takamura, his nametag read. He glanced at her as she came up to him, and gestured for her to follow him.

Takamura's office was small and bare and the air conditioning was turned on at least twenty degrees too low. Catherine shivered as he made a waving motion at chair next to his desk.

"I see you have your papers in order," he said, flipping through the documents. Catherine nodded uncertainly.

"It's a large claim, you know."

"What is?" she ventured.

"Being Trowa Barton's sister, of course," he said. She couldn't tell, but it seemed like he was laughing at her. She sighed inwardly, reminding herself to keep calm. It didn't matter what this man thought; he was a low-level lackey, without access to secure information. It only mattered what Une thought of her. If she was ever allowed to see her, that was.

"I sent your request to General Une when you visited. The general gets hundreds of requests like this a day, you know. She doesn't have time to see common folk."

Catherine's heart sank. They had refused her request. She wasn't going to get in. She was-

"But surprisingly enough, when your name and information came up, you were one of the few the general decided to see. Whenever you came back, she said. And I suppose since you're here, now is a good time?"

Catherine nodded, her heart beating fast, and was Takamura smirking at her again? It didn't matter.

"Follow me, then."

The main Preventers Headquarters was another white building, a few stories higher than most of those around it, and very official-looking. It was still raining, but Takamura had commandeered a military jeep. At least she would be dry when she met the general.

She followed the sergeant into the building and into the elevator, then into another waiting area. Takamura went up to the counter and spoke with the guard there, then walked over to her.

"The general will see you in a few minutes."

He disappeared into the elevator and Catherine was alone once more. The waiting area was much like the one at the visitor's center, except very empty. She glanced around at the inspirational posters and quotes mounted on the wall, walking around the room slowly.

Fortitude, the caption under one picture read. The strength to persist, the courage to endure. The picture she recognized: a very old statue of United States Marines raising the American flag on the island of Iwo Jima during the second world war. It was strange how lessons learned in one era still applied in the next.

The last quote was a simple plaque, silver letters on a black polished wood background.

Even if you take away all weapons, you won't stop war. You must change the hearts of the people.

"Ms. Bloom? The general is ready to see you now."

Catherine jumped, then realized her name had been called. The guard motioned her down a wide side hallway, stopping in front of a polished wooden door. "You may go in."

When she pushed open the door, Une was waiting for her.

Catherine took in the former Lady, surprised. Une was prettier then she'd been expecting- and shorter. For some reason, she'd been expecting a woman who towered over her, but that wasn't what Une was. Une was slender and attractive, and looked like she would have been better suited to a society bash then a battlefield.

Catherine offered her hand to the General, who was accessing her with sharp brown eyes. "Hello, Lady Une. My name is Catherine Bloom, and I'm Trowa Barton's older sister."

Une was apparently pleased to see her, and clasped her hand firmly, though not bruisingly so. "I know that. What surprised me was that you passed the genetic ID. We compared it to the samples we had taken when he was in OZ, and that proved that you were, indeed, his full-blooded sister. However, I had been under the impression that the relationship wasn't a blood one- that you had adopted him during the war."

Catherine smiled. "That's actually a rather interesting tale, but I don't have time for it right now." She stared at Une, who stood a good three inches taller then she, as though she could see the answer. "Lady -General- Une, where is my brother?"

Une's eyes lost a bit of their glimmer. "I was hoping you'd tell me... or had a message for me from him," Une confessed slowly.

Catherine felt herself deflate slightly. She'd wasted a week on a dead lead. Her instincts, which she trusted, told her that Une was telling the truth. "No. He left the day the news broke without speaking to me," she said. Her voice was hard and angry, but even if Une was the head of the Preventers, she wasn't about to hide her true feelings on the situation.

"That sounds like Trowa... he always did things on his own. Catherine, I hate to ask you this, but how did you pass the genetic tests? I need to know so I can put further measures in place."

Catherine gave her a weak smile. "You're acting under the impression that Trowa isn't my biological brother and I had to fake it. That isn't true- he IS my sibling."

Une blinked slowly. "According to my data-"

"Your data is wrong. May I sit?"

"Please," Une said gesturing to a chair across to her. That Trowa and Catherine were actually related by blood- was certainly news to her. She was fascinated in spite of herself.

"It would have been around sixteen years ago. My family has always been a circus family, for centuries at least. Anyway, the circus was touring Europe during one of the periods of civil unrest that were so frequent. It got caught in the crossfire. My parents were killed."

"I'm sorry," Une said sympathetically. Catherine shrugged.

"It was a long time ago and I was young. I don't remember much. When I got older, the ringmaster at the circus told me about it, about how my little brother Triton had died along with the rest of my family. I asked him if he had proof, and he admitted he didn't. I never gave up hope that my brother was still alive. It was a girl's fantasy...but..."

"And so?" Une prompted.

"And so," Catherine said wearily, "when I met Trowa during the war, I knew something about him was familiar...but I didn't know what."

"How did you know that he was your brother, then? Surely you didn't have genetic testing at the circus."

Catherine laughed weakly. "Nothing like that. My brother fell off a circus wagon when he was very young...six months, I believe. The subsequent surgery left a scar on his left shoulder. I was very small at the time, but I remember rushing to the nearest hospital with him...my parents were frantic..." she trailed off. The child memories were blurring in her mind. "But I'm wasting your time, aren't I?" She smiled wanly at Une. "You don't know where Trowa is. I'd better go. I'm sorry for the bother."

"No," Une said suddenly, standing and placing one hand on Catherine's shoulder. "Stay."

Catherine blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

"I believe your story." Une looked her squarely in the face and again she was struck by the general's eyes. "The problem is, so might others."

"What do you mean?"

"Your genetic records are supposedly secure at the base...but then, so were the files of the Gundam pilots. I don't know who could get ahold of those files, and if someone does, you'll be just as wanted as your brother is right now."

"I...see..." Catherine said warily. "So what should I do, do you think?"

"Stay here. At the base. Our visiting officers' quarters are very empty now, for obvious reasons. I can set up a room for you, free of charge."

Catherine started to protest, but Une cut her off with a wave of her hand. "By coming here, you put yourself in danger, Catherine. I couldn't protect the pilots...I couldn't protect Trowa. Let me make it up to you."

Catherine nodded slowly. Why not? "I suppose I could stay...thank you for being so kind."

"Don't mention it," Une said briskly, reaching for the phone, then pausing. "Oh, and Catherine? I have a slight request in return."

More paperwork? Another meeting with Takamura? "Yes?"

"There's someone I'd like you to meet."

 
Scene XI: Power and Glory and Memory

 
Milliard's voice was a crackle of static in her ears, but Dorothy had learned to adjust the frequency so that the white noise wasn't quite as painful a pressure on her eardrums. She had also learned to guide the mobile suit where she wanted it to go, more or less, though occasionally on the first few tries she had fallen more than once. It hadn't taken her too many falls before she realized that piloting a mobile suit was nothing like piloting mobile dolls.

For one thing, one wasn't actually in the mobile doll as one piloted it. That was the first and most important lesson. In the mobile suit, every shot, every clank and groan of the metal and joints around her was a reminder that she was in the middle of something very dangerous. Mobile doll operators did not die if a craft exploded. Mobile suit pilots, however, did.

Dorothy wasn't quite sure she liked that concept. Exploding in a mobile suit was not one of the ways she planned to end her life, and she voiced that opinion to Milliard quite clearly after the end of the first practice session. He had laughed.

I'm not trying to kill you, Dorothy. This is for your own good.

Yeah, a hell of a lot of good it's doing me, she snapped.

Looking back, she'd been acting like a child, but she had always hated being taught new things. If she was going to learn something, she would take it up herself, without anyone's help, mastering it or at least becoming decent enough with it that she would not embarrass herself in front of anyone. Unfortunately, mobile suit piloting didn't seem to come with that option.

She was quite sure that at least some of her suboordinates had had a good laugh or two at her expense during the crash course that Milliard took her through, but as the days went on, it became second nature to her to tune her frequency as soon as she buckled into her seat, to flip the warm-up switches to on and to charge the main guns. She hadn't thought that calluses could appear so fast on her hands in the spots where the control buttons rubbed against her fingers. There had been blisters the first few days.

Did you ever have blisters, Milliard?

No, but I also had four years to learn to pilot a mobile suit. You have about four days.

It wasn't just her in the pilot trainee class. She had Milliard had stayed up that night after the raid, going through the files of qualified soldiers and picking out the ones who would be most likely to succeed as a mobile suit pilot.

After this is over, Milliard had said, maybe some of them will want to consider a piloting career in the Preventers.

If they survive.

She had added the last three words silently, but in the flickering of the faulty electric lamp, she knew he heard them as clearly as if she had said them aloud.

The ones they had picked were smart, quick, and fearless. Dorothy didn't blame them for being fearless. Many of Milliard's troops had been soldiers in the war, OZ, rebel, Federation, or White Fang, most of them low level troops who knew of the war as blips on a computer screen. None of them had been mobile suit pilots. Only a few of them had seen combat after the war, only a handful had been at the mobile suit yard raid the other night, and both soldiers who had died had been colony rebels. Death was something remote, something that had happened two years ago and could no longer touch them because they had survived the fire.

To the Preventers troops, the war was over.

She'd seen this attitude when she had arrived at the camp, the almost belligerent, bored attitude of troops that had seen their glory days, and it had not subsided. Her arrival had not helped any. She was the War Queen, the advocate of war, the ultimate figurehead of war as a glorious cause, and the troops had rallied around her.

She didn't like that.

Don't complain, Milliard had told her. Morale is high. There's nothing to worry about.

That's what you think, she had retorted, then stormed off with him calling to her retreating back, asking her to come back and explain herself. There was no explaining to be done.

There was no explaining to be done now, either, as Milliard's face blinked onto her screen and she released the control lever.

"That's it for today," he said, looking stern. Then again, when did he not? "I've taught you everything you need to know. The next time you pilot these suits, it will be in combat."

"You think that's wise?" she said, as she caught up next to him, trying to match his long strides as they wound their way back towards the camp.

"I don't have a choice," he said. The sun was setting, the red-gold rays creating a halo of white around his hair. He looked like a god. "We're running out of time."

She didn't respond, just walked with him until the camp came into view. The tan waterproof canvas tents were orangy blobs fading into the background of red rock and wilting shrubbery, and the camouflaged trucks were visible against the rocks. A few soldiers were fixing transmissions.

So peaceful.

"After the war," she said, "I think I want to buy a nice little house next to the ocean."

He looked bemused. "Why is that?"

Dorothy shrugged. "I don't know."

"How do you feel about the mobile suit? You seem to be doing fine...I was thinking about putting you in command of one of the units."

The command tent was full of junk that needed to be thrown away, except that both of them were too busy and forgetful to do so, and no one else came in here nearly as frequently as they did. Milliard turned on the light, going to the map table, but she stood in the doorway, holding the tent flap open with her hand, feeling the fading sunlight on the back of her neck.

"Dorothy?" He looked at her from across the table.

"This is going nowhere, Milliard."

She saw his head drop, his shoulders tense. He looked defeated.

"You think I don't know that?"

"Une sent you out here to die," she said. Her voice sounded harsh in her ears. Too harsh. But it needed to be said. "This is stupid."

"Dorothy-"

"Milliard. Give it up. Forget about the mobile suits. Let's pack and go back to Earth. You can't do anything more here. It's a rebellion you can't win."

In the light of the lamp, his eyes were almost golden-blue, faraway. "I lost one rebellion," he said softly. "I won't lose another one."

"Milliard-"

"I'm tired," he said, almost conversationally. "You know? I'm so tired of...of being used."

"So don't." Dorothy let the flap fall, crossed the tent. Her boots crunched on the rock floor. "Milliard...stand up for yourself. Don't let them do this to you. We've been here for weeks...we've gotten nothing done. We've learned to pilot mobile suits. I could have learned that back home...not to mention that mobile suits are being phased out of the Preventers right now and that skill is going to do these soldiers no good if any of them make it back."

"I know that. But..."

"There's no but," she said firmly. "We're wasting our time."

The wind was picking up and she could hear it whistling through the cracks in the tent. The sun's glow was almost gone now. Gustavson had not been to the camp today to check up on progress. Perhaps he was giving up on them too.

"I wonder...how Relena's doing."

Dorothy blinked. "I'm sure she's fine. Why?"

"I tried to give her everything that she would need to survive...everything that I didn't have. She'll make a better leader than I ever was."

"Don't say that," Dorothy protested weakly. "Milliard, you-"

He smiled wanly. There were dark circles under his eyes. She knew he hadn't slept last night, and he had hardly slept the night before. "I what?"

"Why are we - you - still here?"

There was a silence in which the wind tugged at the tent corners and the lamp flickered.

"For once in my life," he said, "I wanted to do something right."

She said nothing.

Milliard stirred, turned on the map, looking over its contents. Taking a deep breath, he took the light-pen, traced several routes and erasing them, then circled in new coordinates.

"Our next target is this building. We'll move out tomorrow. Inform the commanders as soon as possible. I'll have a talk with Gustavson, see what time is best for troop movement."

The conversation was over. Dorothy crossed back to the door, stopped with one foot through the opening. "Milliard?"

"Yes?"

"You...really love her. Don't you?"

She saw him stiffen, but he didn't answer, and after a moment she stepped through the door and left him staring at the lighted map. The moon was a thin sliver in the sky.

"I don't think I can handle command of a unit," she said to the wind, but the wind simply blew the hair away from her face and skittered the pebbles along the rock faces.

Making her slow way back to her small tent, she radioed the field commanders, notifying them of the orders change. It was pointless, this pretending. All pretending.

She rubbed one finger absently along the callus on her thumb. It had gotten to the point where she was dreaming about piloting at night, eyes tracking laser beams while HUD displays flickered before her dream eyes like demonic faces that would not let her alone even in sleep. One week of training, and already it was getting to her.

Many of those young pilots would not survive. One week of mobile suit pilot training was no more than a crash course to stave off the inevitable. Gustavson had received spy reports two days ago that the colony had indeed acquired the resources to make its own mobile suits, and the factories were working overtime.

Mobile suits were the symbols of an era gone by, an era which she supposed could be classified as glorious by some but to her had been an era better left forgotten. She missed the war. And she was sick of war. She wanted to go home, back to her comfortable, meaningless existence, living off her mother and her inheritance like she was meant to do, waiting for nothing to happen.

She remembered when Une had asked her to join the Preventers. She had refused, and now here she was, fighting for something in which she had no part, a stranger on strange soil, putting down a rebellion which to her had no meaning. Why was she here, anyway?

Because Milliard asked, that's why.

No, because Zechs asked.

But Zechs Merquise was gone. She was in love with Zechs Merquise, not Milliard Peacecraft, and the man she had spent all this time in the desert with was but a reflection of who he had been.

"Damn you," she muttered, turning from the door of her tent and walking aimlessly, kicking at the pebbles under her feet. She didn't have to be in love with anyone...she was independent. Or so she had liked to think, but all she really wanted now was a hot bath and a good meal and a warm bed to sleep in, to wake up to the sunshine coming through her window and to know that the day ahead of her would be filled with nothing. She had hated it for so long and suddenly she was homesick for it, for the indulgent lifestyle she'd been running from. Dorothy Catalonia, filthy rich and spoiled heiress.

She reached the low ridge that overlooked the grounds on which they hid the mobile suits, scrambled over the rocky ground until she reached the bottom of the slope. Pulling back the camouflage netting that semi-hid her own mobile suit, she raised one hand to touch the metal foot. It was still slightly warm from the sun and from use, and on a whim, she lifted herself up to a seat on the metal perch. The stars were coming out. She could see them through the netting.

Grandfather? What should I do now?

Dermail was gone, his legacy only a forgotten memory, and again she was alone. She'd believed in his ideals, though she'd had her own ways of accomplishing them. He shouldn't have died.

Treize shouldn't have died.

"It's your fault, you know?" She felt a bit foolish talking to a dead cousin, sitting on the foot of a mobile suit, but at this time and place, there were no listening ears but her own. Treize had died and Zechs had died, and she was as good as dead. She was wasting her time.

The thin rays of the moon pierced the canopy above and she closed her eyes, relaxed into the beam. It was quiet and peaceful, the heat of the day retreating, and she could fall asleep here. With some effort, she opened her eyes again and slid off the metal foot, heading back to camp. It would not be good for her to be in the middle of an enemy attack, if for some unknown reason the mobile suits were discovered.

The camp was silent now and she paused outside her door to shake the sand out of her boot, froze when she heard approaching footsteps.

"Where have you been?"

Milliard's voice. She relaxed. "Nowhere. Thinking."

"I'm sorry I had to make you go through all of this," he offered softly behind her. "It was my mistake, asking you to come with me."

Remnants of a long ago conversation whispered in her ears.

I'd go anywhere with you.

"It was my own choice, after all," she murmured, turning to face him. He didn't look like a god anymore, but simply like a man who had been hunched over a light map for too long, who had gone for two days without a bath and had not slept. "Don't apologize."

He smiled slightly. "Sleep well, Dorothy."

She watched him go and entered her own tent with a sigh, laying down on the sleeping mat without bothering to undress.

You love her...don't you?

She knew he loved Noin, had always loved her, but still somewhere inside of her there was that spark of hope that one day the Zechs Merquise she knew would return to her and they could somehow begin again, as if none of this had ever happened.

The moon rose higher in the sky and her breathing evened, and she slept.

 
Scene XII: Sic Semper Tyrannis

 
The sun crested over the mountains, and she stared directly into its light, half-hoping it would blind her. Tears began to stream down her face from the brightness, and not all of them were involuntary. It was a good excuse to cry. She didn't really need an excuse, but she didn't want to cry without reason. It seemed she'd spent most of her life crying.

It was July the fourth. A century ago, the country would have been celebrating American Independence Day. There were still isolated celebrations in parts of town, banners hung outside windows, flags flown proudly. How ironic.

Ilene Keets leaned against the window sill of her cheap hotel room, wondering. "So what now, James?" she asked, speaking to her dead brother. It had become a habit for her- whenever she was really confused, she would speak to James as though he was still there to advise her. She used to write letters and leave them on his grave, but after changing schools for one located across the country, that option wasn't there anymore. "My first love turns out to be one of the people who I hate most in the entire world. My friends are going to help him find the REST of the Gundam pilots, and... and the world is going to hell so quickly I don't have any idea what to do."

Her long hair hung past her waist, for once free of the pigtails which had become her trademark. She didn't feel like putting them up- that had been a style for a child, and she wasn't one- not today. Besides, HE had always teased her about them, playfully tugging on them, and she didn't want that memory.

How could he? she wondered. How could a cold-blooded murderer go on with his life, pretending to be normal, while people like James, her sweet older brother who had actually had so much to offer the world, lay cold in the ground, murdered while he slept? How could he dare pretend to be her friend when he knew very well that she had lost a brother to his cruel actions?

How could he let me love him? she wondered.

She had idolized her older brother. James had been three years older then her, but he'd always had time for her, something she had appreciated too late. It must have been annoying to have a younger sister trailing him wherever he went, but James had been tolerant, talking to her as though her opinions mattered to him.

It had hurt to see him leave.

James had wanted the military, and he had gotten it. His parents had been against the move, saying that he should let the "lower classes" do it. He had social status to uphold.

Ilene knew her family was well off, but she had never considered them snobbish until then. She hadn't realized that her father's position as the American Coalition's finance minister gave them so much rank. The formal balls she had habitually attended as a youngster had never registered as part of high society; she had thought all little girls went to balls, formal dinners, lived in a big house and had pretty dresses.

James had argued with them. He had said that he was not suited to a political life, but that he wanted to support the government in some other way. Something he was good at. He'd always tested high in the hard sciences and was naturally deft at anything he wanted to do. James had just been one of those talented people who everything came easily to.

She remembered when he finally applied to the Lake Victoria Specials Academy and received acceptance. His admission hadn't been in question- he had very high grades, and the name Keets was well known enough that rejecting his application without a damn good reason could have created an incident. Still, the night he had told his parents that he was due to leave in a month... THAT had been a night. Her mother had been in tears, and her father had exploded, something that rarely happened. She had been forced from the room by a servant. Even from upstairs, she could hear them yell at each other.

"You just got accepted into Cliffside Heights! You'll need to go there if you're going to build the connections you need to enter the political arena!" Her mother 's voice had been anguished. "There's no need to go harrying off on some whim!"

"It's not a whim! I've been meaning to do this for ages- you know that! I've told you time and time again, but you never took me seriously. Well, this time, you're going to!"

"You're only thirteen! You can't go until I sign the consent forms," their father had said dangerously, and Ilene heard the implied threat.

"One year. If you want to make me wait that long, I will, but... I wouldn't advise it. If you do, I'll cut myself off from the family entirely as soon as I'm legal. This is something I believe in."

Ilene had gasped. It was impossible to imagine life without James.

"Is it that important? Would you cut Ilene out of your life as well?"

"She would understand. She knows me, better then either of you do!"

"Don't you realize you could die?" her father had thundered at him.

Ilene had then blocked the rest of the conversation out by putting her pillow over her head.

The next morning, they seemed to have come to resolution, but the atmosphere in the house was decidedly chilly for the next month, until her brother had left. She had cried, but she had been so proud of him. He was going to learn how to be a Mobile Suit pilot.

"Don't you realize you could die?" How those words had come back to haunt her father.

Now she was an only child of a couple so lost in grief that they didn't remember her existence most of the time. She constantly received what she called "guilt gifts" and her allowance was excessive, even for a student of the wealthy Cliffside Heights. Still, she would have traded all of her material possessions in the world to hug her brother once more, or to hear her parents laugh without a trace of the sadness that permeated their voices.

She wanted her old life back.

Ilene rose to her feet, shaking herself mentally. Wallowing wasn't going to do her any good.

It was time for payback. It was the least she could do.

She left her hotel room, moving out onto the streets. Wearing a pair of jeans and a soft, baby blue tank top, she felt slightly uncomfortable. She had become so accustomed to the Cliffside uniform that it was almost disconcerting to wear anything else during a school day. She could feel eyes on her as she walked through the streets- she was a sweet young thing, and she knew that if she wasn't careful she could get into serious trouble.

Still, she had resolved that she wouldn't sit back and take it lying down. She remembered passively cowering when that girl - her name had been Hilde - had held a gun to her head. Ilene doubted she'd ever work through the shame of cowardice. She had frozen, rather then scream; it was her fault that Duo had managed to escape from Cliffside. If she would have been brave enough to sound an alert, Duo would be dead.

The thought of Duo dead gave her heart an unfamiliar twist. Could she really... accept that? He might have been a killer... but he was also her friend.

She was torn. Duo... were you ever my friend? Or was that an act? Was the real you the killer I saw after the massacre, or the laughing boy who I had a crush on?

As she walked through Montpelier's streets, she looked around, feeling eyes on her back. She knew where she was going; before she had left school, the leader of some of the protests at Cliffside had informed her where the anti-Gundam group was gathering in this city. The Cat Scratch hardly sounded like the type of club she would frequent, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Ilene was a woman now, and a child no more. She would do what was right, rather then cower in a corner somewhere, afraid. She would stand up against the Gundam pilots- she would stand up against Duo and make him pay for his crimes.

She could practically see the social groups as she walked through the streets. She had chosen to stay at the cheapest hotel she could find, knowing she would have to conserve her ready cash. By now her parents, if no one else, would be looking for her, and she decided that leaving financial records would be a rapid way for them to find her.

She might be naive, but she wasn't outright stupid. Wandering through the seedier portions of town wasn't a bright move, but that was what she had to do if she joined the Resistance.

She bit her lip as she entered the room. Immediately eyes turned to the young girl at the doorway.

The room was dank and she could almost taste the stale chemicals in the air that lingered like a forgotten lover. All around were the remnants of human society, the dregs that no one wanted to acknowledge as being a friend, a lover, a family member. The voices were loud and violent, and tremors worked their way through her body.

"Well, well- what's the pretty trinket we have here?" the bartender asked.

She looked around, wondering which of these people -these bizarre creatures whom she'd never dreamt existed- was her contact.

"Wanna join me for a drink, love?" a voice cooed at her from a corner. The speaker was a man old enough to be her father. He had teeth that were slightly purple, which she recognized as one of the tell-tale signs of a Kissmet addict.

"Naw.... she'll join me," another person said, slipping up to her. To her horror, it was a woman in her late thirties, tattooed to the extreme.... and wearing little else aside from the macabre paint job.

"No!" Ilene said hurriedly. "I'm here for Treize!" she announced, trying to hide the way her voice was quivering. That was the password.

The room went dead.

"Treize?" the bartender asked. His voice lost its earlier mocking note. "What do you want thirteen of?"

That was the recognition, and she responded by giving him the second greeting. "Not thirteen- it's an unlucky number, you know."

"Unlucky for who?"

"The Preventers, of course," she answered.

A man sitting on the edge of the bar turned and regarded her. He was in his mid-thirties and once might have been handsome, but one side of his face had been badly scarred by fire. He caught her staring. "New Edwards," he said, tilting his head so that the light hit it clearly. One of his eyes had been ruined and replaced with a prosthesis. She wondered why he hadn't had any plastic surgery done. Again, he seemed to read her mind. "I want to remember those bastards, and not give myself an excuse to forget," he said.

She nodded slowly and approached him with caution. "Hello," she said softly.

"How did a girl like you get down to these parts?" he demanded. "You're obviously not local."

The bar burst into laughter at the very idea.

"I was a student at Cliffside Heights until about two weeks ago," she said bitterly.

"Cliffside?" the man said, his one good eye widening. It was brown, she noted distractedly.

"Yes. One of my good friends happened to be named Duo Maxwell," she said, clenching her fists at her sides. "He neglected to inform me that he was a Gundam pilot... my brother died because of him, and he didn't have the courage to tell me the truth!" she burst out.

The man tilted his head. "So why are you here?" he asked. "What can some little priss who's always had her nose wiped for her do for us? Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you and get rid of you now."

"Because you're a smart man. I have connections, and I can get into places you can't. Besides, Duo trusts me... the damn bastard! I will do whatever it takes... even if it kills me!"

"It very well might. Or should I say he? Are you prepared to die?"

"For the first time in my life, I'm prepared to live," she stated firmly.

He considered her for a second longer before producing a gun. She remained ramrod straight and was rewarded as he turned it around so she could grasp the handle.

"I'm Enjolras. Have you ever held a gun before?" he asked her.

She shook her head, looking at him with wide eyes. "No," she answered.

Enjolras smiled at her. "Then it's time you learned. What should I call you?" he asked.

She blinked. "Enjolras comes from Les Misérables, doesn't it?" she asked.

"Yes- Victor Hugo. Wonderful writer. Most of us choose names from books or history- something with significance, to remind us why we are fighting." He handed over the gun to her, which she took with clumsy hands.

Ilene knew she was not naturally talented like her brother, but she resolved to master the weapon she cradled in soft, uncallused hands. She could do this. I will do this for you, big brother. I will finish the battle you never had a chance to begin.

Closing her eyes briefly, she said, "Then call me Jamie."

 
Go to James story Duty

 
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