PART ONE
__________________________________________________________________
"Once as a child he had sat upon a yellow dune by the sea in the
middle of a hot summer day, trying to fill a sieve with sand because some cruel
cousin had said, "Fill this sieve and you'll get a dime!" And the
faster he poured, the faster it sifted through with a hot whispering. His hands
were tired, the sand was burning, the sieve was empty. Seated there in the
midst of July, without a sound, he felt the tears move down his cheeks."
-Ray Bradbury, Fahrenheit 451
__________________________________________________________________
ONE
The alley was quieter than the street. Heero preferred its dark silence
over the festive lights of cars and shops. Even the casual indifference of the
streetlamps was transformed into glowing exuberance during this time of year.
The streets were too busy and too full of life and energy, people and emotions.
He strayed from those to walk amongst the forgotten candy wrappers and
discarded bottles, unused for so long. He belonged here, among the broken
refuse from the redundant past. The concrete giants around him made no sound as
he passed, and the near inaudible step of his worn yellow sneakers on the
cracked asphalt seemed to echo loudly the message of the aimless wandering of
the dust by the infrequent breezes drifting in and out.
It was cold. He pulled the long black coat around him and shoved his hands into
his pockets, more a reflex than anything, as a gust of cold December wind
brushed past him and hurried back to the cheerful avenues where time still
mattered. It felt good to wrap his fingers around the handle of the gun, even
if he did not desire to use it. He grew up as a soldier and he never quite fit
in without battle. It was the only way he could live, and he hated it and he
loved it.
The boy was almost to the end of the passageway when he heard something disturb
the wind behind him. He whirled and pulled his weapon as its cause reached the
asphalt, the sudden noise echoing off the stone and brick with anger and
excitement at the disturbance. Heero aimed even as his dark eyes sought the
target. He focused. “Duo,” he said involuntarily, half-surprised.
Duo Maxwell rose slowly from the crouch he had apparently landed in. A small,
characteristic grin half crossed his face as he tossed his braid behind his
shoulder. “Hey, Heero. How’s it goin’?”
Heero glared and
lowered his gun slightly. “What do you want, Duo?” he asked making the question
a threat. He did it well, Duo noticed.
“Calm
down. You should at least be a little nicer after I went through all this
trouble to find you. You aren’t an easy person to track, you know.”
“There’s a reason.” This statement was even more of a threat.
“I realize that.” His face grew serious, and all traces of a smile disappeared.
“I didn’t come for the company, though. Heero, have you been following the
news?”
“No.”
Duo nodded. “I didn’t think so. Come with me. I have something I need to show you.”
“In the year since Relena Peacecraft-Dorlian assumed control of the World
Sphere, the peace resulting from the former princess’s pacifistic ideals has
declined from the higher level that had been present in the year before. This
began with the assassination attempt on the former president’s life, which led
to his resignation and President Peacecraft-Dorlian’s inauguration. The nations
within the
“My name is Relena Peacecraft and I am the current president of the
"We have just completed a war that consumed the entire earth and her
colonies for many years. During this time, the media was consumed by news and
propaganda pertaining to that struggle. Many factions arose within those
battles because of differing opinions. This created and increased hostility and
friction between the supporters of the varying factions.
"The war is over, yet it continues in the hearts of some. They are still acting
out of the hostility that developed during that time. Many of those most
affected by the war feel oppressed by the absence of conflict. They do not
realize that the war is over and peace is within our grasp. But these people—I
believe they, too, truly desire peace. They will come to understand that this
is the end I am bringing—not control, nor oppression, nor war, but peace. Then
the war will truly be over and peace can finally be realized.”
Heero continued to
stare at the screen long after the colorless afterimage of Relena’s face had
faded and been replaced with another, uninteresting news report about
overproduction in
“The controversy over the issue started about a month ago,” he heard Duo say
from somewhere beside him. It wasn’t bad at first—just a few minor
disagreements among Relena’s bureaucrats. The tension has been growing with the
conflict. Senator Orden, her second in command, has been strongly advocating
for a compromise to settle the disputes. Relena has refused to come down. The
pacifists are breaking apart and the only thing holding them together is her
determined stand on everything. I imagine that the people are going to start
questioning pacifism once these riots spread and the government can’t protect
them, anymore. I’ve been following it, hoping it might improve, but it’s
getting worse by the day. I couldn’t be sure, but it all seemed a bit too
convenient. It looks planned. Or at least guided.”
“Not necessarily controlled by one person.” Heero’s eyes did not move. “It
isn’t that organized.”
“No, it isn’t. It would
have to look as if it’s mass rebellion to succeed. My guess is that there is
one, at most two main factions both staging their own rebellions and
encouraging them in others, intending to overthrow the peaceful democracy once
it falls apart. It has potential. The more tension there is, the more influence
they’ll have. A lot of others are probably feeding off of their actions.” Heero
figured that Duo likely had the situation figured out. It was about what he himself
had surmised from this one broadcast, and he guessed the other former gundam
pilots, assuming they had seen it, had decided as well.
“It’s in response to the pacifist leadership.”
“That’s my guess.”
Heero’s eyes narrowed. Relena Peacecraft-Dorlian, though she had given up
absolute pacifism, was still the figure it hid behind. She was the focal point
for all peaceful ideologies that had developed since OZ had been destroyed. A
peace-oriented government appealed to people, especially those who had suffered
oppression from a strong militaristic government. The world governments
themselves supported the peaceful conditions of the World nation. Relena’s
influence had only strengthened these pacifistic tendencies. Unfortunately,
these sentiments were not shared by all. Heero understood that the desire to
fight was strong in people. He had been raised as the perfect soldier—to fight
and nothing more. He didn’t want to fight, but he knew what it felt to be a
remnant of another era—one where there was a place for people who could do
nothing but fight. Contrary to Relena’s ideals, a lot of people wanted war. Not
everyone wanted peace. War will follow peace. Relena had come to understand to
an extent that peace was a difficult thing. People will not simply throw down
their weapons if someone proclaims peace. But she was still its crucial point.
The continued success of pacifism relied on a strong central figure that could
maintain that peace.
If they were right, whoever was creating these disturbances would either kill
or challenge Relena. The tumult caused by the riots and the inability of the
pacifists to control it would move the people to support the advocates of war
in overthrowing peace. The leader of this insurrection would then rule the
world, most likely in a state similar to the militarism of OZ. If the uprisings
were genuinely random violence, the outcome would be the same, if not as
controlled.
Either way, if Relena’s pacifistic optimism continued, it would doom humanity
to another bloody war. The longer she held out, and the more enmity that
developed within the administration, the more powerful those wanting power and
war would become. The longer Relena Peacecraft lived, the more dangerous the
situation would become. His mind worked fast, and he tried to find an option
that would let him escape from this war. This is not my battle! I am done
fighting! Everything he wanted protested, but he knew he had no choice. He had
been raised as the perfect soldier, and he would continue to be the perfect
soldier because that was all he knew how to do. He finally turned his eyes from
the screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Duo watching him. “It’s all
going to happen again, isn’t it?” he asked rhetorically. Duo didn’t bother to
nod. Heero took a deep breath, looked down to the tired asphalt, and exhaled.
“I thought all my battles were over,” he said in a quiet voice, and walked
away.
Duo followed, and said nothing.
“You can’t be serious, Heero.”
“I’ll do what I have to.” He tried not to look at Duo because he knew what he
would see there. He spoke of battles impassively, and every act was so like the
soldier he was trained to be, as he intended it. Be seeing his success mirrored
in the other’s eyes only made it that much worse. He saw nothing human
there—only the soldier, the killer. But that was the easy part.
Heero had been trained to forget his humanity and complete his missions. But
that did not mean that he didn't have one left. It was only hidden. Then he had
suddenly found himself surrounded by so many strong emotions that his own began
to emerge. He resisted it, but began to care about people and care whether they
lived or died. He started to remember feelings and emotions and things that
he’d half chosen to forget. He realized now that it was the painful memories
that one wants to forget, but should remember, because it is from those
memories that one can learn.
So it was that Heero Yuy had become human again by some process that he himself
did not understand. Yet he kept this masked by the guise of the Perfect
Soldier, the role he refused to stop playing. It was as natural and necessary
to him as anything else he did. He stayed behind that façade to complete his
missions—the weapon one uses to kill must never doubt its actions. Whenever he
felt something—anything—he had to retreat even farther, and the soldier became
stronger.
So he left again, expressionless and perfect, a weapon once more. The weapon
obeys. Nothing more. He knew nothing else to do. There was nothing else he
could do. He could only become a warrior again, if only to prevent history from
repeating itself and creating another Heero Yuy.
Kyu Hayakawa was watching the president while she spoke. She spoke of peace, as
she always did, but today, she seemed to feel the futility of her arguments.
The watcher had spent a lot of time around Relena, and for the year she had
been President, she had been more adamant about pacifism than any other time. Kyu
assumed it had something to do with the Maremaia incident, but Relena would not
speak of it. It was one of many things that they could not agree on. Today,
however, the President seemed to realize that her peace was breaking. Problems
had more of an effect on her than some realized.
Relena was quiet now; the audience applauding. Kyu was probably the only one
who saw the young president raise her eyes after the speech. But she saw her
head tilt slightly, her lips part silently. The Japanese girl followed her
sight, up and to the left. Her eyes reached the balcony as she saw him. The
hand, the gun, the trigger, and the girl moved as one, to save and destroy. The
savior fell a moment after the bullet, and the body convulsed a moment before
the body landed, bleeding and limp, in her arms.
The shot rang through the assembly hall and the entirety of it descended on
Relena Peacecraft. Kyu looked not to the victim, however, because she already
knew that Relena was dead. Her eyes searched the balcony again, and there, in
the shadows, she saw the assassin, his stare fixed on the chaos below. Those
cold eyes could never feel anything. Not even hate. They rose and met hers for
half an instant. Then he was gone. She never even saw him turn away.
The ambulance arrived
soon after. The movement around her had faded to a dull pulse. She noticed
nothing of the senators and politicians, some in shock and all inept, or the
medical staff, all of which was pretending that there was still a chance to
save her, or of the tears streaming down hers own face. She did not know why
they were there; she felt nothing. She smelled blood and metal and felt cold,
hard wood. A hard, dark spot of hatred sparked and grew, becoming a bright,
angry flame. She looked up to the balcony again. Nothing
existed around her anymore. There was only her, and the face of that boy—eyes
as grey and cold as the gun in his hand.
I will remember you.
The face was burned into her memory. I will find out who you are. I will find
out everything about you—your name, your parents’ names, your favorite color.
And then I will find you, and I will kill you.
TWO
"Where are you going?"
"Something has to be done about this Peacecraft situation," Wufei
replied.
"It will," she protested. "The Preventers will see it done.
That's what we're here for. Keeping peace."
"I was at the meeting! I know what happened. I know what's been happening.
This isn't just a little revolution. I've seen how badly it's been breaking up,
and I figured something like this would happen sooner or later. The Preventers
can't keep the peace this time." He pulled open the bottom drawer, shoving
the one above it far enough closed to reach inside, and began transferring the
last part his small collection of clothing to the gym bag on his bed.
"Wufei-"
"Don't argue with me, woman."
"Why do you think you can do something by yourself that the whole
organization of the Preventers can't?"
"Because I've fought this war before,
"We can find the assassin-"
"It has nothing to do with the assassin, Shannon." I already know who
killed her. He paused over his keyboard, glancing around the tiny bedroom of
his tiny apartment. It was small, sparsely furnished, neat, clean.
"Why? Tell me, Wufei."
"I can't"
"You're always hiding the past! I hardly know anything about you."
Her voice softened, and he could see gentle tears sparkling at the corners of
her eyes. "Tell me."
Wufei sighed.
"No, Wufei!" She stood, barring his exit. "Not until you tell me
why."
He examined her for a long, intense moment. She deserves to know. "I'm a
Gundam pilot."
"Liar."
"I was the pilot of the Gundams Shenlong and Altron. That's why I have to
go. Because I'm strong enough to protect those who are weaker than me."
"That time is over. Mobile suits are gone."
"Not necessarily forever."
"Do you even have a Gundam any more?"
"Stupid girl!" he shouted, his patience exhausted. He grabbed both of
her shoulders violently. "You don't understand. You can't understand.
Leave it alone. Sometimes things have to be done." Wufei moved her to one
side and passed through the door. "Give Sally the key, would you? It's her
apartment, after all."
"Things have to be done? Even if it means you lose someone you care
about?" she threatened.
He smiled sadly. "Yes. Or because you already have."
"Then it's over."
"I'm sorry." He turned to the hallway.
Night crept through the room, casting shadows where the pale luminosity of the
moon did not reach. A soft-soled, black leather shoe lowered to the soft, rich
carpet, followed by its brother, a twin but for the faint streak of blood along
the outside. The shoes waited in the darkness, listening to the faint whispers
of the silent house, and, assured of safe passage, the man who wore them
crossed the threshold of the moonlight in the window and reached toward the
still, warm creature lying within his warm, silken sheets. A knife rang
silently through the gray silhouettes of tree branches rustling over the
slumbering form, light cascading down its silver length to the clean, sharp
blade at its end. It raised, slowly, and, as the man smiled, plunged toward
it's victim.
The hand that held the
blade stopped surprised, as the wrist could move no further. The assassin's
target leaped from the bed and twisted his muscles around in an iron like grip.
The assassin likewise twisted ducking under his target and kicking up with his
foot. The target dodged, leaping into the air and foregoing his hold on his
would-be killer. He landed behind the attacker, a blade of his own
materializing to deliver one, quick slice to the throat of the assassin.
Shocked, a pair of eyes widened in pain, faded, and died.
Quatre Raberba Winner stood.
Wiping blood from his blade on a stained cloth to his right and flicking a
light switch absentmindedly, he dropped it into the drawer on his bedside table
and stepped over the body, sighing. Upon reaching the wall, he pressed a
button. After a moment, a response echoed through the intercom speaker.
"Another one?" Rashid asked with concern.
"Yes. I've taken care of it. Do something with the body, with you?"
"We'll be right there."
As he turned from the speaker, he glanced around the room and sighed. "I
could use a hot shower," he decided. Quatre flipped the light off once
more and circled around the body toward the bathroom. As the steaming water
cascaded down his back, he thought about what he should have for breakfast, and
tried to ignore reminders of everything he had to do afterward.
Quatre's face popped up on the screen with a blip, appearing as harangued as he
usually did when Trowa spoke to him. His wet hair hung dripping down his
forehead, a wet towel slung around his neck. He smiled wearily. "Hey,
Trowa."
"Quatre," Trowa greeted quietly, with an unobtrusive hint of concern
in his voice, "are you all right?"
"Fine, fine," Quatre responded. "Just a hard night, an assassin
or two. You know, the usual."
"I see," Trowa responded neutrally. Quatre had changed a lot in the
past year. Ever since taking over his father's business and fortunes, he had
become constantly busy, overworked, and a target of many assassins on the
payroll of financial and corporate competitors, politicians, and insane breeds
of royal ancestry who occasionally like to see a rich man stabbed in his bed.
It was starting to affect his good-naturedness.
"I suppose you've heard. About Relena Peacecraft, I mean."
"Relena? Nothing. I...fell asleep early..." he trailed off and began
staring incoherently toward something offscreen to the right.
"Quatre?"
He started. "Sorry. Abdul asked me something. What is this about?"
"Relena. she's been assassinated."
"Relena's been assassinated?" he repeated, mulling this over while
pushing his soaked bangs from his eyes. "You don't think it was...?"
"Yes. I've spoken with Duo already. Catherine isn't happy with me, but I
she understands, so I'm going to meet him."
"I imagine this means another war. Well, we saw it coming, didn't
we?"
Kyu slipped quietly around the edge of the building, tracing the wall with the
palm of her hand, listening, watching, exploring. It had been
difficult—extremely difficult—and she was not entirely convinced that she was
right. The face of the assassin was etched deeply into her memory, and she had
an extraordinary memory, but not quite perfect.
Still, it amazed her how quickly she had found him. He was in the database at
the Peacecraft Estates, the ancestral home of the
The
Very ominous indeed.
This was it. She needed to find him and kill him. And only then would she tell
the
“...starting to worry. He comes out to eat and every now and then he works, but
he spends most of his time in his room with the door locked. And now he’s run
away.”
“Calm down, Maxwell,” another voice broke in harshly. “Yuy’s not the type of
guy who commits suicide.”
“He used to be,” another voice pointed out. “He could have regressed.”
“It isn’t our business,” a calm, quiet voice intervened. “Heero
can take care of himself.”
“You’re right,” the original voice admitted. “Still…Hey, did you hear
something?” Kyu started. She had slipped on a stone and mouthed a curse as she
heard chairs turning. They began whispering to one another urgently, and Kyu
decided that it was probably about time to run. Yuy wasn’t there anyway.
She fled down the side of the building, leaping over the rocks in her path and
trusting her feet not to falter. As she rounded the corner, she nearly slid
into a brick wall blocking her path. Someone was coming up behind her, she
realized. With a less than savory string of words, she catapulted herself to
the top of the wall and jumped to catch the roof. Kyu swung both feet against
the wall and flipped up onto the rooftop. She was about to smile as her pursuer
failed to follow, but another one loomed out of the night in front of her. And
he had a gun.
Again, she swore. "Not my night," the Japanese girl muttered
irritably, trying to think of some way out. Her gun was too far out of reach,
she was sure; after all, this was a most likely Gundam pilot she was dealing
with.
"Who are you?" a deep voice demanded in her silence. He stepped
closer. Not a tall boy, but she could tell he was muscular underneath his
loose clothing. Chinese, she noted with disgust. Her mind flicked through her
research to produce the name Wufei Chang.
"Who are you," he repeated dangerously.
"My name is Kyu," she responded coldly.
"What are you--"
"Wufei," the quiet voice interjected. She glanced to the side,
observing the pale-skinned boy walk toward them. Trowa Barton, she induced.
"We should go inside. We will all be much more comfortable in there,"
he explained, hinting at his meaning with a subtle shading in his voice. Kyu
stood silently by as they shared a wordless conversation. Meanwhile, two others
had appeared. The one with the braid would be Duo Maxwell, and the other just
about anyone would know as Quatre Winner. Wufei nodded over his shoulder,
toward the door. His meaning was unmistakable. Surrounded by the four Gundam
pilots, she slowly followed Barton toward the door and down into the pilot's
lair.
The woman stepped from the car, her long, thin heels clicking as the connected
with the cracked and infested concrete, their ebony surfaces glinting in the
pale morning sun. She smoothed her long, thin fingers over the white-tipped
black fur draped around her long, thin form. Her dark crimson lips glittered as
she turned her head to either side, examining the ruins with her dark, piercing
eyes.
"The Gundams destroyed this place," she whispered, almost reverently.
"It was one of the best bases controlled by OZ, heavily fortified and
well-defended. but they leveled it as if it were a mound of sand. Five against
hundreds." The dark wine mouth sparkled as it curved upward. "You ask
why I respect them so much? It is because they have power. An extraordinary
power. It won a war once, and prevented it once more, almost completely on its
own merit. That is the force I must control."
Her subordinates absorbed the crumbling steel and concrete withering in the
sun. As the long, thin lips closed, the French woman stepped beside her, neatly
tucking her perfect blonde curls behind one ear. Perfect like the rest of her
misleadingly innocent beauty. "I thought the Gundams were destroyed."
"Yvette," the other replied mockingly. "Nothing is ever
destroyed while the means and knowledge exist to remake it."
"But, Natasha, we can't be sure the Gundams will respond the way you
intend," a rough voice observed from behind her.
"They will."
Natasha laughed for the sheer thrill of her anticipated glory. Her clear voice
rang over the cold, silent desolation. "Now that Relena Peacecraft is
dead, my dear Raúl, the world is on the verge of chaos. One tiny nudge will
send it tumbling over the edge. And when chaos arises, my excellent associates,
the Gundams will most definitely follow."
They encircled their captive with suspicion and curiosity. "Who are you
working for?" Maxwell demanded of her.
"Nobody," she replied venomously. "I never have, and I never
will."
"Then why were you prying around here? There's nothing to steal, and I'm
sure you know that."
"It's not any concern of yours!" she snapped.
Maxwell leaned in
close, his braid falling in front of his shoulder as he fixed her glare with an
equally dangerous gaze. "This is my home and my business. I would say that
finding someone sneaking around it is my concern."
"We're trained assassins, you know," Winner put in. "We've all
killed in cold blood, and we'll do it again if we have to." It was not a
threat; he merely wanted to inform her of the situation. She observed the four
pilots, her mind thinking rapidly of any way out. What the hell, she thought at
last. "I came here to kill Yuy," she admitted quietly.
"Heero?" Trowa asked, a hint of surprise leaking into his voice.
"Why?"
"He killed Relena Peacecraft. Don't deny it either. I saw him do it!"
"Peacecraft?" Maxwell exclaimed. "You were with
Peacecraft?"
"Yes. I was. She helped me, and I stayed with her because I had nowhere
else to go. Maybe I'm not a pacifist," she spoke the word with extreme
distaste, "or anything, but Relena was everything. I have to fight for
her." Chang raised a brow.
"She's dead. You can't bring her back, so why not forget about it?"
Quatre said in a dispassionate tone.
"And I'm fighting because she's dead!"
"That doesn't make any sense," Maxwell protested.
Chang forestalled his
further complaints with one hand. "She means in place of Relena, don't
you." Kyu nodded wordlessly, reevaluating the Chinese pilot. "Can I
talk to you three over here for a second?" He walked out of earshot. The
others followed suit, assuming that tying her to a chair in a room with one
door and no windows was probably good enough to hold her.
"I think we should let her go," he explained.
"Are you nuts?" Duo inquired.
"She isn't a threat to us here. All she cares about is Yuy, and even
that's just because she's lost someone."
"That's unusually sensitive, Fei, my man," Duo remarked with a grin.
"Got a crush on the girl or something?"
"I've been where she is. I for one won't punish her for it. Do what you
like. I'm going to get a sandwich."
As the door shut behind him, Duo scratched his head. "I have no idea what
we should do."
"I think Heero's problems are his own," Trowa offered. "It would
probably seem as if we were protecting him in Heero's mind. He's the type of
guy who likes to handle his own problems. What we have to worry about is
whether she is a threat to the four of us and our operations here."
"If we have to leave," Duo added, "I don't know where we'll find
this much metal again. I vote we keep her here and let Yuy deal with her."
"I don't think she has any intentions other than those mentioned. I side
with Wufei."
"Well, then, Quatre, the vote's up to you."
After a pensive moment, Quatre began to speak. "I don't think she is a
threat to us. But without Heero we have a much smaller chance of success. If I
were being assassinated, I would kill the one responsible. But then
again...Heero has shown in the past that he doesn't like to carry the guilt of
innocents. I think part of his guilt at Relena's death is due to the fact that
she was never our enemy. I do not think he would like the idea of us
withholding his retribution." He met the eyes of both of his fellow
pilots. "Besides, she's good, but not against the four of us. I say
we let her go."
As their conference ended, Maxwell produced a knife from his pocket and cut
away the ropes around her hands. "We won't hold you here, Kyu. This time.
You shouldn't play around with people like us or else you could get hurt.
Consider this a warning. If we see you again..." The knife disappeared
into his pocket as he offered a hand to help her up. His eyes showed the
honesty in his next statement. "We kill you."
THREE
May 2, A.C. 199
Account of the Events
Following the Assassination of Relena Peacecraft-Dorlian
"It has been four months since the assassination of Relena
Peacecraft-Dorlian. In the wake of this tragedy, the world was irrevocably
changed. The young and vibrant ruler of the world was a great source of comfort
and security for many people, despite her youth and relative inexperience. Her
sudden removal has caused in the citizens of earth and the colonies to react in
confused and insecure. Minor disagreements due to the policies of pacifism
instituted by the former Queen and her subordinate officials have escalated
into cases of civil unrest worldwide. Many countries have broken away from the
"The mass production of weapons resulted in the reintroduction of mobile
suits, the weapon foresworn at the end of the Christmas 196 incident. It was
believed that the destruction of these weapons would ensure the peoples of
earth and the colonies that peace could be accomplished. The past three years
have been peaceful and untroubled by wars. Authorities are claiming that the
assassin, still unknown, is part of an anarchy group that intended to bring
down the
"The governing influence of the
"So far the violence has been mostly contained to skirmishes over
territory disputes, due to the
"The Gundams were allegedly destroyed after the neutralization of the
Maremaia Incident. The public opinion is that the reports of such an occurrence
were false and that the
signed:
David Harrenhelm,
Minister of Civil Affairs
"People don't like what we're doing," Duo commented, his eyes
narrowed on the news broadcast.
"They don't understand," Heero offered quietly. "They think that
we want war because we are fighting. It's simple."
Duo took an agitated
sip from his cola and returned to his comic book, sighing in resignation.
"I guess people'll never catch on to what the Gundams really mean."
He read for a moment, and then brightened again as he addressed the other.
"Hey, what'd you think of my modifications?"
"You mean the ones that you put in after I told you I wanted it exactly
like the original?"
"Yes," Duo admitted cautiously, "those modifications."
"The laser rifle was too much." Duo had installed a massive laser on the
right shoulder of Wing Zero, which was twice as powerful as the twin buster
rifle that the original had featured and which he had, naturally, also
installed.
"The missiles were fine though?" he asked skeptically.
"I can always use more missiles."
Very true, thought Duo, who was well acquainted with the fact that as far as
explosives were concerned, more was definitely better. He began reading his
book once more while Heero examined the news report. After a short moment,
Heero stood and swung his denim jacket from the chair to his shoulders. As he
headed for the door, Duo asked, "Where are you going?"
"I'll be back," the Japanese pilot offered.
"Hey, while you're up," Duo suggested, "why don't you get me a
refill?" The door shut softly.
Duo sighed in exasperation. "People are so lazy sometimes," he
complained.
Une dropped her head to her hands and sighed. Since the foundation of the
Preventers, she had never felt this helpless. Not even during the Maremaia
incident had they been so utterly unprepared for a crisis. "There's
nothing we can do. The people are beyond reconciliation. I wish we had done
something to quell this unease before it grew so violently out of proportion. I
should have guessed there was something deeper that a little malcontent in
this."
"Wufei did, that's for sure," Sally commented from her position by
the window. She glanced out over the city. Sally had taken to wearing her hair
into one blonde twist behind her head instead of two on the side. She and Wufei
had not spoken much in the past few months before he left, even though before
they had been friends, as close as Wufei would allow someone to come. Even that
girl Shannon didn't know half as much about the boy as she thought.
"Yes, and we should have listened more carefully to him." He knew
what he was doing, most of the time. He analyzed everything, and Une had come
to respect him and value his insights. But she had believed that he was wrong
this time, and now they were caught defending their peace against an
overwhelming foe.
"Do you think those boys are on our side?" Noin questioned her
superior.
It was not Une who answered, but Zechs Merquise, who was seated to her left.
"The Gundams aren't on anyone's side. No one powerful anyway. They are
there to protect the innocents."
"As they have always been. I don' think I will have an easy time
convincing the Council of it. They’ve already elected Seth Ross as president
pro tempore, and he is firmly against the Gundams. The Gundams are terrorists
in his opinion, anxious for anarchy and rebellion, thirsty for violence and
inconsiderate of the demands of state and law."
"If he is against the Gundams," Sally said, "then I am against
him."
"As am I," Une declared, glancing around the table at her
subordinates. "The Preventers stand for the
"As do I," Zechs announced quietly.
"I'm with you, too," Noin inserted, with a small smile.
"Well, then," Une commented, I suppose our next order of business is
finding someone to leave in charge."
Quatre yawned sleepily as he entered the kitchen, grabbed an apple of
questionable age from the table and collapsed into the chair opposite Trowa.
"Have a nice night?" Trowa asked, moving a knight against Wufei's
bishop.
The blonde pilot grinned. "Yes, I did." His tone suggested why this
might be so, a possibility that made Wufei raise a brow in skepticism.
"Who are you and what have you done with Quatre?" Duo demanded, pounding
his fist on the table.
"Shut up, Maxwell," Wufei commanded, moving his queen leisurely to
intercept Trowa's knight.
"You should be more careful, Quatre. It would be bad if word of our
location reached the
"Callista is as safe as any of my sisters."
"Besides," Duo interjected pointedly, "you let that Japanese
chick get away."
"That was different," Wufei said. "Quatre's inviting her
in."
"Hey, sorry, guys. It's gotten kind of boring without dealing with
millions of dollars and assassins every day," he explained.
"Being rich is hard work, you know."
"I can only imagine," Duo responded caustically, "the
unspeakable burden you must carry."
Quatre's smile reflected his sarcasm. "Anyway," he said, standing and
throwing the apple core to the trashcan, "if you want me to send her away,
I will."
"Be careful, Quatre," Trowa responded. The others said nothing.
Quatre nodded and, pushing both hands into his pockets, began walking back down
the grey hallway.
"He's changed a lot," Duo commented sagely.
"The rest of us aren't living that differently than when we were fighting
in the war. Heero wandering from place to place, me with the circus, you with
the salvage business. Wufei--" Trowa smiled.
"I will hate all of you forever," interjected the Chinese pilot
without removing his gaze from the chessboard. "No matter how many women
are telling me what to do."
"Quatre's had to adjust to taking over his father's business and dealing
with the popularity and enmity his success causes,"
Trowa continued, "it's a very different pressure
than anything we four have ever faced."
"I guess it's a lot different than being a Gundam pilot," Duo agreed
with a sigh. "But I really miss the old Quatre."
"Ah," Wufei announced, moving his rook toward Trowa's king. "Checkmate."
Kyu examined her machine with a mixture of pride and excitement. Eight tons of
sheer metal, a creation of staggering power, towering sixteen meters above
where she admired it. The weapons systems outlined in the designs were
substandard compared to Wing Zero and the other four Gundams, but she had made
her own modifications, adding an extra set of beam cannons, some missiles (one
can never have too many missiles) and a few extra thermal blades--she preferred
knives to swords, and although she had kept the traditional beam sabre, she had
added a pair of long heated knives, similar to Sandrock's heat shotels, only
longer and with jagged edges. She had also modified the head and body structure
for the sake of aerodynamics. The final product looked almost nothing like Wing
Gundam; it was black and smooth and undoubtedly faster than Wing or Wing Zero.
But anyone who knew about Mobile Suits would be able to tell where the design
had originated.
"As you can see, the Gundam is nearly finished. A few more plates and some
wiring and it should be ready." She turned to President Ross as he gauged
her creation critically. He was a young man, only thirty-four, but a long way
from Relena Peacecraft. His face was thin and angular, and his sharp stern eyes
were ice-blue and narrow. His hairline had already begun to recede, and it gave
his pale complexion a distinguished look, which was one reason he was such an
excellent man for the position. Kyu disliked him instinctively; he was the
worst sort of politician to be found. But he had granted her the means to build
her Gundam, so she dealt with him.
"Well, Miss Hayakawa, your Gundam is impressive, no doubt, but how does it
compare with the other five?"
"As well as anything could, Excellency. It is equal to any of the Gundams
individually, although two at once is a force that it is probably impossible to
parallel with any one machine."
"Excellent. How soon will it be operational?"
"Within the week," Kyu responded promptly. "As soon as it is
ready, you will be informed."
"Wonderful. You impress me, Miss Hayakawa. It will not go unrewarded if it
is at all within my power." Kyu raised a mental brow. Within his power? He
had his agendas and they were very clearly marked. For the time, she would do
his dirty work, and when she was done with hers, she would break all contact
with the man. She did not think she would destroy the Gundam. The closer it
came to completion, the more she longed to fly it.
"And what do you call this machine?" the president enquired, gazing
up at its immobile face.
"It's name is Wing Nine." It towered above them, silent, and Kyu
smiled.
______________________________________________
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