Dealing with the Consequences
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Title: Dealing with the Consequences
Part: 1/2
Author: Genji (Genji_15@excite.com)
Warnings: Angst, language, deathfic, some squickiness, weirdness, might be some spoilers, references to history (don't worry, I try to explain them all...)
Feedback: Craved
Category: Response to Rinoa Star's idea
Status: Final
Disclaimer: I don't have any money, so even if I did claim to own them, you wouldn't get diddley. So go sue someone with the money to make it profitable. I hear Bill Gates is due for a good suing.
Notes: This is after the Eve Wars and EW...not everything has turned out as expected. That said, let us proceed...
*emphasis*
//thoughts//
[translation]
~*~change of scene
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Life was good. After breezing through some IQ tests, getting his GED, and acing his SATs and SAT II's, Duo had made it into the archaic college known as Cornell. It was in a small college town, where time itself seemed to have slowed ever so slightly. And it snowed. That was the main reason the American had chosen it out of all those that clamored at his door offering him scholarships; Cornell, with its open campus and historical feeling, and the snow. He had always wanted to see snow. Of course, he had seen it in passing; who hadn't? However, Duo had never built a snowman, never shoveled a walk, never complained about the temperature. They didn't have uncomfortable weather on the colonies.
Upon arriving at the Ivy League school, Duo had chosen his courses, and, happily, started going to classes. The lectures themselves were interesting-- covering topics he never knew existed. Student life was also an adventure in itself, since Duo had missed all the parties and student politics that always seem to run rampant through the high school years.
However, the only thing that wasn't new was dorm life, which to majority of the student body was one of the most nerve-racking experiences. Duo was prepared, having survived sharing a room with a certifiable psychotic. His roommate was one of those good-looking intellectuals. Felix, with his easy smile and charming manners found his way to every girl's heart-- and bed, for that matter.
Upon his arrival, the man had made it clear to Duo that he was in charge, and that girls would visit almost nightly. Duo had nodded, half paying attention as he scanned the small room.
"Where will I be when all this happens?" Duo had asked.
"I am not your mother, but I assure you, you shall be absent from this room upon those nights that I chose to return with a fair lady upon my arm."
//Pompous fool.// Duo had said nothing, but waited for the man to say one more thing to anger him. However, Felix had simply turned his attention back to his desktop, where he was downloading some questionable pictures. Nevertheless, Duo had felt happy that he was among his peers, pompous roommate be damned, he would survive.
Psychotic or egotistical idiot-- weren't they all the same?
~*~
Wufei woke up, drenched in sweat. Nataku haunted his dreams, calling him, asking him why he had destroyed the only thing that meant anything to him. He had quit the Preventers since the memories just hung about the place. The smells, the sights-- all empty without the reassuring spectacle of his silent friend-- no, he reminded himself, gundam. Still-- the dreams pursued him.
The Chinese youth got up, tossing on his tank as he padded into the small kitchen of his one bedroom apartment. He put some water on for tea, and sat at the table, looking mournfully out into the over-crowded cityscape. The population boom had been the cause of his job, not that he relished it-- far from it-- he loathed it. However, with more mouths to feed, there were even more people out in the work market, searching for a job, any job. There were times when he wished for the reassurance that the Preventers had offered him, and then Nataku would come, accusing him of being weak.
The kettle whistled its high-pitched tone, as the steam escaped, grating at his ears and his already raw nerves. Wufei threw in some tealeaves and brought the mug with him to the table, looking out once more into the lightening sky. Absentmindedly, he took a sip of the steaming concoction, only to launch the liquid across the table, as he came up with a mouthful of the plant. Grumbling, he grabbed a strainer, and filtered the green-tinted infusion. The youth returned to the table, and savored the quiet start to what would be another regretful day.
~*~
Trowa looked wistfully out at the passing scenery on his way to work. He didn't know why he didn't quit and search for something where he could get his hands dirty. The tall man pulled uneasily at his tie, already choking him in the Mediterranean heat. His bangs, still untamable, hung limply over one eye, refusing to obey any attempt at looking 'perky.'
Clerical work. That was Trowa's current lot in life-- filing, addressing, typing, and taking dictations every day, all day. It seemed hopeless. He wanted to return to the circus, yet the memories that hung there, within the society where he had hidden during the war when he wasn't piloting, chased him. His sister, though he loved her dearly, didn't understand. Plus, there was a feeling of doom that hung about him. He didn't want his sorrow to drag her down with him.
No, it was best to lay low in Italy, where there was work, as mundane as filing could be. No one would miss him if he suddenly didn't show up one day. There were others clambering to replace him, others with better credentials, no doubt.
~*~
Heero woke up, more tired than when he went to sleep. The park would be open at 6 AM, and it was then when they shooed all the vagrants out. No one cared about the homeless these days. The youth stretched and got up from his hiding place in the brush. His soiled and torn clothes hung loosely over his thin frame. A beard had appeared upon a once clean-shaven chin, and his normally tousled hair had grown long and unruly. The dark mass reached his shoulders, and his bangs were in need of a serious trimming. Grime and grease had been absorbed into each and every lock.
The Japanese youth gathered up his tattered bag and walked away, going wherever he pleased, with no one manipulating him. And yet... he still felt like a mannequin, controlled by someone beyond his cognition. Thus he roamed, for he had no point in life, having been told what to do for as long as he could remember.
~*~
Quatre rubbed a callused hand on the apron tied about his waist and looked up into the glowing sun. Earth was a nice place-- if you had money. He was a workingman now, having been disinherited by his late father, scorned at by his estranged sisters, and jaded of being waited on hand and foot by well meaning, but over bearing servants. Now he had a purpose, and it was what he had been searching for-- for as long as he could remember. The hole had been filled. Now he plied hands at a new trade-- bus boy.
The Arab cracked his neck, feeling the star's heat through his black T-shirt. It was not yet noon, but soon the working class would storm in and demand cheap eats. They got them, too. Dot, an entrepreneur who had raised herself out of the mire of life by the seat of her pants, was a tough boss to work for. Despite the 'heart warming' story of how Chez Crokaire came about, Dot had not risen to the rank of ownership through kindness and generosity, and it showed in the management of the 'piece of her heart,' as she called the low cost restaurant on the Corsican coast. Everyone worked at minimum wage for 12 hours, with two 15-minute breaks. It was honest work, humbling though it might be.
Quatre turned back into the kitchen as the cook started screeching his name. "Qua-aaaatre! We have dirty tables and waiting consumers. Get your ass in gear, and hop to it! Do I have to smack some sense into you?" the ebony skinned lady threatened. The youth dodged a swatting hand and hurried out the swinging door, followed by a string of good-natured curses, interjected with admonitions.
Sydney-- she was a rare bird. Dot had offered the loyal cook advancement, but the woman had shaken her head, and replied in her eloquent French, "Someone must keep the new recruits in line, Dot. Hell, I'd like to see someone try and do as good a job as I have. You won't be laying me out to pasture as long as I have breath in my body."
The hard lined woman hadn't insisted, which was peculiar, since the 50 some-odd-year-old always had to have her way. However, truth be told, she feared the tall African that stood before her, strong arms crossed over her immaculate white T-shirt. Dot let Sydney have her way on that issue, but in retaliation she had put out help wanted signs to keep the dark skinned beauty hopping. That's why, without even a high school diploma, Quatre had been hired.
Before coming to Dot's domain, he had tried to find scholarly work, but with no prestigious degree he had been laughed out of every institute he had applied to. Even colleges wouldn't have him without at least a GED and SAT scores. The Arab could have made it into any school his heart desired, but he had neither the time nor the money to cut through all the red tape and fill out all the necessary forms. Thus, he had resigned himself to the fate of the uneducated and set out into the wide world to look for work. It was there that Dot met Quatre and Quatre met Sydney, she who was his drill sergeant, his boss, his sister, his teacher, his psychiatrist.
Sydney herself had seen the boy's potential. He seemed willing and able while he lacked the dark aura that hung about most of the newly hired kids. Most of her underlings were war orphans, ones that had killed on the war-torn and barricaded streets for food, medical supplies, clothes, and even drugs. However, the Arabian had none of that desperateness about, and being around him was like a breath of fresh air in a stuffy kitchen. Sydney would never let him know that.
She had grown up with hard labor and expected the same from her minions. The twenty-eight year old had begun to work at the age of eight, cooking in her mother's bakery. From there, she had risen to own the place until it had been destroyed in the turmoil that followed the breakout of the Eve Wars. Sydney had been left destitute and wandering in the gutter. Soon soup kitchens had been opened and the woman had started standing in line for a questionable tasting goulash.
Firm and unyielding, she had taken her complaints to the nun in charge, who had brashly replied, "You try and do better." Famous last words. Soon the hungry lined up for blocks in order to get their share of SOS, as it became known on the streets. The kitchen had closed down at the end of the war, and once more Sydney was looking for work. During one of her forays for government help, she was approached by a shady, graying woman. Dot had offered the woman a job, having tasted the food put forth by the well-known woman during her own time of desperation. Sydney accepted, wishing nothing more than to be able to stand on her own two feet. From small beginnings rose Chez Crokaire.
Quatre busied himself about the tables, clearing away the breakfast dishes that some lingering bruncher had left. He hefted the tub filled with dirty dishes, and scurried to the kitchen, where Eva was up to her armpits in soapsuds. The brunette smiled at her quiet coworker. In the background Sydney was roaring at Jan for burning something.
"You fucking idiot! Were you born with your head up your ass? As you can clearly see, black does not mean that this is underdone! It's a fucking waste of..."
"She's at it again."
"She only uses words," Quatre remarked evenly.
"To you, maybe. But I've seen her come this close to actually smacking him."
"Did she?"
"No. Come on, help me," Eva pleaded.
"Dot won't be thrilled. I have tables to do."
"Dot-snot. She makes our lives miserable, exploits the hell outta us. It would be better if she were dead."
"You ever kill anyone?"
"Well, no."
"Then don't talk. No one should die," the Arab replied, calling to mind what he had done when most of the employees had been off fending for themselves.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I have tables."
Quatre left the stupefied girl chasing the meaning of his words, like the soap at the bottom of the sink. No, they didn't understand. How could they? He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. It was nice here. No one cared about his past, if he were rich or poor, or even of this planet.
~*~
"I expect you to vacate this area in a timely fashion, Duo." Felix remarked, as the longhaired freshman emerged from the small bathroom.
"Whose turn is it this time?"
"You make it appear that I am naught more than a common womanizer."
"Well, you are. Aren't you? Juggling two girls, one to regurgitate stuff so you don't hafta read the text, and the other to simply look pretty."
"That is beside the point. How would you know the intimacy that goes on between Yeo and I or Claudette and I?"
"The walls are thin, brainiac."
"Your snide comments are far from appreciated."
"You want me gone? Fine, then you gotta help me untangle this mess," Duo remarked, indicating the knee length hair. He raised his hands and started to pull his fingers through the damp clump. He was tired. He had been tired for a long time. Normally he wouldn't let anyone touch his mane, but the fatigue made it seem like a Herculean task.
"It would be more maintainable if you should shear it to a shorter span."
"Ah, that thought has never occurred to me. I must be a complete idiot. Thank you for your insightful comment. Your advice is always appreciated. I adore your criticism."
"No one values sarcasm, Duo. It is quite an unattractive attribute to possess."
"Well aren't you Mr. Sunshine? It's not my fault if it takes an hour to get this stuff under control."
"I refuse to brush another man's hair. It will ruin my reputation."
"As a womanizer? I don't think any reputation could be more tarnished. I suggested because I know you want me outta here ASAP. Hell, I'd blow this place as fast as I could, but I tend not to enjoy having half my hair ripped outta my head when it dries in knots. But I'll be happy to linger here, and personally give my regards to whoever is coming. Is it Claudette? Last night you spent 6 hours with her on the couch going over some subject or other. I think it was anatomy, right?"
Felix sighed, turned about 360 degrees by circuitous logic, and willing to do anything to get rid of his loathed roommate. He picked up the brush proffered by the longhaired American, who started on his left side with another one. The Greek commenced, swearing under his breath about the humility of it all. He ran his fingers through the thick mass, trying to undo as many of the tangles as he could. Duo was viciously attacking the knots at the end of the damp expanse.
Felix followed suit, but with each swipe of the brush, handfuls of chestnut waves separated from the skull and attached themselves to the brush. A small bald spot appeared on the side that he was supposed to be seeing to. The man stopped, for once speechless.
"D-duo?"
"What now? Claudette's peaking into the window?"
Felix showed his roommate the brush.
"So I'm shedding. What else is new?"
Frustrated, the Greek grabbed Duo's right hand, and forced him to feel the bare skin on his head.
"Shit," Duo muttered.
"What?"
"Never mind. Forget it. Have a great night, Fel. I hope you'll let me in come morning. I don't wanna hafta climb through the window and into some compromising situation."
Duo pony-tailed the hair, threw a new shirt on to replace the former, which had become soaked from the water, still clinging to the tresses.
~*~
Wufei slipped into his blood stained lab coat and walked down the straw strewn aisle. The new stock shifted within the confines of the corral. Outside, the cracking of bullwhips and the yelling of men could be heard as they drove the last of the inmates into the area of death. A dun stallion bugled to his mares, who answered him with frantic calls.
Wufei tried to push the pictures that formed in his head out of sight, out of mind. His coworker, the one that slit the throats, nodded to him. Everyone here was grim, save for the drivers. They didn't have to deal with the blood. Soon the chute would open, and one by one the horses bought for their meat would be driven into the confines of the killing stall. It was Wufei's job to shatter their skulls with an air driven bolt. Grab the tossing head, center the gun, pull the trigger, and send the still live animal down the chute to be trussed up, hung from the ceiling and have its throat slit. They bled to death, with rolling, fright-filled eyes. Stallions, geldings, mares, and foals, all were equal-- all found their end in that stall.
Wufei took his position on the side of the stall, and waited for the day to begin. The whistle blew and the first of the lambs were led to slaughter.
~*~
Trowa flexed his wrists before returning to his typing. It was a mundane form letter this time. He went back to his work only to stop again-- his first through fourth fingers hurt when he typed. The youth lifted his hands from the keyboard and looked at the palm side questionably. Perhaps all that time behind a computer was catching up to him, and he had carpal tunnel syndrome (CTS), but that wouldn't explain all the other little things.
The little things, like how hard it was to get up in the mornings, the fact that he had lost fifteen pounds in a single week (1), and all the times he woke up in the dead of night, drenched with sweat and unable to return to the sweet oblivion from whence he came.
However, as far as he was concerned, 1 + 2 always equaled 3. Thus, the idea of CTS causing all his complaints was ludicrous. He was simply feeling his age-- but then again, that was questionable. He was not yet 18, where did he get off blaming his age?
"We aren't paying you to look at your hands, Barton," Itzik called from his neighboring desk. Ah, the joys of working in a typing pool.
"Hey, they're not paying you to yell at the newbies, either. That's my job," Ginevra hooted. She tossed her pale blond locks. "You can look at your hands later," she told the quiet ex-pilot, while she typed something or other with amazing speed.
"What's going on here?" Gregory, the overseer asked.
"Barton's not working," Itzik piped up before Ginevra could speak.
Gregory turned his gray gaze to the uni-banged teen, who was industriously banging out the rest of the mandated letter.
"Looks like it to me, Merrick. Stop causing trouble, or else I'll be forced to tell Tavey," Gregory reprimand the dark haired man who had started it all.
"Not-not-not-the big guns, Greg!" Itzik pleaded in mock desperation.
"I'm surprised you can point fingers and type," Ginevra noted.
"I've got both hands on my keyboard, Whitey, more than I can say for our friend over there."
"Merrick! What did I say about taunting the newbies? One of these days Tavey's going to get tired of your antics."
"Tavey never comes out here. What does he care if I toughen up the new recruits? It's good for them. I never see HIM out here doing diddley squat. If I could get a better paying job, I'd be out of here lickety-split."
"Like you do diddley squat? Really, I thought you were paid to just sit here and heckle Barton," the pale blond remarked.
"Ginny, Ginny, Ginny... I do more work than you. I just don't flaunt it-- like some people. Oh, Mr. Tavey, look! Do look! I finished this letter you wanted me to do! Isn't it a complete masterpiece? I just ADORE that coat. And those shoes-- they're to DIE for! Can I lick them? Can I lick you? Can I sleep with you?"
Trowa tried to keep his mind focused, but his head was killing him, and every joint in his body ached for no particular reason. //Nanashi, you've dealt with worse. Just one more keystroke. See? You can do that. Hit another. Now another.//
~*~
"You don't look that great, Quatre," Sydney noted, stealing a sideways glance at the man standing next to her. He smiled slightly, and continued to unload the heavily ladened tub into the sink.
"Just exhausted."
"Busy day?" the chef inquired.
"Hey, you cooked for all of them. I think you'd know better than I."
"I didn't have to carry the dishes from there to here."
"I'm just worn out in general, not the way I would be from carrying this stuff for however long. It's not physical exactly..." The Arab let his words hang in the air without finishing the sentence.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know."
"When did this all start?"
Quatre shook his head. "Since the war, I guess."
"You lose a lot in it?"
"Everything."
"Oh? Your mother? Your father? Your siblings?"
"Only Father."
"Was he a soldier?"
Quatre gave a bitter laugh, "My father fight? He died because he wouldn't." He sobered. "My sister died saving me. A lot of good that did," he remarked, letting himself drift away into a brooding mood.
Sydney was silent as she scrubbed the plate she was holding. She put the dish aside and let her eyes appraise the still teen to her right. He was staring off into space, in a world of his own, a place she could not enter, not even with her prying questions. Quatre hid the pain, both physical and emotional, too well.
~*~
Heero settled down in the doorway of an adult bookstore. Its storekeeper had given him a dirty look as he had closed up shop. The creatures of the night were coming out, and the city's amoral underbelly could be seen from where the Asian lay. There were things that happened on those dark streets that would make a preacher question the good God had put in humanity, but the cops turned a blind eye to the chaos that ensued every night. As long as only the lowlifes of society were killed, there would be little government support, the cops wanting nothing more than to remain at home with their families.
The young man pulled his coat about him, turning the collar up to spite the cold. He shivered as the cold wind danced across his cheeks and let his feverish eyes close to allow darkness to descend upon his miserable, shaking frame.
~*~
Nilos put the finishing touches on the pamphlet, "Amici Graeci" (2), before he sent it to printing. Nilos was a well educated man, having studied politics extensively. However, that art of deception seemed hollow, and thus the Greek turned to history to justify his actions.
Upon his forays into the past, he came upon a time when the world was not united. Time and again empires had risen and fallen, each time the little people rose up and shook off the chains of bondage. For years Nilos had waited, and now the time was right. There was no more fear of being destroyed by mobile suits, and the people grew restless. Nilos simply went about spreading dissent.
Soon, the fires of revolution would burn brightly, and once more, the birthplace of democracy would be ruled under its own laws, and not that of a foreign dominion.
~*~
Duo was prodded awake by the librarian. Mr. Servatias looked down at the disheveled freshman with unveiled disgust. The American gave a half smile and a mumbled apology as he tried to dodge an oncoming lecture about letting himself be locked in for the night. The ponytailed youth skittered out of the building, before the perplexed man could open his mouth. With a sigh, Mr. Servatias closed Gomez's _Dictionary of Symptoms_, which had been opened to page 276. He picked up the stack of books on nuclear power and Chernobyl, and sniffed. There was no reason an undergraduate would be interested in such medical texts. Something was up.
The decrepit gentleman stumped to the reference section and returned the book on radiation sickness before limping off to the shelves.
~*~
Sally Po sighed. There was a 'fire' in Greece, and it threatened to disrupt the fragile peace that the Eve Wars had won in bloody combat, that the *incident* with Trieze's daughter had tested and almost succeeded in shattering. Now the flames came from the people themselves, demanding independence from a tyrannical rule (3)-- an *alien* government in their minds. They-- their ancestors had labored in Athens to create a type of rule where everyone's voice mattered, where everyone's voice was heard-- reverted back to their ancient roots, trying desperately to bring about another renaissance, the rebirth of the ancient and forgotten ideals of the Athenian Greeks.
Now she was faced to put down boycotts, and bloodless riots in all the major cities. Une had given explicit orders that those that died would have preferred global peace to this insurrection. Sally didn't agree, but her superior had spoken, and thus here she was searching for weapons in a weaponless age. Currently, there was a negotiator out there, trying to have the two sides come to some sort of consensus-- but both sides were adamant in their beliefs.
The Chinese woman picked up the three-paged underground pamphlet that had been forwarded to her. It was written in both Latin and Italian, since Greek had been lost in the dust of time. All the writings had been destroyed, all the temples reduced to rubble, everything of Greek nature had been destroyed during its annexation by Turkey over 100 years ago, and still, under foreign rule the spirit of the Ancients lived on in the hearts of the people. This pamphlet only reawakened the nationalism that most in the Balkans possessed.
Sally reread the paper work that was required to be filled out before she could dispatch any unit to put out the resistance in the rebels' hearts.
~*~
Orion, Nilos's second in command, smirked at Bertok Cezar, the delegate from Turkey. The impudent man had just called Greece nothing more than a "geographical expression." Ah, he would see the Greeks rise up again, and this time the Achaeans (4) would remain the way the gods had meant for them to be.
In the world assembly, underneath the newly elected president, the Turkish emissary spoke for those of the Balkans. Never had his people gotten a chance to speak their mind, now they would pay. Greece would not be overlooked, and by doing so, the world had committed an unforgivable infringement on the peoples' rights. Greece, the land Nilos loved so much, was simply a starting point. Others would soon follow suit, no doubt.
~*~
Duo walked hesitantly into the barber's shop, clasping the end of his mane in his hands. Pericles looked up from where he was reading the newspaper. He put it down and stood up as his longhaired customer came in.
"What can I do for you today, young man?" the aged Greek asked, picking up his shears from the desk.
The newly arrived American flinched at the sight of them, but replied in a steady, resigned voice, "Cut it off. Cut it all off."
"You sure you want me to do that? Seems like you spent a long time getting it to be the way it is now."
Duo struggled against the joker's mask that appeared on his face as the man spoke.
"Ack, I'm going to lose it all anyway, so why not sooner rather than later? I always thought the bald look was kinda cool."
"Have a seat," Pericles said, indicating an open chair. "You joining the swim team? I've seen a lot of kids come in here wanting that sort of cut. Makes them go through the water faster, I'm told. You see the newspaper today?"
"Naw. But it's a good thought. I might try out for it now."
"There's trouble in Greece, they say."
"Out of the frying pan and into the fire?"
"I'm none too sure. Never had a head for the politics of it all. Supposedly they want freedom from the World Government and the Turks."
Clenching his fist in anger, he added under his breath, "Lousy, occupying Turks."
"What's the gov. gonna do about it?"
"No clue. Probably just send some sort of peace keeping force out there, since negotiations are at a stand still."
//And so, once more the world will be plunged into war.//
~*~
Wufei shook his head, and wiped the blood from his face. They were complaining. They said he didn't do the job well enough. He might lose it, and then where would he be? No, he could do this. Grab that fuzzy blob, center the gun by dead reckoning, and then pull the trigger. He always had said he could do this job blind, and now he had his chance-- almost. He could still make out shapes. The whistle for lunch pierced the air, and the Chinese teen gratefully walked down the aisle once more. How long had it been since he could see perfectly? It had been a long time-- since the war, he estimated.
"I can see clearly now, the rain has gone..." someone's radio crooned in Chinese. Wufei felt like killing both the listener and the machine. Hulin, the man who was next in the assembly line of death, came up behind the youth and remarked, "They're getting more lively these days, Chang."
Wufei pulled away and stormed out into the open lot where the eighteen-wheeler that had brought the stock in was parked. The teen slumped down against it, and ground his fists into his eyes.
"Weak, weak, weak."
"You hungry?" It was Hulin again. The widower shook his head no; he wasn't hungry for what the physical world offered.
"Suit yourself." The thirty-something walked away toward a solitary tree in the center of the lot, where most of the workers flocked to escape the heat of the day.
"Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak..."
~*~
Meanwhile, in Greece, when Orion walked out of negotiations with the Turkish delegate, a sniper's shot was heard. His bodyguards scrambled to take the bullet, but failed. The Greek knew what was happening as he crumpled to the ground. It had been a Turkish sniper bent on stopping the continuation of Greece's movement for freedom. However, by doing so, he had provided Nilos, and the rest of the Greek population for that matter, a reason to take to the streets with weapons-- weapons which had been hidden from the prying eyes of the committee in charge of the destruction of them.
The government buildings were invaded; the inhabitants murdered-- their heads were paraded around the agora on a stake with the assembled cheering. The local government, what was left of it, declared martial law, and the rebels set about constructing their defenses as the army rallied to the governor's orders.
"Memorate proavos!" Remember the ancestors! The call rang from barricade to barricade as the people clashed with soldiers. It was the last sound many heard in those hostile alleys and on the barricades.
Nilos took his place at the front, no one knowing his significance in setting the battles into motion. He parried with a mercenary before running him through with a bayonet he had found in the trash as a child. It had been he who had hired the Turk to annihilate his best friend. The bonds of friendship were strong, but the bonds between man and country were stronger. Finally, for the first time in a hundred years, Greece had the chance to be free.
~*~
Lady Une ran her hands through her hair. This couldn't be happening. Bloodshed in what was supposed to be the beginning of a bloodless era. It was like all that had come before meant nothing to the people, who seemed to actually enjoy the gore. Much like the Ancient Romans, who had held gladiatorial games just to keep the populace contented.
Une looked down at the forms entailing one of the major generals' suggestions for dealing with the crisis. All that was needed was her signature. If she did approve of the proposition, troops would be sent out to quell what was happening in Grecian avenues. If she didn't, the riots would most likely spread to the Slavic nations, and then the rest of Europe, each demanding autonomy. This would cause outright chaos, not to mention if the dissent spread eastward. No, it was best to seem harsh now and not face a tenth world war. Une picked up her pen and flourished it before turning the document over to the waiting aide.
//And so, once more the world will be plunged into war.//
~*~
Sally goggled at the order that had just been presented to her from the General herself. A battalion?!? That was 500 soldiers; which seemed a little much considering the most that those in the streets fought with knives as well as with antiquated firearms.
And yet...
Memories of her own wartime experience, when she was both out-manned and out-gunned and still she had fought, came flooding back to her. Why had she fought so hard? Because her heart had been in the battle, much like these people. These people... did they value so little what had cost had cost so much?
The major general shook her head and went off to notify those that were to leave the base and depart into lands unknown. Perhaps Une was right, and that was what necessary was to stop the riots as quickly as possible. Maybe she might even live to see world peace.
~*~
Duo waited impatiently for the plane to finish taxiing. He was still annoyed at the fact that he had to be shuttled around when he could pilot right along with the best of them. However, these days no one seemed to be in the habit of leaving spare airplanes around, much less shuttles. Thus, the American was forced to contend with coach fare, food, and screaming kids. As well as the queer looks he got when he took his cap off, that *one* time.
The plane came to a stop and Duo bounded off, duffel bag trailing behind, having stewed in the same spot for eight hours. He had arrived in Luxembourg, the current HQ of the Preventers. It had been a pain to track down, since every so often the location of the current center of operations would switch. There were many rebel groups that would have loved to see the organization crumble.
The American passed through customs without a hitch, which pleased him. He wished to arrive in time to catch Sally, since he heard that Preventer forces were rallying, and feared that she might be one of the ones that would be sent to Greece, where it would take forever to find her. Duo hailed a taxi and gave him the address of a place nearby his actual destination.
~*~
Sally finished briefing the recruits and stepped outside into the chilly air. At one time or another she might actually have looked forward to a trip to Greece, now she was pleased that her name wasn't on the list shipping out. As she gazed over the snow-dusted landscape, her eyes caught a movement in the shadows. With lightening speed she pulled her gun. There was a laugh.
"You've gotten a lot more trigger-happy, haven't you, Sally?"
"Who's there?"
A black clad figure stepped out of the darkened space. "Surely you remember me."
The woman eyed the youth suspiciously. Whoever he was, he was dressed for the part, right down to the white dog collar. But there was something different. Then it dawned on her-- the mistake that this impostor had made-- the braid was missing.
"Who are you?"
"Don't you remember? It was AC 195, in a military hospital, you wore alliance green and I wore preacher black. You were holding someone hostage, and I relieved you of your burden."
Sally lowered her gun, ever so slightly.
"Duo?"
The figure bowed. "In the flesh."
"But why-"
"The braid? That's what I've come to talk to you about."
"What does your braid have anything to do with me?"
"You're a doc, and I'm an undergraduate...I think you'd be more knowledgeable in the issue I've come before you with."
"Oh?"
"Uh-huh. Now do you want me to come up there, or do you want to come out here so we can both get hypothermia?"
Sally holstered her gun. "Come on, then."
~*~
While Duo made introductions to a long lost companion, events that would shape his life were occurring in southern Yugoslavia.
Lieutenant Kyros smiled as he stepped into the hanger; the smell of oil, gunpowder, sweat, blood and death surrounded him. There was a revolt in his homeland, and he was going to help them. Silka should still be there, along with her followers. Yes, his princess would lead the oppressed to freedom.
He had been an OZ soldier, and when peace had finally come, he and those underneath the lieutenant had quietly hid their Mobile Suits away, just in case there was a need for them in the future. That need had arisen and the Greek had quietly notified all those that had served under him. It was time for them to ride into battle once more.
With great satisfaction, he and his men pulled off the expansive canvas sheets that covered each one of the Leos. Kyros himself had Silka, his princess, as he called the Veate he piloted during the war. With these machines they could easily crush any attempt at stilling the revolt sent by that infernal organization known the Preventers.
~*~
"You think what?!" Sally screamed, shocked at the idea been put before her in the last two hours by the violet-eyed teen.
"Radiation sickness. I did research on it, and it seems to fit. My chem. prof. said something about the dangers of working with the radioactive elements and it set me thinking. Sure would explain a lot of stuff that's been going on."
"But where would you have been exposed to radiation?"
"That's why I've come to you."
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in."
"Major General, I have a report from the troops on the front line."
"What's the report, private?"
"The opposition has thirty to forty Leos and a Veate."
Sally closed her eyes and calculated. Forty Leos, that was more than the Preventers' fleet could ever hope to possess.
"Tell General Une. I'll think of something."
"Acknowledged." The slight girl saluted and sidled out of the room.
"That changes things," she mused.
"Whatcha mean?"
"Look. Get the rest of the pilots together and we'll see if you're just an isolated incident, or whatever did it had contact with all five of you."
"You have a point, there. But I don't have a clue where everyone is. We all went our separate ways."
"That makes it a bit more difficult. Search all the companies and schools that have accepted anyone within the past 6 months."
"Fine. And what do I tell them? 'You might be dying?' "
"From my experience with radiation sickness, the subjects don't die."
"Ah, now I know we're special to you. We've been designated that term subjects!"
"Duo, you know what I mean."
"Yes, teacher."
"I don't want your lip service."
"Ah, that's your loss, then," Duo remarked with a grin, batting his eyelashes at the woman in the opposite chair.
"Think what you will, but it's up to you what is going to happen."
Duo nodded.
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Author's Notes:
(1) You're only supposed to lose 2 pounds per week at most, at least according to my health teacher.
(2) Friends of Greece- during the 1820s, Greece was under the Ottoman Empire's rule. The Friends of Greece was a secret society that strove for independence. It was headed by Ypsilanti, and the revolutions that occurred in Greece were the only ones that succeeded, and received help from other nations.
(3) refers to an illegitimate rule, at least according to the Greeks
(4) another name for the Greeks.
