22 May 2000
Insight,
Foresight,
Moresight,
The clock on the wall
Reads a quarter past midnight.
DJ shadow: Midnight in a Perfect World
Old brown eyes narrowed intently at the wrinkled piece of paper as one hand stroked a grey goatee. This was ridiculous. He was the best mobile suit engineer on Earth or in space, had played a major role in the war between Earth, Oz, and the Colonies and a damn crossword puzzle was stumping him. The balding old man sighed deeply and slipped off his ever-present sunglasses with one hand while the other reached for his third mug of coffee. He smirked at his reflection in the dark caffeinated liquid. Two tufts of white hair the same shade of his moustache and goatee sprung out from each side of his head. Wearing one of his many Hawaiian shirts, the engineer looked like a strange hybrid of mad scientist and beach bum.
"Howard?"
"Yo," the old man's eyes flicked up to the speaker, not recognizing the voice. It wasn't surprising that Howard didn't know the kid. Recently there had been a rather sizable hiring spree at the Sweeper compound. "What can I do for ya kid?"
"I'm suppose to tell you that Duo didn't check in last night."
Howard shrugged a bare movement of pink Hawaiian shirt. "He can take care of himself. Hell, if he can survive the shit he had to during the war when he was 14, then I think he can survive the slums of this colony at the age of 20."
"But sir...." The kid was interrupted by an amused chuckle.
"Don't lose sleep over it. You new here?"
"Yes sir, I'm in space salvage."
Howard nodded, making a mental note as he gave the new-recruit a thumb's up. "Welcome to the family kid. The name's Howard and this is the break room. Feel free to leave the formalities at the door."
"Thank you sir." The boy bowed his head and left the room quickly closing the door as if the encounter with the frizzy haired engineer was the most terrifying moment of his life.
Howard sighed and smiled. The rumor mill must have been at work again.
Space salvage.
The engineer inwardly winced. Grunt work. Howard hated mindless, grunt work as much as he hated a stale cup of coffee. The Sweepers originally had started as a salvage operation of nomads, traveling though space and picking spare parts off of any abandoned technology they came across. With a motto of "One mans trash is our treasure" the once fringe group of skilled mechanics had slowly become a respected organization, and now, thanks to Duo's efforts, a bon-a-fied corporation. Many of the old timers had fought the prospect of an organized business tooth and nail, until the profits had started rolling in. Amazing how well money talked.
The break rooms door few open violently and banged against the wall. Howard swore as he was wrenched back to reality, almost dropping his cup of coffee as Duo stumbled though the now open break room's doorway. The old mechanic's laid-back grin slipped quickly from his eyes and lips as he focussed on the limp form Duo was clutching tightly to his body.
"What did ya get yourself into now kid?"
Duo ignored the statement as he navigated around tables and chairs to the large break room's kitchenette. Gingerly, he placed Blair on a grey Formica covered island, continuing to ignore the now intense pain shooting from his elbow.
"We got into a fight, and she got drugged," the braided man stated flatly as he threw open a stark white cabinet door to retrieve an old dishtowel. Tossing the green piece of cloth into one of the double sinks he turned the water on as cold as it could get.
Howard stood and pushed his chair away with the back of his legs, the offending crossword puzzle long forgotten. Cautiously he moved closer to the limp form taking careful note of dirt-covered palms, harshly scraped knuckles, and dirt smudged clothing. Slowly, the gray-haired man pushed back damp gritty curls that clung to her face.
He froze, eyes widening more than a fraction.
"Well I'll be damned," the old engineer whispered breathlessly, work-worn fingers lightly tracing a line from the unconscious woman's forehead to chin.
"I'll be damned."
Duo looked up from the steel sink and watched his long-time friend's movements closely. "Her name is Blair. You know her?" he asked wringing out the thoroughly soaked dishtowel.
Howard nodded slowly only half-aware of the question as he carefully studied the curly haired woman closely. "Winner. Blair Winner."
Duo's head shot up, violet eyes widening as a quiet shock filled him. "Say that again."
"Last name's Winner."
"As in a relation to Quatre Rabba Winner?"
"Donno," Howard sighed as his mind slipped into old memories accompanied by an expression that Duo could not even begin to comprehend.
Letting out a low and even breath in an attempt to calm his now over active nerves, the braided man moved back to the island holding the damp terrycloth loosely. "I'll give Quat a call here in a few hours and ask him if he knows her or something," Duo replied quietly eyes tracing creases that framed her lips that whispered of easy laughter long since past. Gently he ran the dishtowel over her forehead. The green material washed away some of the dirt and grime of the ally, only to reveal thin creases that would pull her brow down into a frown.
"She looks like I did after the war."
Howard turned to leave the room and scoffed softly at the younger man's remark. "I'm surprised she's still alive. Let me guess, she went into the fight level headed and deadly as hell?"
Duo cocked his head, a small smirk tugging up the corners of his lips. "Yeah, fights like she's been trained too."
The old engineer exhaled tiredly and then shook his head. "I'm gonna see if I can dig up some extra clothing for her. You get her cleaned up."
"Howard?"
"Yeah, Duo?"
"Who is she?"
Howard paused, shoulders sinking and head tipping forward. It was one of those rare moments when Howard actually looked his age. "Ask me some other time, kid."
Duo watched the brightly printed shirt disappear through the door way, his head tilted to one side, confusion plainly etched on his face. Howard hardly ever let his laid back façade drop, yet somehow, just the mere appearance of Blair had managed to do what even the war had not. The braided man shook the thought off and returned his concerned gaze downwards again to rest on the catalyst to this strange turn of events.
"Lady, you and I are going to have a long talk when you wake up."
Erin Johnson
Please send comments to: johnsoel@purdue.edu