17-Nov-2004
Title: Tetractys: Chokhma, I
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: R for violence and language, some adult situations
Pairings (currently): 1xR, 1x2x3, 2x3x2, 4x5xM
Disclaimer: no, don't own 'em... duh.
Archived: sweetlysour and gwaddiction
Critiques: always welcome, natch!
hoch (aspirated 'h', long 'o', 'ch' like in Scottish 'loch') + mah
This is the second-to-last point on the tree, which means 4 chapters of this section, and then 4 of Keter, and then (possibly) done. Woah. Song this chapter is "Faith," (with some editing by me to match what I needed for the chapter). It's by the lovely Kagemihari, and I can say that, because I've met her in person. :)
Many thanks also to those reading and reviewing on the elists, the bbs, and on gwa - knowing someone's out there makes it worth it. Also thanks to Zania, Asuka, Saro, Merith, and Mikke, who let me yammer on at them while procrastinating. Special thanks to Maldoror for her pseudo-beta work on this chapter.
Heero stood at the foot of the bed, staring at his partners. Trowa's expression was a sad frown, even in sleep; Duo's face was creased with exhaustion, tormented, a furrowed brow as he whimpered from the inevitable nightmares. Trowa didn't wake, though one hand smoothed along Duo's arm before falling still. Heero knew he would have done the same in Trowa's place, even if unawares; it was habit, after so many years. A simple move would reassure, yet the giver never woke enough to register the action or reaction.
There's a great deal we've taken for granted, he told himself. Or perhaps it's not that we took each other for granted. Perhaps it's that we took the silence for granted, all the things we've never had to say. He suspected if he were to repeat what Lena had said to him that morning, his partners might be as mystified as he.
He'd come to earth in a fireball, ten years before, and nothing had happened like he'd intended. He'd lost, regained, and lost Wing again, and spent the next two years in a dark room locked away from light and hope. When he'd emerged, he'd been psychologically shackled to two near-strangers, who grated on each other while looking to him as their balance. His entire life had been a series of imprisonments, following orders and demands; at least Dr. J had been fair, if strict. The same could not be said of Khushrenada.
What would he chose, if the future were his to choose? It was a question he'd rarely asked, a wish he'd never indulged. It was too painful, knowing there was never a chance of any of his dreams coming true. Khushrenada's legacy had followed them into this new world, and he was still tied to his partners.
"I want you both to be happy," Heero whispered to their sleeping forms, and tried to imagine seeing Duo and Trowa as a couple, as a unit, together, but separate from him. He could better imagine surviving the pain of cutting off his own arm, he realized. Somewhere along the way, despite their visible protest against Khushrenada's machinations, they had become an entire unit.
And now he was trying to break that up by being with Lena.
Heero sank down to a huddle at the foot of the bed; the metal frame dug into the small of his back. The Relena he'd known had been persistent, idealistic, hopeful, with stars in her eyes about the possibility of peace. Yet she'd been sweet, and generous, and while he'd not understood her reasons at the time, she'd tried her best to befriend him. In turn, he'd been drawn to her, a force as willful as himself, but so different: sheltered, blessed, in every way he'd lacked.
This Lena was nothing like that, but at the same time, when she laughed, when she tilted her head a certain when listening... he could see the Relena he'd known. But that wasn't it, really. It was that she stood eye-to-eye with Heero. She wasn't a fool, or a starry-eyed girl. She was the woman who was possibly the world's best chance for peace, with the charisma, power, and position to end the war. Her role as the Queen meant people would listen; her experience as a warrior meant people knew her words weren't empty.
He wanted to protect Relena's beliefs; he had no doubt that had become his main reason for fighting. Heero glanced over his shoulder at the two sleeping men and considered whether they fought for the same reasons. He didn't think so. All Trowa's life, he'd been told to fight, but perhaps now Trowa might find a purpose that would give the fight meaning. Duo had told Heero, a long time ago while sequestered in those damp underground rooms, that he'd fought so that one day people would be free to smile, to be happy, to have the liberty to be free as they chose.
What would I choose, he asked himself, and could not answer.
Heero curled up, his arms around his shins, and thought of the people he loved: Duo, Trowa, Lena, and Quatre and Wufei to a lesser degree, but not behind by much. His ties to his partners were strong, but the draw towards Lena was growing stronger, if in a different way than what he had with his partners. He could see no way that there could be such a partnership as Quatre and Wufei had with Meiran.
Who do I love, he asked himself. Should I – can I? – leave Duo and Trowa behind, and love Lena? Or is that an impossible dream? Should I stop now, before it's too late, before I lose what I have?
Heero frowned, and rubbed his forehead. If only he weren't a black hole in Duo's vision, he griped. He could ask Duo to look ahead, and see which life would be happier for all, depending on Heero's choices.
Sex had raised the question, and he couldn't sit around and wait for the answer to appear. He knew if he did ask Duo, Duo would say: wait and see, the future will come in its own time. Heero shook his head, not willing to straddle the fence between what he had and what he might have, not for a second longer than necessary. If he could find a resolution, then it would be far better to accept it, make the choice, and move forward.
He got to his feet, and stole one last look at his partners, trapped in unhappy dreams. In an uncharacteristic move, Heero found himself hoping his fumbling instinct wasn't leading him wrong.
He left the room, and tried to do the same with his worries. He needed to keep his question clear in his head. From what he'd seen and heard, it would take all his strength of will to focus everything on that one question, rather than bring his entire future into the debate.
The hallways were empty, and at the building's front door, he corralled a young soldier into driving him to the shuttle port. He was relieved when he didn't see any of the other pilots.
Heero kept his mind trained on his question, unwavering. He would need that focus, to deal with ZERO.
Hil glanced across the empty office, absently noting the long red drapes, the expensive carpet, the richly carved wooden desk, and shook her head at the unfamiliar luxury. The download was moving at a good clip; that's all that really mattered. The system beeped, and Hil jumped, startled, before realizing the asteroid's defense schema was recorded in full. She ran through the rest of the open windows, various systems she'd accessed with Mariemaia's password, and saved a few more files that looked worthwhile.
Ejecting the disk, she shoved it into her jacket's interior pocket, and stood up. Gathering up the jug and glasses from a nearby table, Hil took a breath, ready to present herself as one more employee running late-night errands.
She was halfway across the grand room when the door flew open. Mariemaia slid in, shutting the door quickly. Her face was drawn with fear, teeth bared.
"Put that down," Mariemaia ordered, catching Hil by the elbow. "Come on, move!"
"Hunh?" Hil ditched the tray on the edge of the desk. She stumbled, trying to keep up with Mariemaia, halting fast enough that Hil nearly ran into her. Mariemaia pulled a curtain aside, revealing a doorway.
"Elevator, for escapes. Goes all the way down to the shuttle bay, drops you off just outside the main doors," Mariemaia explained, punching in a code. "Go. Alexander's coming. I couldn't get him to--"
"Zhiyi," Hil said, stepping into the cave-like little room. "Is she--"
"She's okay. We don't have--" Mariemaia glanced over her shoulder, her eyes wide, then slammed her fist on the panel. "Go on! And remember your promise!"
"But I--" Hil blinked. The door slid shut and suddenly she was plummeting at far greater speed than most normal elevators. Her legs went weak, and she clung to the rail, feeling ill when the elevator halted abruptly.
The doors slid open onto a bare, empty hallway, and Hil stepped out, straightening her jacket. She was almost surprised at herself, seeing the main doors to the asteroid's shuttle bay, and she realized she'd expected a squadron of Foundation goons to be waiting for her.
She took a deep breath and strolled into the massive hangar. There were guards standing around, discussing something, but Hil didn't look their way. She headed for the shuttle she'd brought in, as if perfectly at ease, though she was certain she was about to choke from the tightness in her throat. She couldn't breathe.
Now I remember why I hate infiltration, she thought darkly.
There was a loud beeping sound, echoing through the hangar, and Hil jumped, then swore under her breath. A nearby employee, unloading something off a shuttle, looked up with a surprised expression, and shrugged at Hil.
"Lock-down procedures beginning," a voice blared over the speakers.
"What's this?" Hil asked, despite herself.
A guard, rushing past, paused long enough to explain. "The base's system set off an alert. S.O.P. is to shut everything down until we determine the cause. Sorry, ma'am," and he saluted sharply, "but everyone's 'roid-bound until we clear it up." He grinned, and looked ten years younger. Someone shouted, and the guard apologized quickly before running off.
"Well, guess you get to enjoy a bit more time off," the employee said behind Hil. "No rest for me, though."
He went back to loading up the pallets, and Hil nodded, not really paying attention. She was turning in a circle, studying her options. Hiding on the asteroid was probably the stupidest thing; if she could get out safely, that was her first choice.
Down at the end of the bay, there were a second set of doors, and Hil drifted in that direction, doing her best to appear nonchalant. Beyond the doors, through the glass portholes, she could see guards loading into mobile suits – space-ready Yang, she noted – and moving into formation to leave the asteroid.
She stepped to the side, waiting for her chance. When the young guard came rushing back, she called out, and he skidded to a stop.
"Ma'am! Are you okay?"
"I think I slipped on something," Hil said, waving him over to the alcove where she leaned against the wall, one foot up. "I can't walk very far."
"Oh," he said, looking worried. "I can call the med team--"
"Actually, if you could just give me a hand to over there, I'm sure I'll be fine once I can take weight off it. You know how sprains are."
He nodded, and moved towards her. When he was within reach, Hil slugged him, shook her hand with a curse, and punched him harder in the gut. He staggered, then fell towards her, and she nearly crumpled under his weight. Pulling and half-dragging him behind the farthest shuttle, she glanced around quickly before going through his pockets. His ID was hanging from a chain, and she yanked it from his neck before stripping off his jacket. She left her own jacket with him, draped across his face.
"Sorry," she told the unconscious guard. "Wrong place, wrong time for you." She walked out from around the shuttle, as calmly as though she were strolling down to the corner to buy milk.
It seemed like ten minutes, but couldn't have been more than two, and Hil was in the women's dressing room, through a door off to the side of the military end of the shuttle bay. Grabbing a space suit that looked closest to her size, Hil stripped down to her long underwear, climbed into the suit, and grabbed a helmet. The ID card still in her hand, she exited the locker room, and fell in behind a line of pilots heading to their suits.
Picking a mecha at random, she hauled up into the cockpit, and studied the system. If she had to hack it, she would, but if the ID worked... Hil chewed her lower lip for a second, and stuck the ID into the waiting slot. The mecha came to life, acknowledging her as Private Andrew Quaren. Hil shoved the helmet on her head, locked it down, and buckled up.
The start-up process seemed to take forever, and Hil nervously debated hacking again to override the necessity. No, she decided, the suits around her were taking off in twos and threes but in no apparent rush. She could wait, get away from the asteroid before alerting anyone as to her thievery.
When the call came from the tower, Hilde moved the mecha into line with another two suits. Ahead of them, she noted the four suits in the decompression chamber, and that when exiting, one veered towards earth while three others went in the opposite direction. Good. If she headed off on her own, it wouldn't be an unusual thing.
Hil took a deep breath and couldn't help but try to cross her fingers. The suit's gloves were too thick, but she figured it was the thought that counted.
Her suit was called, and the ungainly Yang moved into position with two other suits. The doors shut, lights turned red, and she could feel the hissing of the decompression. She counted her heartbeats, not trusting her voice to hum or whisper to herself in the stillness, the waiting.
The bay doors rolled back, revealing the dark velvet of space, and Hil was first out of the bay. Angling the mecha towards earth, she nervously waited for the tower to call her back. There was no report, other than a recorded confirmation of safe departure, and she sighed in relief, marking a path for earth. In another ten or so minutes, she'd be clear of the asteroid's immediate radar range, and she could send a low-level notification to Thayer, letting him know she was safe. She didn't think she could hold up the frequency long enough to transmit the data, but she'd burn that bridge once she got to it, she told herself.
Hil settled back in the cockpit, familiarizing herself with the systems. Earth rose ahead of her, a gloriously blue and green crescent, lit by the distant sun. Down below, they were waiting in Sanq, and Hil resisted the urge to pound her fist and yell in triumph. She wasn't home yet; she'd celebrate herself once she knew she was safe, and not a minute before.
Heero took a breath to center, and inserted the disk into Wing's control panel. He checked the connections, looked over the rest of the drives, and slid the drawer into place. A click, a whir; the panel flashed blue as Wing ran a systems check and began uploading the new program.
He settled into the seat, strapping his arms and legs out of habit, and settled his hands into a relaxed position on his thighs. He had no idea what to expect, but Wing was locked into ground-position. He punched in the command to null all external stimuli, and began running the code. It had to be installed before he could adjust the program to bypass the battle simulations. The code scrolled up the inset window. Heero frowned, tapping a few keys – then his fingers froze as an image slammed into his awareness.
Relena. Dressed in a space suit, floating backwards from Heero's shove.
He convulsed at the mental blow, almost crying out in shock when a second one hit.
Duo. Dark-garbed, cloaked in darkness, asking for death.
Every muscle tensed; his back arched, then relaxed as the image faded. Heero hunched over his lap, panting heavily. It was as though somehow Wing were speaking directly into him. Heero glared down at the connections running up his arms and legs, and struggled to get them off. This wasn't what he--
Trowa. Drifting in space, cold, unmoving, lost.
The unfamiliar image slammed into him with the force of Wing's beam cannon, and then it was gone. He put a hand to his head, fingers digging into his scalp, waiting until the afterimages faded. Was this what Quatre had seen? It didn't make any sense, based on the data...
"Hey, you going to work all night on that thing?"
Heero shook his head to clear the last dregs of the images, and turned on the external screens. Down belong Wing, Duo was standing with his hands on his hips, looking both amused and exasperated.
"Man, you never take a break. At least let me get you something to eat."
"Duo, I'm--" Heero cut off, noting the black priest's garb, the cocky grin, and the fact that Duo was easily dwarfed by a Deathscythe lying on its side behind him. He scowled at Wing's screens. "That's not possible--" He cut off his words, blinking rapidly at the screens.
Duo was gone. Only the empty hangar stretched before him. Talon and Heavyarms were prone, at the other end. Several shuttle employees were refueling Shenlong, at the end of the row.
Another series of images hit him without warning. Heero crumpled over, fighting to stay upright. His hands clawed at his knees and he panted desperately.
Trowa. Dead in a field of flowers, eyes open to the blue sky.
Duo. Standing alone at the shore, hand across his face while he cries.
Relena. A gaping wound in her chest, face creased in fear.
Heero gasped. "Stop that," he ordered Wing, and pounded on the console. Another series hit him, blinding him to the view of the hangar, pushing out all his other senses.
The smell of antiseptic soap. Elephant's trumpet answered by lion's roar.
The taste of salt air. A friendly hand, sand and seagulls.
The sound of delicate cellos. A blue dress, a string of pearls.
"No," Heero said, hoarse, and fought against the straps. The images swirled against his eyes, sometimes pausing, sometimes flickering as though on fast-forward. Wing's console blinked furiously, random patterns; he pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to shut it--
"You're tired," Trowa's voice interrupted him. Heero opened his eyes, barely able to focus on the sight of Trowa, leaning against the sub-ground hangar's wall with an amused expression. "Get some sleep. I'll do the rest of the modifications. Wear yourself out now, and you'll be no good against Zechs tomorrow."
"Against... " Heero frowned, then growled at Wing. "This isn't--"
Trowa was gone. The hangar was empty but for the other suits. Even the shuttle employees had departed, taking the portable refueller with them. In the spare heartbeat, Heero scrambled for the fastenings on the arm straps. They were halfway undone when more images tore through his mind. He screamed at the agony, the confusion, the fear.
Duo. Skin blackened and peeling, trapped in the inferno.
Relena. Kneeling on the ground, pounding her fist into the dirt.
Trowa. Alone in a bathroom, raising a gun to his temple.
"Stop," Heero shouted, voice strangled in his throat. He opened his eyes to see the straps on his arms were intact. "Stop. This doesn't answer my question! How do I know the right--"
Duo. Mouth gaping, knife buried to the hilt in his throat.
Trowa. Clumps of hair caught in fingers, throat raw, pleading incoherently.
Relena. Hurtling towards the ground, exploding in fire.
"I want to know--" He undid the straps on his right arm and threw himself off the seat, twisting sideways to grab for the drive tray. Slamming his fist into the release, the tray popped open. He stretched farther, his fingertips catching the edge of the ZERO system program. Almost, almost, his mind chanted. The cockpit went dark.
A voice rang out over the comm. Heero sat up, staring in shock at the image of a rainy battleground on his view-screens. A white mecha stood some distance away, and the battle's debris burned, hissing and steaming from the rain pounding down. An inset screen showed a familiar face, but one flushed with self-righteous anger.
"To all the Gundam pilots, listen," the woman yelled. "We are ready to attack all the colonies with ballistic missiles."
"Une," Heero whispered, bewildered. He shook his head, refusing to believe. "No, this isn't--"
"All the space missile sites formally belonging to the Federation are now under our control." Une bared her teeth at the screen. The medals on her chest gleamed in the ship's light. "This is not a bluff. All the pilots must surrender, and hand over the Gundams to us immediately!"
"This isn't a memory," Heero whispered, stunned. "But it can't be the future... I don't understand--"
A second window opened, and Dr. J's face appeared. "We surrender, but we will not hand over the Gundams," he said in his dry, deep voice. "I repeat. We surrender, but we will not hand over the Gundams."
"No," Heero moaned, hoarse, but he moved automatically. He flipped up the self-destruct button without looking, fingers fumbling across the panel. The cockpit doors slid open, and he came to his feet. Something flashed before him, white hot searing across his vision.
Trowa. Creaking as he sways, head tilted awkwardly from a taut rope.
Relena. Garroted, eyes bulging, bloody bubbles on her lips.
Duo. Crumpling, the side of his head blown away, gun in his hand.
The hangar was empty. Heero was still in the seat, arms strapped down. He threw back his head and screamed, thrashing at the restraints. Images battered his mind, and he could not escape.
Quatre pushed the office door closed, and leaned against it for a moment. Wufei looked up from the design modifications, then paused, frowning. Quatre looked distant, preoccupied, and there was a tension in him that had not been present even after Trowa's announcements that morning.
"Just got back from checking on the city's status," Quatre said, and chewed at his bottom lip. It was an old habit, leftover from his childhood, and a sign of nerves that Wufei hadn't seen in years. "I keep getting the feeling that something is wrong."
"Wrong how?" Wufei pushed the papers away. "From the people, or from--"
"No." Quatre shook his head. "No... just this uneasy feeling. Fear, horror... I don't know. I just had this compulsion to make sure you're okay." He frowned, and rubbed his forehead. "Strange."
"Meiran?"
"Just saw her. She's with Hil and Cat. I think they're talking about shoes." Quatre shrugged.
"You could've just used the comm."
"Not the same. Had to see you." Quatre strode over to the table, dropping ungracefully into the chair next to Wufei. After a second, his hand reached out, catching Wufei's, and the two sat in silence for several minutes.
Wufei shifted in his chair, squeezed Quatre's hand, and let go. "Still feel it?"
"Yeah. Can't seem to shake it." Quatre shifted in his chair, pulling his arms in to cross over his chest. He dropped his chin down and stared across the room, eyes unfocused. "Maybe it's related to this morning."
"What?" Wufei snorted. "You're upset Yuy's not a virgin anymore?"
Quatre didn't even bother to dignify the sarcasm with a retort, but brushed it away, his mind still on whatever was bothering him. "Lena was content, but sad, too." Quatre sighed. "I think she regrets what they did."
"That can introduce some tension into the group," Wufei observed, and was serious. Clearly Quatre wasn't up to the acidic tongue he still sometimes used. "Those three have always had a delicate balance."
"Yeah. And this... I know Maxwell and Barton have been... experimenting, but to think what they might've done to make it possible for Yuy... " He trailed off, a slight flush on his cheek at Wufei's sharp look.
"Damn." Wufei shook his head, and began stacking the plans neatly. "I didn't give it much thought, but you're right."
"Sometimes I wonder how we manage with Meiran," Quatre admitted. "Speaking of which, there's something off about her emotions right now, too."
"Oh?"
Quatre hummed, his brow furrowed. "Meiran's feelings are so strong, and then they'll subside, but right now it's like there's this little bit of tension. It feels like someone plucked a violin string and although the sound has faded, you can still feel it in the air."
"Poetic." Wufei eyed Quatre's tense form, and bit back a teasing remark. Instead, he waited, giving Quatre the space to think.
After a few more minutes, Quatre sat up, leaning his elbows on the table. "How long do you think it'll take us to do these modifications?"
"Took Cat about two days. Took Hil maybe a day." Wufei shrugged. "I am not surprised it only took Maxwell four hours, and Barton six. So for you and I? Two days. Maybe less, simply because we'll have parts on hand."
"I can design it just fine," Quatre said, and smirked. "Building it has never been my forte--" He closed his eyes, a flash of pain across his face, and after a heartbeat it seemed to pass. When he opened his eyes, his irises were dilated; black swallowed the sea-green. He shook his head at Wufei's raised eyebrow. "No... I just can't shake it. I keep thinking if I could figure it out, that might lessen the feeling, but at the same time... "
"Not sure you want to know?" Wufei rolled up the plans, and stood, tucking the papers under his arms. "I'm heading to the shuttle port. Going to get started on Shenlong."
"I'll get Meiran," Quatre replied. He hissed, shoulders hunching, and then took a long, slow breath. "It's getting worse."
"Did you check on the others?"
"I saw Barton and Maxwell on my way in. They were going for lunch." Quatre stood, and Wufei noted Quatre's hands were shaking, just a little. "I guess Yuy's around somewhere."
"Probably working on his own Gundam," Wufei said, and rolled his eyes. "Or he's loading, unloading, cleaning, and reloading his guns."
"He's not obsessive," Quatre said. He managed a weary grin. "Just thorough."
Hil knew the gig was up when her radar systems began blinking furiously, and a shrill alarm went off. Red lights lit up her console, turning the cockpit's darkness into a lurid crimson. Ahead of her was the atmosphere, and she didn't have a great deal of room to maneuver. Given her speed, she had to hit it at the right angle, or the physics would literally bounce her against the planet's natural defenses, blowing her to smithereens.
"Rock and a hard place," she muttered, wincing at the Yang's jets echoing in the small chamber. The idea that space was silent was ludicrous; from inside a Foundation mobile suit, space seemed like a damn noisy place. None of the mobile suits were meant for long-distance travel, after all.
A blast hit her rear quarter-panel. The Yang shook, metal groaning. She spun, watching the earth rotate in her forward screens. The next two missiles went flying past.
No point in stealth now, she thought, and opened a broadband channel on the rebel frequencies. Getting Thayer's assistance was out of the question; the man had only survived as long as he had by being very good at hiding. His shuttle certainly wasn't up to taking on-- she checked the systems alarms-- sixteen space-ready Shu. The smallest and leanest of the mobile suits, they were best at space battles, where maneuverability was of maximum importance. Hil swore and twisted the throttle, bringing up the Yang's nose.
Do you believe in God?
Heero gasped, staring at the blank screen. Every light was off; the console seemed dead. He shivered, and the straps cut into his flesh. The voice came from nowhere and everywhere; it wasn't like using the 'comm, but neither was it something he'd thought, himself. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.
I believe in me, he replied, silent.
There was no answer, for a long stretch. Heero listened to his harsh breathing; blood rushed in his ears, thundering.
Do you believe in love?
He closed his eyes tight, and the world fell away. The words seemed so simple, so familiar, but he couldn't place them.
Love means I let you hurt me, he replied, without thinking.
The next question slipped into his awareness, softer.
Do you believe in hope?
Not if I can help it. Heero gritted his teeth.
What do you believe?
He didn't have an answer.
The earth grew in Hil's screens, consuming the view. She sent out the distress call again, her gaze fixed on the glowing ball of green and blue, shaded by the shine of sun scattered across the atmosphere. Her eyes watered, and she rolled the mecha again, narrowly escaping four more missiles. They hit the atmosphere ahead of her and burnt up.
"That's me, next," she whispered, and kicked at the throttles. She fumbled for the disk, putting the edge in her mouth so she could pop open the carrier, and shoved the disk into the suit's drive.
"Send, baby," Hil ordered, every muscle tensed. A blast hit her far right thrusters, and the suit veered. It took every bit of strength to pull the Yang back into the angle. She took the last second before entry to broadcast the disk's contents on the rebel frequency, overriding the distress call.
Then the only thing she could do was hold on, screaming at the top of her lungs. The view screen showed white, then gold, becoming orange and red. She released the emergency jellyfish capsules to absorb the brunt, holding her breath as they shredded and melted before her. The Yang ripped through the jellyfish cone protecting the suit's nose. Hil instinctively cringed when the burning material slid past her view sensors.
"Almost there," she told the suit. "Another eight minutes--"
But at ninety-two degrees in the cabin and rising, it was a good question which would rule the day: the mobile suit, or the implacable atmosphere. It was a question Hil refused to answer.
The cockpit was silent, dark, like the depths of the cave in which they'd camped, when this entire strange adventure began. Heero recalled the way his eyes had slowly adjusted, seeming to pick out luminous threads on the walls and ceiling around them, until he'd realized it was all a trick. His eyes sought so hard, his brain willingly produced images.
Perhaps that was it. He thought back to the hours, days, weeks, months in that darkness after his capture, clinging to the least bit of sound, sight, until the smell of his own flesh and sweat and the tang of blood was a welcome reminder of his humanity. Heero shifted in the seat, relieved at the straps biting into his arms. Then the sensation came again, a delicate wash across his mind as though strumming a single note. He quivered with the motion.
I believe in starting over, he recited. I believe in never giving up. I believe life is a fight to win, and love is not enough.
The cadence brought back the melody, and he finally placed the lines. Heero frowned, looking around blindly in the darkness. Was he just talking to himself, or ZERO? What the hell was going on?
...So do you believe in grace? Do you believe in mercy?
He closed his eyes, pressing his palms against his eyelids. In the bright flashes on his retina, he could still see, burnt there, the images of their deaths. Suicide, murder, despair, desolation.
I don't think anything comes free; mercy means only you've yet to kill me...
Doro's words replayed in his head. ZERO was designed to thresh out the full possibilities, picking the best course of survival. Weigh all the actions, and lay down the line from this point into that final moment; consider the odds, measure the futures.
What about peace and joy? What about redemption?
That could only mean there was no other future for his survival, except at the cost of losing those he loved. If he lived, they would die. Heero stared into the darkness, his mind humming the song as though sung by a far-off voice.
They come at such high price, they might not exist at all...
Vaguely he became aware of a light flashing at the edges of his vision. Heero blinked, rubbed his eyes; the light remain, glittering, refracted. He took a breath and reached for the button, flipping the switch. The screens came to life, liquid monitor suffused with color, resolving into the hangar. Several technicians were rushing about, and Heero frowned, trying to shake the uneasy feeling that it couldn't be real. He absently hit several more commands, opening the cockpit to external frequencies.
" ...In, Wing, come in, emergency," the tower was saying.
"Wing here," Heero replied, confused. His first thought: where are Duo, Relena, and Trowa?
"We've received distress signal from Deathscythe," the tower replied. "She's in a space-adapted Yang, coming through the atmosphere. Squad of Shu on her tail."
"Relay location," Heero said, and began the starting sequence for Wing. The ZERO program was quiet, though when he opened the inset screen, he could see the code was continuing to run. He left it, focusing instead on the information coming from the tower.
"She was broadcasting plans from the Foundation's headquarters," the tower explained. "ETA for high-level atmosphere is three minutes. We're picking up Long heading in her direction."
At current trajectory, Heero noted, Hil would be touching down somewhere over Russia. Then he realized the tower's verb tense. "Was?"
"Her transmission cut off just before you replied, sir," the tower said. The voice sounded testy, anxious.
"Roger." She'd be coming into the lower atmosphere just east of Sanq, but unless she plummeted straight downwards...
I believe in truth and freedom; I believe that anger makes you strong...
He thought of the image of Relena, trapped in Talon's cabin, a ball of fire aiming for the sea. Or perhaps that was Duo. No, Trowa? He shook his head. It was all the future, and that meant it could still be changed. He clung to that belief, burying it deep.
The greatest fear is fear itself, and peace will never last for long...
He moved Wing forward, skipping the last of the systems checks. Clear of the hangar, he bypassed the shuttle port's safety procedures and thrust straight upwards.
I believe that dreams are made to break, and courage only means you never cry...
Running through temurah process, he kicked the mecha into high gear, heading straight upwards. Duo's voice continued to sing, in the recesses of his mind.
Beat your fragile wings for freedom's sake, fall and learn to fly...
Wing's jets shrieked. Heero twisted the hand controls, pushing the mechanical beast to go faster, upwards, into the clear blue. He set his sights on the distance, where a white-gray smoking shape arced across the sky.
Flying upwards, he felt as though he were aiming straight for the sun.
End Part 37
(:./sol/tetra37)
