20-Nov-2004 revised: 21-Nov-2004
Title: Tetractys: Chokhma, II
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!
Notes: Many thanks also to those reading and reviewing on the elists, the bbs, and on gwa. All ya'll rock like big dogs.
Quatre fell against the lobby pillar, hand to his chest; he dropped his hand with a frown. The lancing pain, a deep-seated ache he'd felt for the past three hours, was gone. Vanished. He shook his head at the guard's startled look, and kept his eyes on Doro, who was running towards him through the building's lobby.
"No sign," Doro shouted, skidding to a halt in a rather unladylike manner. She was panting heavily. "Lena's checking the second floor."
"Fuck," Quatre said. "It's him, it's got to be." He clicked the 'comm several times, waiting before sending out the signal again.
"What!" Duo's shout was exasperated. "You don't have to rattle my jaw--" The signal was cut off, disappearing in a blur of interference.
"Not in the basement cafeteria," Wufei reported over the 'comm. "On my way up. Cat's checking the control room."
"Maxwell and Barton just went out of range," Quatre told Doro. "Wufei's on his way." A second later the front doors were thrown open, and Meiran came striding through, her face grim.
"Excuse me," the guard stationed by the front desk said. He paled when the three Gundam pilots turned to face him. "Uh... is there something we can help you with? Is something wrong?"
"Heero Yuy," Meiran said, before Quatre could open his mouth. "We're unable to locate him."
"Oh." The guard frowned, then gave her a sheepish look. "There was a guy who got a lift to the shuttle port about three hours ago, but I don't know his name." Meiran opened her mouth, and the guard held up his hands, waving furiously as though staving off an imminent tirade. "Some of the other guys were heading out that way, and they gave him a lift, I think. I didn't really get a look--"
"Where's the nearest jeep?" Doro didn't wait for the reply, but spun on her heel and headed for the main doors. "Quatre, alert your team," she ordered, over her shoulder. "We've got to--"
"Hold!" Lena's shout echoed through the foyer. She came pounding down the stairs, her face white as a sheet. "Cecil got me word, Hil's on her way through the atmosphere, lost contact a few seconds ago. They're trying to get Heero to respond."
Quatre rubbed at his chest instinctively and in a split second, understood. Something was going on with Heero, and he'd been feeling it - but whatever it was, had just ended. It didn't make him feel any better; in fact, Wufei had been right. He felt far worse, now, for knowing.
Lena's words filtered back into his awareness. "Shuttle port says he's in his Gundam, not--"
"Go on ahead," Quatre said, then clicked the 'comm. "Wufei. Get up here. I'll have a jeep waiting."
"No, get down here to the control room," Wufei replied. "There's trouble, hundred-twenty nine clicks above Norway. Control is relaying the tower's observations. We can't get to the Gundams in time to help, if we leave now, but Maxwell and Barton might."
Quatre started to repeat this to Doro, but she shook her head.
"Enough holding," Doro snapped, and caught Lena by the wrist and Meiran by the arm. She kicked the main doors open, and the three women ran into the bright sunlight.
Hil braced her feet against the foot throttles, and practically stood up in the seat, yanking backwards on the hand controls with her entire weight. Mach twenty-five, some annoying part of her mind recited. Eighty-five clicks up. Sixteen hundred Celsius. The wings were cracking under the immense pressure and heat. A short pop echoed in the cockpit. Hil braced herself, gasping, but the suit didn't fly apart.
The screen swam in her vision; her throat was dry, her heart pounding furiously, louder than the side-thrusters. She yanked furiously again, holding the suit's nose up at a steady degree, trying to swing it into a wide turn without bringing the nose up too far.
"TURN, DAMN IT," she screamed at the sullen, fiery suit. She slammed her body sideways, against the arm of the cockpit seat, and hung on. "SLOW DOWN!"
The speed dropped minimally. Another crack. She flinched, took a breath, and kicked out. The move fired the side-thrusters again, and the suit took a long turn. The readouts altered, and she gave herself a half-second to close her eyes in gratitude.
"Lena's at the tower," Wufei reported from his position, hovering over the first control room computer. He spoke in an undertone to the operator, then nodded. "We're relaying the tower's broadcast to the forward screens."
Cat stepped forward, her face closed-off, her lips pressed in a firm line. "If that girl survives," she informed Quatre, though it sounded more like she was talking to herself, "I'm seriously going to kill her for this."
Quatre said nothing. Wufei had just had the operator connect to Wing, and the mecha's control information was scrolling in an inset window on the control room's forward screens. The top line remained consistent.
Chances of survival.
Quatre knew that line, and knew what it meant. Heero was flying with ZERO in Wing's system.
Mach twenty-two.
She loosened her reluctant fingers, then wrapped them tighter around the controls. Breathing harsh, vision blurry; she could see Duo's face, then Cat's, then Doro's, and she shook her head.
No, no, she told herself. Stay focused. Next maneuver, coming up--
Twenty-six minutes to impact, she counted. Twisting the hand throttles, she pulled the suit into a sixty-degree banking turn. The suit shook; another crack ripped through her awareness. The suit jumped up, then down, and she bit her tongue from the shock wave caused by the suit's nose dipping. Hil held on, steering the suit into another sixty-degree bank. The screen readout flashed; the wing tips had shattered and torn off. Her two main side-thrusters were gone, vaporized instantly.
"Fuck you," Hil told the suit. "Fuck you and your crummy Foundation design. I want you to turn NOW!"
She fired the body's side-thrusters. The suit keeled up, almost flipping; she screamed in fury and desperation, trying to keep its angle steady.
Mach twenty.
Heero pulled the suit helmet from its side compartment and locked it onto his flight suit. ZERO was calculating Hil's odds, based on the tower's information and known variables.
"Tower," Heero called, opening the frequency. "Wing to Tower."
"Copy, Wing."
"Sixteen minutes to projected impact at current speeds," Heero informed them. "Deathscythe's suit is estimated at Mach nineteen."
"What's your distance?" The voice wasn't the tower; it was Lena. "Wing, report. Distance to interception."
"Three minutes," Heero said, checking ZERO's read-out. "Deathscythe is at angel two hundred." He frowned at the long-range sensors. "She's gone into another banking maneuver."
"We're reading you at a T ratio of two-point-five-eight-four. PT ratio of point-three-five-two," Lena said. "Reduce speed--"
Heero checked the readouts, and growled at the 'comm. "Shockwave of thirty-five-point-two magnitude is manageable." He increased angle and thrust; ZERO's calculations adjusted automatically.
"Cut your speed, Wing," Lena ordered. "You're pushing the--"
"No can do," Heero shot back. He brought Wing's nose up, angling more sharply towards Hil. When she came within range, he'd have to be ready for some significant Gs in coming around to meet her.
"Foundation suits approaching," the Tower controller interrupted. "Twelve, unidentified make and model--"
"Roger," Heero said, checking long-distance visuals. "I've got them on radar." He gunned the jets, feeling the burn from the fuel flaring out behind him. Two minutes, and Hil would have to start bringing the suit's nose down, flatten out her angle; he could intercept her then.
He didn't want to think about what he'd do when the Foundation suits arrived.
Hil blinked furiously, trying to focus. The screen was solid fuzz. Blurred lines doubled and twisted. Her breath came fast, fogging the interior of the space helmet.
"Lowering angle of attack," she muttered, telling anyone and no one, mostly out of habit. There was someone yelling at a distance, or maybe that was her.
The suit shuddered, jerking under her hands, but the nose came down to thirty-five degrees. Another bang, like a gunshot beneath her feet. An alarm flashed on the console. The system superimposed the suit's outline on the screen, indicating the fault. Hil swore, struggling with the controls to bank again at forty-five degrees into a split-S maneuver. She'd just lost the landing gear, peeled off the suit's belly like flayed skin.
The suit balked at the turn. She pulled hard, throwing her weight into the move, and it sluggishly moved into the banking.
Get down to Mach seven, she promised herself. Gotta survive that first.
Come around. Drop speed to fifty thousand. Keep steady at angel one- forty. Attempt to contact Hil. Internal navigational systems not responding.
Seventy-five percent chance of pilot survival.
Heero ticked off the list in his head, holding position, waiting for the moment. ZERO counted down in his peripheral vision, but he paid it no mind. The computer could calculate odds and chances faster than he could blink, but he wasn't about to let it take control of his Gundam.
Seventy-five percent chance.
Hil's foundation suit came into view, zero angle. Heero climbed sixty feet; he'd be cutting it close.
Sixty percent.
Heero slammed the boosters, kicking Wing into top gear. The jet engines flared, slamming him back against the seat. ZERO's numbers scrolled: three Gs, four Gs, five Gs.
Forty percent.
He gritted his teeth, accelerating through the shockwave as Hilde passed below him. Wing's nose came down to thirty-seven degrees. The mecha slowed, and he gasped for air as the pressure came off his body.
Thirty-five percent.
Pulling above her, Heero kicked with his feet, dropping the landing gear claws. Angel one-twenty. Eight thousand clicks per hour. Not a maneuver he'd want to do at even one-eighth his current speed, but--
Twenty percent.
"Shove it, Zero," Heero grunted. He punched in the code, raising the wing flaps minutely. A second later he slammed against Hil's suit, shredding Wing's belly along the aft thrusters.
Fifteen percent.
"Hold on, hold on," Heero muttered. To himself. To Hil. To Wing. To Lena. To ZERO. To anything... anyone. He tightened his grip and tensed, watching the speed drop, keeping Wing directly over Hil's suit. She was slowing, minutely. He did his best to match it.
"I will do it," he shouted at ZERO. The screen's numbers scrolled.
Twelve percent.
"Your highness," one of the operators said, handing Lena a set of headphones. "Call from the control room. Sandstone."
"Thanks," Lena said, not really paying attention. She put the headphones on automatically, busy tracking the movements across the radar. Wing's shape was almost directly on top of the Foundation suit Hil had stolen. Lena had a vague idea what Heero was planning, but it was madness. And with a squad of Foundation suits heading straight for them, it was suicide. "Heero," she whispered.
"No, it's Quatre," someone said into her earphones. His voice held a hint of amusement, but it was gone the next second. "Heero's installed ZERO on Wing."
"What the fuck?" Lena glanced over at Doro, who was listening on another set of headphones. Doro shrugged, almost casually, but she'd also paled. Lena knew Doro simply wasn't going to show anyone the extent of her fear. Lena took a deep breath. "You've used ZERO. What're the ramifications?"
"ZERO was built for battle," Quatre pointed out. "If saving Hil's life has value--"
"Of course it has value," Lena snapped.
"--Not what I meant. Let me finish," he continued, patiently. "Is she just trying to escape? ZERO will recommend she be allowed to fall, rather than risk both pilots' lives. Heero may not be able to sway the system, and once it--"
"No," Lena interrupted, speaking rapidly. Someone at the control panels along the tower's windows yelled that Wing was trying again. Lena took a breath and focused. "The tower was receiving asteroid schema. She was broadcasting when she entered the atmosphere. The high-energy plasma cloud caused too much interference, and they lost the signal."
"Does Heero know this?"
"The tower said... " Lena paused, and pulled the headphones off her ears. Grabbing the nearest operator, she quizzed him quickly on the original interaction with Wing. Satisfied, she put the headphone up against her ear, informing Quatre.
"Then ZERO knows," Quatre replied.
"It's not an independent life form," Lena retorted. She didn't mean to be cross with him, but he sounded so calm. Beside her, even Doro was hunched, arms crossed, white-knuckle hands digging into her upper arms. Lena put her arm around Doro, both to give comfort and get it. "It's not like it can decide on--"
"It's an artificial intelligence," Quatre snapped, losing his cool. "It was created to make decisions at points when the pilot cannot, faster and better, with the sole purpose of taking out the most enemy while keeping the pilot's chances of survival high. If Heero's actions put both Hil and himself at risk, ZERO can and will force him to abandon his rescue mission."
"But he... "
"No buts." Quatre sounded grim. "The only thing we can hope for is that Heero is aware how important those plans are. As long as he realizes it's paramount that those plans be rescued, and the only way to do that is to make sure Hil survives, then ZERO won't force him to shoot her down."
"Shoot her down?" Lena swayed, and Doro bowed her head, nodding.
"Yes. Rather than let her fall into enemy hands."
"This is madness. That stupid fucking system is just insane!"
"No, it's completely, utterly logical," Quatre replied, in a weary tone. "It doesn't ascribe emotion or meaning to anything other than what it will take to decimate the most enemy suits while getting the pilot out in one piece. And if the only way to decimate the most enemy suits is for the pilot to self-destruct, ZERO will logically choose that course of action."
"But Hil--" Lena shook her head, vaguely aware Doro's arms were wrapping around her, holding on tightly.
"Hil is the valuable one. ZERO, I suspect, will do its best to save her, unless the chances of survival drop so low that both pilots are likely to die," he mused. Lena wanted to scream; Quatre sounded a little like he was simply considering which type of tea to have with his biscuits. "ZERO was designed to beat the odds. It will force Heero's hand if necessary to make sure that happens."
Lena couldn't reply, her throat tight. She had to swallow several times before she whispered, "we never should have considered that program. That logic isn't human. The cost... "
"It's not human. It's a computer," Quatre murmured, then paused, before saying in a quiet voice, so low she almost missed his words. "I'm sorry, Lena. I'm truly sorry."
Another slam. Another crash. The calculations jumped erratically. Wing jolted, banking sharply to the left. The Foundation suits were within firing range, but he had to stick to missiles and the lower machine guns. He couldn't use the Temurah process at such speeds, so the beam blade was useless. Shifting would tear Wing to scraps no larger than Zero's control disk.
Fifteen percent.
"I'm not giving up yet," he told ZERO. Heero took a deep breath, matching Hil's speed and angle one more time. His frequency contacts to her last known call went unanswered. He'd have to assume the suit was either on automatic, or holding her last command.
Ten percent.
Heero opened the landing claws, and dropped the last fifteen feet. Catching onto the top of Hil's suit, he grunted with the shift in Gs when both suits suddenly dropped altitude. Angel one-eighteen. Heero punched the forward thrusters, bringing up Wing's nose. He banked into a steep full-S. The Foundation suits flew overhead by six hundred feet; Wing's proximity alarms blared, and ZERO began determining angles of attack.
Forty-two percent chance of pilot survival.
Down to Mach five. Three minutes to drop farther into the earth's atmosphere, dead weight dragging Wing down to a sharper angle. Heero pulled back on his arm controls, struggling to keep the nose high enough to prevent flip. Hil still didn't respond. Voices shouted over the intercom; Heero ignored them. Coming around again, his altitude dropped further and he fired off several missiles at the passing Yang.
"They're not aiming at me," he muttered, confused, angry, frustrated. "What are they waiting for? ZERO, Get into Hil's system on any open frequency. I need to know her status."
He knew he was exposed, with little maneuverability until he could slow down enough for Wing to run the Temurah process. Until then, he could fire missiles but hardly dodge all those sent at him.
Alarms blared; a light flashed red on the console.
Thirty-seven percent chance.
They've got a lock; Heero swore fluently under his breath. Taking a chance, he rolled Wing, bringing Hil's suit around with him. The missile scraped across Hil's suit's belly, leaving fire in its wake.
Last of the fuel lines, ZERO indicated. Pilot unconscious.
Figures, Heero thought. "I'm not dropping her," he informed the system, belligerent. "Fuck you. I'm not dropping--"
Thirty percent.
A hit slammed into Wing. Tailfin sheared. Heero swore again, fighting the system to retain his angle of attack.
Twenty percent.
Heero launched two missile volleys. He banked into another curve, spiraling down below the Foundation jets.
Ten percent.
Wing's alarms rang, a shrill echo. Heero was thrown to the side. Direct hit to Wing's fore thrusters, right wing flap.
Nine percent.
"Tower, we have visual," Trowa reported. He settled in the seat, tightening his grasp on the hand-levers. All systems reported go, full ammunition and fuel. Ten Foundation Yang, another ten Ma coming up behind. The Foundation must've only had those on five-minute alert, he figured, given the cease-fire.
"You'll take the high road, and I'll take the low road," Duo muttered. Deathscythe Hell started to roll away from the wingman position.
"Cancel that, Deathscythe Hell," Trowa replied. "You cover Wing."
"But--" Duo's face, on the inset screen, looked puzzled. "Broadarms' firepower--"
"Will work better as defense," Quatre said over the line. "Barton's right. Maxwell, we need your vision to combat ZERO."
"Say WHAT?" Duo's mouth fell open.
"He's running ZERO," Quatre repeated. "Get your ass up there and stop dallying. Broadarms, you take Deathscythe. Cover her as long as you can. If you can't, strip her mind and let her go."
"Winner!" Duo's shout was furious. He leaned into the cockpit camera, and Deathscythe Hell leapt forward. For a moment the vapor trails rushed over Broadarms, then Deathscythe Hell was gone, aiming towards the distant mecha, locked together.
"Maxwell!" Quatre's voice was a shout. "Do not contradict my orders!"
Trowa kicked in the throttle and took Broadarms up another thousand feet. The Foundation suits were flying thick and fast around Wing. Pulling up behind a Ma, he twisted and tilted the suit, falling into a dive when the Ma evaded.
"Zero angle," Trowa reported, half to himself. The screen's crosshairs wavered, froze, turned red; magnetic lock engaged. He fired. A direct hit; the Ma exploded in mid-air. Its wing section slammed into a passing Yang, and the Yang spun out of control. "Two birds, one shot," Trowa murmured, pleased with himself.
"Deathscythe Hell," Quatre said, coldly. "Do you read--"
"Yeah," Duo said, a bit sullen. "I know. I just need to get closer, before I can get a handle on their threads." Deathscythe Hell rolled several times, firing a volley of missiles, scatter-shot, at the three Yangs in formation. The Yangs broke away. Deathscythe shot upwards, twisting over to fly upside down as the Yangs passed underneath. "Got 'em!" On the screen, Duo smirked, and it wasn't a pleasant expression.
"More incoming," Lena broke in. "We have confirmation of twelve Go."
"Fuck," Trowa muttered.
Something inside of him broke free, and he could feel the battle calm he'd cultivated since childhood. It was a dogfight, and it'd be a nasty one. But it was nothing new. He locked onto another Yang, fell astern in the Yang's blind spot, and fired. The Yang exploded and he flew through the flameball, firing another round of missiles at the Ma coming down from above. Below him Deathscythe Hell tumbled and twirled, leading the Ma on a wild chase.
"On your eight, Maxwell," Trowa warned.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it," came the reply. A second later Deathscythe Hell dropped sixty feet and halted. The jet flares sputtered and stopped; the Ma flew directly overhead. A split second later Deathscythe Hell's jets exploded outwards and Deathscythe Hell fired rockets directly down the Ma's rear fuselage. A flash, and the Ma exploded. Duo grinned wickedly, on the screens, tearing away after two Go. "Stomp their asses!"
Showoff, Trowa thought, and took out two more Yang. He had to twist the throttles to roll Broadarms quickly. The Yang's return fire skimmed his tailfin, and he rose. Thrown back in his seat, he checked the rear sensors. Six of the Yang were giving chase, but several still clung tenaciously to Heero and Hil. Wing was locked onto the damaged suit, roughly two thousand feet below the dogfight platform.
Duo yelled something, and Trowa understood immediately. He dove, aiming for Heero and Hil, while Deathscythe Hell engaged the Yang. Now, if only they could break through the radio silence around Wing, Trowa thought. It does no good to have a plan if Heero's not aware.
Another hit. Heero fell forward over the controls, shaken by the explosion. In the space of one heartbeat, Wing shook, metal rumbled, creaked, screamed; the left wing-end was ripped away.
Seven percent.
"Shut up, you fucking machine!" Heero yelled. "I'm not going to let her die!"
Fire blossomed across Wing's nose. A hit to the sensors, and the screen blurred, static, crackling across the 'comm system. He couldn't hold on for longer. Carrying the suit's dead weight, and the tight G-turns, and Wing was operating down to sixty percent fuel. Eighty-two percent efficiency, dropping rapidly. Twelve percent systems damaged.
Six percent chance of pilot survival.
"She won't die," Heero protested, and twisted his hands. Wing answered, rolling again. Missile flares shot past, bloody streaks across his sensors.
Five percent.
I have to let go, he told himself, repeating the litany as ZERO slammed into his brain with image after image of death, destruction: his, Hil's, Lena's, Trowa's, Duo's. I have to let go, let her fall. He shook his head, but the words pounded into his brain. All the information she was carrying, everything she knows. Four people love her. More than just four. I have to hold on. I have to let her go.
Another shot. Wing's rear fuselage. Engine failure. Red lights on the console.
Four percent.
"Wake up, damn you!" Heero shouted over the open line. Seventeen Gs. Entering free fall. "Wake up! You've got to fucking WAKE UP!"
Three percent.
Wing twisted, regaining altitude. The mecha narrowly missed another missile, one aiming for the main sensor. Three Gs. Heero kicked upwards, arching his body in the straps. He grunted, every muscle screaming in pain, forcing the controls to obey him using body and mind. Wing took the sharp roll into a dive, then pulled abruptly upwards, spun, and dived again. Even adding his mental strength couldn't break the simple laws of physics. He couldn't control Wing as long as he held onto Hil's suit.
Heero groaned as the Gs increased. Wing was being dragged down, spiraling into free fall. Fuel down to forty-three percent. Efficiency at sixty-seven. Power at fifty-two.
"At least you're not Duo," a soft female voice whispered over the 'comm. It was followed by a hoarse chuckle, and a sigh. "Let go."
"Hil?" Heero blinked, unwilling to release the landing claws.
"Yeah. Let go," she murmured.
Two percent.
Heero let go.
"Engage, damn it," Duo shouted at the Ma speeding away from him. He rolled, accelerated, and came up under the Ma. Aiming straight up, he fired blindly, twisting away when the Ma exploded. The Gs threw him sideways, and he had to yank hard on the hand levers to pull himself back into the seat. "Six down," he congratulated himself.
"Twelve more incoming," Lena reported.
"Oh, fuck," Duo moaned, checking the threads, following her voice. Lena's gaze was fixed on the screen, and in the various futures spreading out across his vision, life and death flickered as fast as heartbeats.
Hil's suit suddenly fell away from Wing, plummeting downwards. Duo shouted, stunned, then had to roll and pull upwards to avoid a Go's machine gun blasts across his left wingtip.
"On it," Trowa assured him, and then Trowa's voice faded. He was yelling to Hil, calling to her. Several explosions blossomed, burned, and faded into falling shrapnel; Broadarms flew straight through, aiming for Hil.
Duo checked the threads, relieved to see both would survive. Wing was turning upwards, entering the dogfight. Wing was listing slightly, and the control was uneven. Cracks in the gundanium splintered the mecha's right wing and lower tail fin.
"Glad to have you join me," Duo told Heero, over the 'comm. He didn't get an answer, but he didn't care.
Kicking back on the leg controls, Duo flipped Deathscythe Hell over, nose-to-end, in a quick maneuver that the Foundation pilots couldn't or wouldn't follow. Gritting his teeth to keep from screaming at the Gs in the turn, Deathsycthe Hell rose up behind the Ma. He didn't bother to wait for a magnetic lock, but fired several machine-gun bursts. He was close enough that when one Ma exploded, the fuselage ring slammed into Deathscythe Hell's forward sensors.
"Watch it," Heero warned. "You keep that up, your chance--"
"Don't you tell me," Duo yelled back. "I've got my own goddamn odds-figuring machine in my head!"
He yanked backwards on the controls and shot straight up, climbing five hundred feet and coming around in a tight roll. Settling down to Heero's platform, he pulled in behind the four Yang on Heero's tail.
"Got your six," he informed Heero, and fired.
Two of the Yang exploded. At the same instant, Deathscythe Hell was slammed by a missile in its side thrusters, and Duo yelped inadvertently as the Gundam was jogged off-course. He wrestled back control in time to prevent spin.
"Fuck," Duo said, breathing heavily, then checked his aft sensors. The threads were thick and fast. He dove sharply to prevent colliding with two Go.
"Got your six." Heero's voice was flat, in that coolly amused way of his.
Deathscythe Hell was shaken by the close shockwave blast. Duo belatedly realized a Ma had been in his blind spot, almost crawling up his tail. Wing pulled up and above, then rolled over, passing along the side and under Deathscythe Hell.
Duo frowned at the maneuver. Only Heero had the strength of body - and the added force in his skills - to manage such a maneuver when half his left wing was blown away. Duo scowled and focused on taking out the pack of Go heading for Deathscythe Hell. Below him, Wing took aim and blasted away two Ma in quick succession, passing between the two jet-mecha with barely twenty feet leeway.
Damn bloody showoff, Duo grumbled mentally.
Meiran stared at the screen, feeling the tension in her body start to drain. She'd seen enough dogfights - and been in enough - to know when the battle had turned.
The four pilots had dropped into controlled airspace levels, and were crossing Austria, heading towards Sanq. Their speed was still significantly high. Wing and Deathscythe Hell continued to outstrip their pursuers, only to come around again, engage, and dart away. It was almost as though, Meiran thought, Heero were mimicking Duo's movements. From what she'd seen of the early part of the battle, Heero was a more offensive fighter, going in for the kill; now he was pulling the same aerial twirls and evasive stunts that Duo had done throughout the battle.
She sighed and straightened up. The tower was relaying landing information and clearing all air traffic over Sanq; Hil's suit was barely controllable, smoke billowing from the blown fuel units. She was mostly gliding, an amazing feat of piloting considering the damage to the suit, Meiran thought. And just as quickly, she had to stifle a rueful smile; Hil would probably berate herself bitterly for having suffered any damage. She certainly wouldn't take kindly to compliments on her prowess dealing with that damage.
"Meiran?" Lena came up behind her. "You can see it, too."
"Yeah. They're out." Meiran jerked her head towards two of the operators. "Backup's on its way, to take out the last of the aggressors when they enter Sanq airspace."
"I wonder," Lena mused. "Does this count as breaking the ceasefire?"
"Yes," Doro replied. "By us, not them." She sighed, and ran a hand through her hair, tugging absently on the ends. "Any other nation-states who picked up the long-range radar but did not catch the low frequency distress call would assume we sent a Gundam to disable, then kidnap, the Foundation suit." She shrugged. "And followed it up by attacking those Foundation suits attempting to rescue their own."
"It's a fuckin' dogfight," Meiran barked, pointing at the screen. "What the hell else could anyone--"
"Politicians are very good at seeing what they want to see," Doro cut in, her tone dry, "and convincing others of the same." She pointedly did not look at Lena, and Meiran narrowed her eyes, wondering what she'd missed over the past three months or more. Doro leaned over one of the operators. "Arrival?"
"T-minus five and counting, Lady Catalonia," the operator replied. "Those shapes are our guys," he added, pointing to the screen before him. "We scrambled two teams."
Meiran turned her attention away from the clean up, and stared at the broad screens above, then to the windows outside and the landing runs below. Hil, her mind chanted, Hil had run off to parts unknown, returning with schema for one of the Foundation asteroids.
Why that one? And what had made Hil go off on her own, without backup? What had she done? What had she discovered?
Meiran settled against the tower console board and watched the landing strip through angry eyes. If she found out Hil knew where Zhiyi was, and had found her, and had exposed Zhiyi to that re-entry, Meiran swore to herself that she would personally rend Hil from limb to limb with her bare hands, ten years as a team mate be damned.
No, Meiran corrected herself. Hil would never take that chance with Zhiyi. She would have made sure Meiran's daughter would be safe; Hil would have put Zhiyi's safety above her own. Meiran knew something had changed for Hil since the other Gundam pilots had arrived, but she refused to believe that something so fundamental, so crucial to their partnership, would have changed.
Fine, Meiran amended. I'll let her live. But if she does know where Zhiyi is, and didn't try to get her away, I'll make her regret that decision for a very long time.
End Part 38
(:./sol/tetra38)
