26-Oct-2004
Title: Tetractys: Da'ath, III
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: R for violence and language, some adult situations
Pairings (currently): 1+R, 1+2+3, 2x3x2, 4x5xM
Disclaimer: no, don't own 'em... duh.
Archived: sweetlysour and gwaddiction
Critiques: always welcome, natch!
Many thanks to CYT for tips and suggestions on WWII battles and pilot slang.
Week Eleven
"Kragujevac," Doro mused, running her fingers along the map. "Or possibly Djakovica... "
"I don't want this," Lena said, and waved Carrie away. "Doro, listen to me."
"It's out of our hands," Doro replied, continuing to stare at the map. "Cole's got a point, and the House of Commons has voted. If we don't suggest a good military location, who knows what they'll pick." She glanced up, taking in Lena's rumpled flight suit. "Probably someplace where Talon's sunk in about fifteen feet of concrete."
Lena made a face. "Don't even joke."
"I'd say Djakovica. Mokra Gora on the north, Prokletije on the west, Pastrik in the southwest, Sar in the south, and Drenica in the east... "
"Mountains?" Lena sat up, studying the map. Carrie hovered at her shoulder with a plate of food, and Lena waved it away a second time.
"You should eat," Doro said.
Lena frowned, and looked up at Carrie. "Have you eaten?"
"Uh... " Carrie's eyes went wide; she nodded suddenly, a smile on her face. "Yes, Lena."
"You're a horrible liar, Carrie," Lena said, and pointed to a chair at the table. "Sit down, and I'll share it with you."
"Your majesty!" Carrie stumbled backwards, shocked.
"Enough," Lena snapped. "I get that from everyone else. Don't you give it to me, too." She paused, and reached her hand towards the chair. "Please. Sit down. I know you haven't eaten yet today. And I know you haven't either, Doro. We'll share."
"You're the queen," Carrie whispered, not moving.
"Right. And I'm giving you a direct order. There's... three pieces of bread, some corn, and two pieces of chicken. Carrie, you take the drumstick. Doro and I can split the breast piece."
Doro made a face. "I hate white meat."
"Fine, Carrie and I will split and why the bloody hell are we arguing about this?" Lena pointed at the map with one piece of bread. "Explain why you want to move everyone up to the mountains, anyway."
"Defense," Doro said. "Deacon Fortress was rebuilt about two hundred years ago, and currently it's a museum. The valley is high, and narrow. Any jets coming in over land will have to come through these two peaks, or from here. I'll have General Reska take a look, but I think it's the best bet."
Lena eyed Carrie, who carefully picked up the drumstick and began nibbling at it. Lena nodded, satisfied, then stared down at her own half-eaten piece of bread.
"We need to figure out what to do about food, though." Lena sighed, and bit into the bread. "I'm told it's not possible to fish from the shoreline... And with the roads bombed into rubble, we can't get trucks into the city... "
"Moving to Djakovica puts us closer to agricultural areas, too," Doro added.
"That doesn't help the people of this city. We can only tighten our belts so far."
"It'll help up in other ways. It'll take some weight off the city, knowing you're not here," Carrie said, quietly. "They worry about you."
"I worry about them, too," Lena replied.
Week Twelve
"The bombers have a range of fifteen hundred miles and we're well within that," the man's voice said; his tone was pompous, almost patronizing. "We're dropping from an altitude of seven thousand feet, with eighty bombers running nightly."
"It's not enough," a woman replied, annoyed. "Why haven't they surrendered yet? What's left to bomb?"
Zhiyi blinked a few times. Her mouth felt dry, and her brain moved sluggishly. She stared down at her hands, fascinated by how short her fingernails were, and the bright pink of her skirt. She frowned. She hated pink.
"We've decimated Naples, Rome, Tirana, Patra, and Athens," the man continued. "Another six weeks and there will be nothing left."
"I don't want to waste another six weeks." A second man's voice broke in; he sounded younger, and impatient. "What kind of firepower are you using?"
"Monthly tonnage has gone from thirteen thousand, eight hundred tons to forty thousand, seven hundred tons." The first man's voice was almost a grumble. "We've had to reduce the armor on the bombers, to allow that much additional tonnage, and the cities' anti-aircraft artillery takes out roughly twenty-five to thirty percent on each run."
"That's too high," the woman said. Mariemaia, Zhiyi's mind supplied. "Get better pilots."
"Ma'am," the first man protested.
"Hush," the second man said.
Zhiyi didn't raise her head, but looked under her eyelashes. There was a man standing before Mariemaia's desk, dressed in a dark blue uniform. His chest was a colorful patchwork of ribbons and stripes, and there were gold stripes on his jacket's arms, along with a bunch of stars. Zhiyi blinked; everything was coming in and out of focus. Her face hurt as though she'd been smiling too much.
"Why can't we set fire to everything?" Mariemaia turned in her seat to look up at the handsome young man next to her.
"We're already using incendiaries in Asia," the military man replied. "We would need to divert some of our naval power to run bombers from the flight decks, which have the ammunition at hand. Right now we're using only what's available at the bases in Turkey."
"Well, divert it," Mariemaia snapped. "Stop wasting my time with details. Blow Sanq off the map and make them surrender, and everyone else will go along."
"Hush," the young man repeated, putting his hand on Mariemaia's shoulder. He looked at the military man. "Keep your focus on Asia. We can't risk moving away from there and letting that region explode again. Keep at the night raids on Sanq, and expand to include Romania and Bulgaria. What's going on with the South Americas Confederacy?"
"Ground troops are being moved from North America; we expect landing to be in four days," the military man said. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he rocked back on his heels gently, as if swayed by a soft breeze. "The mountainous regions and low visibility are making bombing runs dangerous, and we don't have exact INS readings for the locations."
"We have global satellites and you can't bomb a bunch of backwater cities," Mariemaia muttered.
"They keep moving their bases, ma'am. They're much more mobile than the European or Asian territories," the military man told her. "As for the colonies--"
"I don't give a rat's ass about the colonies," Mariemaia barked. "Let them fall into the sun for all I care! Just make those people stop fighting and be peaceful again!"
Zhiyi blinked. Mariemaia was on her feet, her face twisted in rage. The military man looked startled, while the young man behind Mariemaia rolled his eyes before settling a hand around her waist and leading her over to the side.
"Dear, calm down, you're only going to upset yourself," he whispered, but not so quietly Zhiyi couldn´t hear him clearly.
The military man looked embarrassed, while Mariemaia sniffled in the background. He looked around, and noticed Zhiyi sitting in her chair over by the wall. He gave her a surprised look, and Zhiyi did the only thing she could think of. She smiled widely at him, waved a little; she swung her feet back and forth, the vapid smile pasted on her face.
Maybe, just maybe, if she could wake up enough, she'd find out what was going on. She just had to keep smiling, not really look at anything, and maybe they'd leave her alone long enough for her to come up with a plan.
Week Thirteen
"Going downtown," came a voice over the radio. "You ladies sit tight, and we'll call ya when it's time."
"Red Five, make like a dot."
Cat blinked at the screens on Heavyarms, and glanced over at Hil's image. Hil shrugged, and continued running checks on her systems. They were flying low across the Aegean, heading for Izmir.
"Six bogeys at twelve o'clock--"
"Blue Seven, pull up, pull up--"
"Bubbas, head's up, ELINT coming through."
"Blue Seven bought the farm--"
"Blue One, on your six--"
"Fox Three! Fox Three!"
Cat rubbed her forehead and tried to make sense of the men's voices, piling over each other. Explosions sounded in the radio lines, blurring the voices shouting back and forth. The jet fighters were too far from her radar, and running at forty thousand feet while she and Hil scooted in under the Izmir radar at five hundred feet.
"Red Two, Judy, Judy--"
"Ladies, stay back, it's a knifefight--"
Hil made a rude gesture to the screen, and Cat smirked.
"Spank em, Red Four!"
"Blue Three--"
"I'm painted--"
"All pilots, cut the chatter--"
"God has spoken!"
"Blue Three is Mort--"
"Blue Two, falling in--"
"Squadron Seventy-first, bug out," came the tower's voice. "Kick the tires and light the fires, you've got--"
"It's a fur ball out here--"
Cat considered putting them all on mute.
"Check six, Red Two--"
"Say your state, Red Two--"
"State two plus two zero to splash," came back the cry. "Someone spank that bogey--"
"I'm on it, Red Two--"
Cat let her finger hover over the mute button, and decided against it. In the distance she could see the Turkish shore, looming up in the dusk.
"Visuals," she informed Hil, over their private line. On her wing, Hil pulled in close, letting the ECM and the high waves work as interference on the Izmir tower. "I'll take the tower. Meet you at the base."
"See ya then," Hil said, and dropped down. Her afterburners kicked in, and Deathscythe shot off across the land, low over the trees.
Cat dropped Heavyarms down, readying the beam cannon. She could hear the exuberant cries of the Sanq pilots, keeping the Foundation jets busy. For every courageous cry and distant flare of jets falling from the sky, half of those were young pilots of Sanq.
I just want it over, Cat thought, and took aim on the tower.
Week Fourteen
"No," Duo said. He leaned back against Deathscythe Hell and crossed his arms, a stubborn look on his face that Trowa knew all too well.
"Direct orders," Trowa stated, flatly.
"And since when have you become such an obedient little soldier?" Duo narrowed his eyes, turning his head away and raising his nose in the air.
Trowa resisted the urge to punch Duo, and took a deep breath. "Since we agreed to answer to General Randt's orders."
"You might have. I didn't." Duo pushed away from the mecha, getting in Trowa's face. He shoved his thumb against his chest, emphasizing his words. "I'm not leaving those people there. We've got to get them out."
"How?" Heero looked down from the cockpit of Wing, where he was adjusting the modifications on the Long designs. The left arm kept loosening during battle, hampering his ability to use Wing's shield. "You can't let them all pile on Deathscythe Hell's back, idiot."
Duo snorted and grabbed the towrope. "I'll figure something out," he snapped, and stepped into the cockpit.
"Duo!" Heero bellowed at the top of his lungs.
There was silence in the hangar, then Deathscythe Hell's cockpit opened to reveal Duo's startled expression. He looked down at Trowa, who shrugged, and then over at Heero, who was glaring intently.
"Hey, now," Duo said, attempting a grin but mostly looking sheepish. The expression didn't fit on his wan face, or match the dark circles under his eyes. "No need to get cranky on me."
Heero stared for a long instant, then looked down at Trowa, who stepped back a bit. Trowa wasn't sure what Heero intended, but looking back and forth between his two teammates, he realized he had two choices. He could agree to whatever Heero decided, since Duo would most likely consider Heero the tiebreaker and go along... or Trowa could force out in the open whatever tension it was between them. He'd been trying to ignore it for nearly four weeks. It wasn't getting any better - no worse, true - but it hadn't resolved itself. He wished Quatre were around; Quatre would've known what to say or do. Wufei, on the other hand, would have locked all three of them in Broadarms' cockpit until they figured it out.
"I can't pilot and move," Heero said, climbing down from Wing. He set the perimeter alarms, and moved to stand in front of Deathscythe Hell. Heero zipped up his jacket, and waited. "Pick me up. The villagers are all in the town hall for warmth. I'll move the building."
"You're kidding," Duo replied. Heero glowered, and Duo shook his head. "You'll freeze, first."
"I'll live," Heero retorted.
"If you do, you'll still be out of commission for at least two days after a stunt like that."
"Do it." Heero's glare went up several notches. "You wanted this. You gonna fight me now about it?"
Duo scowled, and the cockpit door slammed shut. Trowa rolled his eyes at the theatrics, then glanced over to see that old smirk on Heero's face. There was nothing quite so smug as Heero getting a dig in on Duo - or a win, in this case. Trowa sighed, and knew the tension had just shifted.
We're at war, he thought. But do we have to go back to the beginning between us three, as well?
Five minutes later, Broadarms was blasting from the hangar, Deathscythe Hell riding wingman. The small Swedish village lay ahead along the coast, in the direct path of the invading Finnish and Foundation forces.
Trowa pulled away to scout, leaving Duo and Heero to accomplish their reckless mission. The distance was growing, the distance he'd felt since the assignment began. Duo had reverted to joking and laughing, a habit that got on Trowa's nerves; Heero had glared, needling Duo repeatedly. The two were bonding in a way that had always left Trowa out.
He shrugged to himself. It wasn't like anything was meant to last forever. Eventually it would all be flotsam and jetsam before the path of inevitable change.
Week Fifteen
"No," Terra said, firmly. "We don't know where Mariemaia is, and we don't care. You said you were here to help us. We need runners on that L1 blockade."
Meiran stood up taller, her pilot's helmet under her arm. "We can take potshots at Foundation cruisers until the sun burns out, and it won't end this war. We have to go to the top!"
"You'll burn all your fuel and the last of our food in a wasted mission," Terra shouted. "It's one kid, and you'd risk everything--"
"It's my kid and that's reason enough but that's not why I want Mariemaia," Meiran roared. Terra took a step back, and Meiran moved forward. "Mariemaia is gambling heavily. The majority of her Earth-based troops are holding down Asia. Another one-fifth of her forces are in Southern Europe, and another one-fifth in Northern Europe. She's got ground troops in the jungle in South America, and she's stripping her orbital forces to support the fights earth-side. If we can find her, there's a good chance she's not as well defended, especially if she's on an MEO. A solid blow and we can end--"
"It's all conjecture," Terra retorted.
"Fuck you and your goddamned excuses!" Meiran threw her helmet across the room. Turning on her heel, she strode from the room, her expression promising death to whomever got in her way.
"She's right, y'know," Thayer spoke up from the dark corner where he'd been watching the argument. "Mariemaia is a figurehead. Her people follow her because they believe in her infallibility, after all these years. If we can strike at the serpent's head, it'll lose its fangs."
Terra glared at him, and turned to collapse onto the nearest bench in the small meeting room. "It's pointless, old man. Finding her would be a needle in a haystack."
"True, but you'll still find the needle faster by starting somewhere, than by not starting at all."
"I'm not going to discuss it with you," Terra snapped. "I'm running this show, not you. You're just some two-bit ex-Sweeper with a fried ship."
"Formerly fried," Thayer replied, unperturbed. He stretched out his long legs, and appeared to settle into a light doze.
"We've got to break that blockade around L1," Terra muttered. "The colonists--"
"Are doing just fine," Thayer interrupted. "L1 is the breadbasket of the colonies, now that L5's been gone all this time. They can survive for another six months, as long as they keep adjusting their rotational position properly. Water is their only issue."
"Yeah, but--"
"Just fuckin' admit it," Thayer said, standing. "Lack of food is making you even more stubborn than usual, or maybe it's the fact that you're seeing a ghost and can't acknowledge that it's not your brother. Quatre Winner is dead. Gone! Ten years! This is not your Quatre Winner. Stop hating him for dying, because this Quatre didn't."
"Shut up, you bastard," Terra barked, coming to her feet as well. "Don't you dare lecture me about--"
"I'll lecture you all I want, you goddamned prima donna!" Thayer's glare relaxed into a tight grin. "Yeah, you are. You've been the Winner rebel for so long now, running your secret missions and thinking you've taken on your brother's mantle. That's what gets you, isn't it? That you'll never fill his shoes, 'cause you haven't got the guts."
"Shut up!" Terra screamed it, furious. "You have no right--"
"I have every right!" Thayer dropped his voice back to a reasonable tone, almost amused. "Once you trusted me enough to see you cry, to admit you needed help. As far as I'm concerned, that's one thing giving me a right."
"You haven't had that right in years," Terra replied, haughty.
"No, 'cause now I've got a bigger right," Thayer told her, and he was no longer amused, but stern and cold. "Those pretty words from the Talon Queen weren't just words. If a people has a right to question its government when the government becomes a bad ruler, don't think that Mariemaia is the only dictator. We can question you, too. Your people are starving, Terra. They're dying in battle, and starving on the ship. That blockade isn't to keep L1 in, it's to keep us out."
Terra turned her back on Thayer, her shoulders hunched, but he kept talking.
"The Foundation transports aren't running, which means no pickings for us, and no way to buy food on the colony's black market. We're going to starve out here, unless we find a way to break the stranglehold. And eventually your people will realize you're consigning them to a long and painful death because you're too bullheaded to recognize it's time to bet everything on the next roll of the die."
"I am not!" Terra shook her head. "We can't risk it. We've got to conserve fuel and parts, and we're low on Gundanium to repair--"
"Fine," Thayer said, raising his hands as if in surrender. "Die slow or die fast... what difference does it make? But I for one won't die on my knees begging for a scrap of bread. I'll go out in a blaze of glory, like my Pa." He strolled to the door, waving over his shoulder, a casual move as if he weren't promising rebellion and catastrophe with one lazy phrase. "See ya, babe."
Week Sixteen
Zhiyi swung her legs against the seat, but not so fast she appeared alert. Just enough to make a swaying motion, and she kept the smile on her face. She swore to herself that when everything was done, she wouldn't smile for two years, to make up for the strange sensation of betrayal.
Mariemaia was studying a large screen, bolted to the wall of the office. It showed lit battle zones, and every few minutes Mariemaia would hit a button. The screen would change to show Earth's path around the sun and the location of all forces and satellites, all colonies and battle zone hotspots. Zhiyi practically had it memorized; Mariemaia had been staring at it for nearly an hour, and Zhiyi wasn't sure whether she wanted to stand on a chair and scream or run around in circles from the enforced stillness.
She swung her legs a bit more. At least it was some movement.
Mariemaia sighed, and wrapped her arms around herself. She looked utterly forlorn, and confused, her gaze traveling back and forth between the colony-earth map, and the earth-side map. The side door opened, and Zhiyi stiffened instinctively at the familiar footsteps.
"Dear," Alexander said, his voice coaxing, "you're going to wear yourself out staring at that thing. Why not come with me, and we'll go down to the colony's pool?"
"It's not the same as Earth," Mariemaia said, listlessly. "It's too blue, and it smells funny."
"That's just the chlorine," Alexander replied. He put his arms around Mariemaia; when she didn't move, he turned her around and bent over to peer into her face. "Why so down? A beautiful face like yours should be smiling."
"I can't smile," Mariemaia said, shaking her head. "They keep fighting and dying, Alex."
"That's what happens in war, but it's a glorious death in your cause." He kissed her on the forehead, but her expression didn't change.
"If I'm really supposed to be the Empress," Mariemaia said, "why do they fight? And keep fighting? It's like... we keep bombing, and destroying, and... and... I saw the pictures of Norway... "
Her voice cracked, just a little, and Zhiyi perked up, confused but interested. She hadn't seen Mariemaia like this, or perhaps she had but had been too deep in the dream to realize it.
"I love Norway," Mariemaia whispered brokenly. Her hands came up to clutch at Alexander's shirt. "It was so gorgeous and now it's just smoking ruins and the fjords and the mountains and that old church we visited that was a thousand years old and--"
"Hush, dear, you'll work yourself into a frenzy again," Alexander replied. He rubbed her upper arms, and made a soft cooing sound in his throat. "They're just being stupid. They've destroyed all that through their own stupidity, and eventually they'll realize--"
"What if they already realized?" Mariemaia's cry was desperate. She shoved at Alexander, futilely; he didn't let go of her arms. "What if their fighting is just the universe's way of proving that I'm not meant to be Empress? What if--"
"You're Empress," Alexander snapped. "You are, and you have the crown to prove it." Mariemaia laughed, bitterly, and he raised a hand, backhanding her sharply. "Stop that," he ordered. She cowered, a hand to her cheek, and he yanked her hand away, shaking her a little. "Pull yourself together! My great-uncle worked too hard to put you in this position for you to lose it now."
"But... "
"But nothing." Alexander sighed, and pulled Mariemaia into his arms. "Shhh, it'll be okay. Generals Jota and Wester are working on their plan--"
"No," Mariemaia said, and the word was a defeated moan. "I don't want... I mean," she pulled back, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "Sure it'll stop everyone from fighting, but at what cost? I'm not a child anymore, to think the world is my plaything. I don't want a total war. Nothing's left when you do that."
"That's what it'll take to stop the fighting," Alexander replied. He leaned his head back, sighing, and managed a laugh. "You are sweet, but stubborn. Look, if you're certain--"
"I am," she assured him.
"Then I'll tell them to cancel that plan. We'll keep with conventional means... " Alexander kissed her again, on the cheek. "Now, cheer up, and come swimming with me. It'll make you feel better, I promise." He turned to wrap an arm around her waist, and saw Zhiyi sitting in her usual chair, by the wall. Alexander frowned. "What is that child doing here?"
"Keeping me company," Mariemaia said, and gave Zhiyi a feeble smile. It sharpened, but faltered, and Mariemaia looked away. "She... "
"Well, it's a risk. When was she last dosed?"
"An hour, I guess." Mariemaia shrugged, and pulled Alexander towards the door. Her smile this time was a bit fiercer, and more like her usual self. "So... are bathing suits required?" Her glance was flirtatious.
"I'll lock the place down and we'll have it all to ourselves," he replied. Alexander glanced at Zhiyi again, and she made a point to smile blissfully at him, keeping her eyes slightly unfocused. He frowned, and turned his attention back to Mariemaia, ignoring Zhiyi.
But Zhiyi noticed, as the couple walked past, that Mariemaia looked her way. Just a quick glance from those bloodshot eyes, and it was gone, but in Mariemaia's expression, Zhiyi saw nothing but utter loneliness.
She filed it away, and waited for the guards to come get her. She had a great deal to think about, before they pushed her back into the dream.
Week Seventeen
Cat looked up at Doro's approach, and scooted over on the guard's bench along the battlement. Doro sat down, pulling a long black coat around her, and dug in one of the pockets. She brought out a thermos, and unsnapped the cap, which became a cup.
"Is it alcoholic?" Cat asked, in a half-whisper. Something about the full moon rising over the forested mountain peaks made speaking normally almost sacrilegious. The moon's blue light turned the stone crenellations and merlons to silver.
"I wish," Doro muttered. "Just tea. Some kind of herb they drink around here."
"Ah." Cat took a sip, and handed the cup back. She shifted in place. "It is rather chilly."
"You should get a warmer coat, or a blanket, or something."
"Naw." Cat stared at the moon; a soft cloud drifted past, moving briskly in the high altitude breeze. "Hard to believe the moon is so far, away... and that people live on it. That it's up there, and we're here."
"Duo used to stare at the moon, Lena told me." Doro sipped the tea, and held out the cup for Cat, who took it. "He said it didn't look the same from space."
"I wouldn't know," Cat replied. "The few times I've been up to space, I was too busy fighting to pay much attention to the scenery."
Doro nodded.
"So I guess I just figured I should, while I still can."
"Don't talk like that," Doro whispered.
"You're our team cynic," Cat said, shrugging. "If you're not going to, someone has to fill in the gap. You're turning into a romantic, or something, or all that political stuff is going to your head and making you think we can survive."
"We can," but Doro didn't sound too hopeful. She accepted the cup, and swirled the last dregs before refilling it. "I think so, at least."
"In the past two months," Cat whispered, "the bombings and fires have killed over six hundred thousand people in Sanq alone. I've kept track of my kills over the years, and I've barely cracked a hundred thousand." She laughed, and the sound echoed along the battlements. Behind them, someone shouted in the bailey, followed by laughter. Cat sighed. "I never set out to do what amounts to a massacre, when you add up the numbers."
"None of us did." Doro sipped the tea. "Will you stay with Lena? I'll do the next run, with Hil. Bulgaria wants to take out Istanbul, this time."
"Istanbul, Izmir, and we keep going until there's nothing left," Cat said, in a dull tone. "What's going to be left when we're done? How are we going to possibly rebuild everything we've destroyed?"
Doro arched an eyebrow.
"I mean in the collective sense. We're human, so we bear the burden along with the Foundation and everyone else." Cat turned away, annoyed suddenly. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you. You're always so certain of everything."
"I'm certain of very little," Doro said, and it sounded like a confession, hesitantly given, with a tint of fear. "I'm not certain I'll survive the next mission. I'm not certain that knowing I've helped make choices that are killing people who wanted nothing more than peace... I'm not certain... " She shrugged. "A long time ago, I thought war was the only honorable thing, believing my father died a coward's death. But now... I look down on these towns, smoking ruins where the streets are littered so high with dead bodies... " Her voice choked, and the tea spilled over her hands, making her hiss. "I always believed death and dishonor were the same. But I see these people doing their best to live in the midst of such madness, and I realize I'm not certain I was ever right."
Week Eighteen
"We can't keep fighting," Erickson told the three Gundam pilots. "You have twenty-four hours to get out, and then we're issuing our surrender."
Duo scowled, and crossed his arms. Trowa stared at the man for a long moment, then nodded. Heero glanced at his teammates, then at the Swedish General.
"At what point do you decide you must surrender?" Heero's question was flat, but his expression was puzzled, his eyes wide.
"Don't be sarcastic with me," Erickson said, turning away to review a document handed to him by a clerk. The office around them was subdued; officers were busy burning every scrap of information and stripping all computer systems with magnetic disrupters. "I'm not interested."
"I'm not," Heero replied. "I want to know."
Erickson sighed, his shoulders slumped, and turned back to the three young men. He was a man in his eighties, of stern stuff, with clear blue eyes that were used to looking the distance over choppy gray water.
"When there is nothing left for the people to believe in, then there's no longer a reason to fight," Erickson replied. "The Foundation has obliterated our ports, our villages, our schools, our homes, our businesses, our roads, our fields... we are facing a winter of no food, no fuel, and sixty percent of our population homeless. Our land has been destroyed, and it's that land that we fought for. Now it's gone."
"It's not gone," Heero said, glancing past to the wide plains outside the farmhouse's window. "It's right there."
"It's scorched to the soil," Erickson barked. He waved the papers in one hand, gesturing angrily. "Open your eyes, you fool of a Gundam pilot. Our people will die this winter, with no protection or shelter or food. What do you expect me to do, demand that they fight, knowing they're dying already?"
"Yes," Heero told him. "It's what we'll be doing."
Erickson was silent.
Week Nineteen
"What I really want," Meiran whispered, rolling over to pillow her head on Quatre's shoulder, "is a shower."
"Oh, yeah," Quatre said, feeling sluggish. He raised one awkward hand, and ran it down her bare back. His fingers felt deadened; her skin felt clammy and sticky.
"A long shower," Wufei added, from Meiran's other side. He lay on his side, facing Quatre, and his black hair was loose. It hung in greasy streaks across the pillow, glistening blue in the last dying glow of the nightstick. "With soap. Lots of soap."
"Mm," Meiran hummed. "I want some that smells like lilacs."
"And a glass of wine while we soak," Quatre said, figuring there was nothing wrong with getting into the mood. "And bread, and cheese."
"Cheese," Meiran said, agreeing. "Real cheese." She wrinkled her nose against Quatre's shoulder. "None of this stuff that comes from a test tube."
"I wonder if there are cows in space," Wufei pondered. "I don't recall any on L5, growing up."
"They had some at the zoo," Meiran replied, nudging him with an elbow. "Didn't you go, in your world?"
Wufei sniffed. "I was too busy studying."
"Which is a Chang way of saying he was practicing his crowbar skills," Meiran told Quatre.
Wufei raised an eyebrow, and Meiran giggled.
"Only way to force the rocks in his head apart long enough to squeeze a few ounces of knowledge in."
"Hunh." Wufei didn't roll away, but curled closer, and the heat of his body was half what it'd once been. Quatre glanced over to see Wufei's eyes close momentarily, then open again. "While we're dreaming, I want to spank our lover, Quatre."
"I'd like the energy to do something other than lie here," Quatre said, but couldn't manage a leer, too exhausted. He sighed, instead. "Then you can spank her all you like."
Meiran giggled again. "Only if you promise to tie me down first."
Wufei blinked, and raised his head.
Quatre laughed, but it was a hoarse sound, and he soon cut it off.
An alarm sounded over the intercom, and Quatre sat up, grabbing the nearest flight suit. He realized it was Meiran's, and handed it over before picking up the next. It was Wufei's.
"Where's my suit?" Quatre looked over at Meiran's point, and realized he'd stripped it off by the door. Stumbling to his feet, he dressed quickly. He was closing up his boots by the time Meiran and Wufei were fully dressed.
"Incoming," Ango's voice echoed over the loudspeaker. "All hands to battle stations."
The three Gundam pilots were too hungry and exhausted to do more than look at each other and shrug. The Foundation was finally coming to the L2 debris to finish off what starvation and injuries had not already killed.
"Well," Meiran said, as they filed out into the hallway. "Guess I'll see you on the flip side."
End Part 31
(:./sol/tetra31)
