16-Oct-2004
Title: Tetractys: Geburah, IV
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: R for violence and language, some adult situations
Pairings (currently): 1+R, 1+2+3, 2x3x2, 4x5xM
Warnings: strong violent images, this chapter
Disclaimer: no, don't own 'em... duh.
Archived: sweetlysour and gwaddiction
Critiques: always welcome, natch!
1200 GMT; 1400 local
Kassala, Sudan
Duo finished bolting the makeshift back-cushion to the seat, and stood on the back of the cockpit, stretching with his hands on his lower back. His head thumped against the wall, and he scowled, rubbing the spot.
"I'm not that tall," he muttered.
Hopping out from the cockpit, he waved to Squeaky, who approached with a grin, half-hidden by the man's white scarf.
"Fill 'im up," Duo called, miming pumping gas. The man nodded, and hollered to his compatriots, who ran off for another one of the tents. Duo sat on the Gundam's chest, his legs hanging off the edge, and took a deep breath.
Sun... birth... sandstorm...
He grinned. These people would be safe; better still, the woman who'd helped him would give birth to a healthy baby boy. Duo wasn't sure how to tell her, nor did he think such news would be received warmly, since it wasn't like he had the skills to explain how he knew. But at least he could leave - for once - knowing he didn't leave death in his wake.
1200 GMT
Dublin, Ireland
"You sure about this?" Marco asked the man, as they waited for the broadcast signal to jump from satellite back down to earth.
"We'd already made up our mind," the man replied, in a thick brogue. He'd only identified himself as Erin, but he'd been running Ireland's resistance force since the beginning of the war. "We just weren't sure how to approach either of you about it." He chuckled, abashed. "She did play right into it, though. To our relief."
"A figurehead, though." Marco shook his head. "She's a bit young." He caught Erin's skeptical look, and shrugged. "To me, she is."
"No one in this world is young, or innocent, anymore," Erin replied, and nodded to the young woman at the broadcast terminal. "Hit it, Katie."
"Aye," the woman replied, and entered the final command line. A few seconds later the television in the small room went dark, then slowly the signal resolved. Zhiyi's face appeared.
Marco, for a moment, could see her as a stranger. A young face, eyes large, too-serious in the small, round face; the teeth just a little crooked, the lips thin, cheekbones high, hinting at future beauty like her mother. Zhiyi was staring at the camera, looking frightened, then suddenly she seemed to calm, find some source of strength deep down. She opened her mouth, and her thin, childish voice was soft. The words chosen by Erin and Marco were fierce, but her voice was quiet, peaceful, and the contrast only underlined her determination.
"My name is Zhiyi Long, and I am the daughter of Meiren Long. I have lived my entire life in the shadow of war... "
1200 GMT; 0500 local
Moab, Utah
Wufei blinked, wearily, and ran through the diagnostics results. He glanced at the broadcast signals from seven different satellites, idly noting the variations between local news reports and the official Foundation versions. Outside the open cockpit, he could see Quatre and Meiran curled up for warmth, and he sighed, checking through the perimeter alarms run through Shenlong's system. He yawned.
Reaching up to click off the broadband induction, he froze, seeing three of the channels turn dark, then come to life. Wufei stared, not even blinking, unable to draw breath. A half-second later, he was hitting the record command, then scrambling down from Shenlong to wake his partners.
"Quatre," Wufei hissed, and shook Meiran. "Get up, get up--"
"What?" Meiran smacked his hand, then came wide awake, sitting up. "What? Are we--"
"You have to see," Wufei managed, and jumped back up to Shenlong to climb into the prone Gundam. Quatre and Meiran were a half-beat behind him, and both lay down to look into the cockpit, twisting to study the images playing across the corner of the front viewscreen.
"Fuck," Meiran breathed.
"Are you recording?" Quatre's look was sharp.
"Of course," Wufei snapped. "Running search, but the signal's origination point is too well-hidden."
"Duh," Meiran said. "If we can see it, so can the rest of the world... but... my daughter," she whispered. "How can she... "
We have let the Gundams fight for us, for too long. Now the Foundation claims to have taken the Gundams down...
"They took us down?" Quatre laughed, a barking sound.
"But she's telling civilians to--" Meiran's retort was cut off by Quatre's sharp reply.
"And isn't it about time? How long were you going to dedicate years of your life to fight a war that the rest of the world considers a spectator sport?" Quatre jumped down from Shenlong, and waved his hand dismissively at Meiran and Wufei. "Dawn's in a half-hour. Let's roll out, and hit that base."
"Quatre!" Meiran pounded a fist on Shenlong. "Not if--"
"Enough!" Quatre barked. "Nothing you can do from here," he said, lowering his voice to a gentler pitch. "Keep recording it," he told Wufei. "Meiran, get to Nataku, and prepare for the attack. Our plans haven't changed."
1200 GMT; 1400 local
Cantoira, Italy
Slowly Lena raised the phone to her ear, whispering the code words that would set off the resistance force's distraction plans. Zhiyi's voice continued, relentlessly, in the background, playing out across the screens.
...Are we so weak as a people that we will be defenseless once our champions are gone? At what point do we fight on our own behalf?
She hung up the phone, feeling listless, and shoved it into her back pocket. She turned to face the woman still perched on the desk.
"Now we--" Her words were cut off by Mrs. Tritorelli's shocked expression.
"She's a child," the woman said, stunned. "How can she... my god, she's only a child! You people are barbarians!"
"No, just dedicated," Lena replied, feeling numb. Had the Foundation really captured the other Gundams? What was going on?
"More like certified! Using children! What kind of war are you people fighting?"
"The kind where people die." Lena shrugged, waiting for the explosions in the distance that would draw the soldiers away from the room's door.
"Children shouldn't be seeing war. They shouldn't be forced to deal with death like that," Mrs. Tritorelli replied, her entire body shaking.
"I know." Lena nodded, too tired, suddenly. Zhiyi's words continued to fill the room, but the speech was drawing to a close.
This isn't peace, but tyranny. This isn't a blessed world, but one cursed by one person's domination and our cowardice in letting it happen...
A call to the troops, Lena thought, and spared a second to smile for the way their minds worked, she and her little niece. Now, if only it worked - if only the people of Earth actually heeded the cry, and stood up, picked up a gun, or a hoe, or a stone, and started fighting in their own defense. She doubted it'd happen, but a small part of her could hope.
"An entire generation has grown up with war," Mrs. Tritorelli whispered, as the screen went dark. "But... we've been quiet here, and we all get along." She glanced at the two bodies, blood oozing across the floor, and wrinkled her nose to see Lena was standing in a pool of it. "But you had to bring it to our doorstep. We were fine before you got here," she burst out.
"Go right on believing that," Lena said, bracing herself against the communications display when the first explosion rocked the building. Mrs. Tritorelli shrieked and covered her head. Lena picked up the nearest chair and threw it at the window. A second explosion covered the sound of breaking glass. In the sudden silence afterwards, Lena paused at the window. "But the war has always been here, even if you've been too stupid and blind to admit you were part of it."
She was out the window in a heartbeat, dropping in the back alley, landing in a crouch. Gun out, she surveyed the alley, pleased to see the far end of the local headquarters was aflame. A small truck at the end of the alley was waiting, and Lena dashed towards it, expecting a bullet in her back any second. None came, and she launched herself into the truck's bed with a strangled shout to the driver.
Pulling the blanket over her - some cover, she told herself - she held the gun to her chest and thought of the four men who'd woken that morning in a corner of the world they'd thought was peaceful. She wondered if they had families, friends, children. She mentally recorded the moments, the sharp flare of gunfire, the sigh of blood seeping from fatal wounds, and then turned her mind to the next stage of her battle.
Mourn for the dead, she reminded herself, but fight like hell for the living.
1300 GMT; 1500 local
Asmara, Eritrea
Trowa ducked into the tent, and Hilde came to her feet. She wiped her hands off on her flight suit and gave him an expectant look.
"We're moving out," he informed her curtly. "Their radar is picking up Foundation suits heading this way."
"Duo?" Hilde scrambled to keep up with his long legs. "If he's not repaired--"
"He'll be fine," Trowa replied. "I sent a message with a rendezvous point."
"Where is it?" Hilde caught Trowa by the arm. "I'm in this, too. Why aren't you telling me anything?"
Trowa paused, and a muscle in his jaw clenched and unclenched before he slowly dropped his eyes to stare at Hilde's hand. Startled, she let go, but didn't lose the intent expression. Trowa's gaze came up to meet hers, a fierce, blank look.
"For years, I tolerated Duo," he informed her, in an oddly distant tone. "Now I understand him, and don't mind his familiarity. Do not, however, assume that you can claim the same rights. We're shipping out."
"But Duo--" Hilde stood her ground. "I want to know where he is!"
"Learn to live with disappointment," Trowa replied, striding forward to the canvas-draped form of Broadarms. Yanking back the cloth, he climbed up onto the chest, and looked down at Hilde from his position towering a dozen feet above her head. "Move it, 02."
Hilde muttered something inaudible, but most likely rude. She dashed off, to where Deathscythe was stored.
Trowa watched her go, and considered the broadcast he'd caught on Broadarms while beginning the alterations Duo had sent. He had completed modifications for the upper-body controls, and hadn't even had a chance to test them before his long-range scans indicated incoming forces. He had no wish to see the local resistance forces pounded into dust; that was no way to thank them for the hospitality.
Slipping into the cockpit, he took a moment to tighten the straps of the arm-controls around his forearms, wrist, and fingers. Running through a quick scan, he closed and locked the cockpit, beginning the preliminary start-up procedures. Hilde's face appeared on his screen, and she blinked a few times at the assortment of wires and cords moving from his arms and fingers to the console.
"Barton," she said, puzzled, "what did you do to your suit?"
"Modifications," he replied. "Head due west, three hundred clicks."
"Oh, that's where--"
"No," Trowa said. "He's heading north."
"North?" Hilde leaned forward, her blue eyes wide and anxious. "That's into the heart of everything! There's a base every hundred clicks along the coast--"
"He can handle it." Trowa fired up Broadarms, and moved through Temurah mode. Without a stationary throttle in each hand, it felt awkward, as though he were grasping at water. Broadarms hovered over the encampment, then angled around and fired off towards Wad Medani, eight hundred miles inland.
"Goddamnit," Hilde cried, lifting up and taking off after Trowa. Deathscythe transformed into bird-mode, and pulled up on Trowa's portside. "Don't you give a damn about him? He's your partner."
"He's quite capable of doing what he needs to do," Trowa responded. He was tempted to shut down the visual, but kept it open. Something in him wanted to continue drawing Hilde out, piss her off more, see what she'd say if she really lost her temper.
"You really don't care," she spat. "You're all just cold-blooded killers, and you'll pay any--"
"That would be pot, meet kettle," Trowa said, deadpan. He didn't feel amused, but it was humorous somehow at the same time.
"Fuck you, Barton," Hilde said. "And here I thought you two were friends--"
"We're partners, first," Trowa replied, neutral. "Going to radio silence." Before she could reply, he shut down the communications link.
He concentrated on the minimal adjustments rather than use the computer's autopilot, testing and learning the system now that he wasn't grasping anything other than a solid bar. Pull forward, push back, had become lift up, swing around, move back - all the full range of motion he'd been denied before. Broadarms moved with a grace and ease he'd never experienced.
For a moment, he was tempted to roll Broadarms ten or eleven times, just to test the system, but thought better of it. He had Hilde enough on edge, and he wondered about her protective anger and worry for Duo. Perhaps the Duo of this world, Trowa mused, was not nearly as capable as the Duo he knew.
Or perhaps, he thought, the only Duo that Hilde had known was much like the Duo that Trowa had first met. Flippant, easy-going, playful, sarcastic, laissez-faire, uncaring: all the things that had made Trowa grit his teeth and avoid the longhaired pilot for the first few years of their partnership. But even that, he knew, hadn't been enough to cover Duo's obvious skills, matching and besting Trowa at piloting and stealth.
Trowa sighed, and watched the ground rise and fall beneath Broadarms. The temurah-shadow flitted across the land, startling the occasional sheep and causing shepherds to raise their heads and yell as he passed.
I hope you're right about this, Duo. Come back safe to us.
1400 GMT; 0600 local
Ciudad Juárez, Mexico
"I'll take the east; Wufei, you take the west." Quatre continued the systems check, confirming the ammunition records and setting the counterweights to adjust for the Foundation's different diameter designations. "Mei, you're down the center."
"Roger that," Wufei said.
He smiled, tightly, and then his image went dark. Radio silence. In the distance, Quatre could see Shenlong's dark shape as he bugged out, turning west to run down the port cities of Mexico and slam the Foundation. It would be risky, running at dawn and into daytime, but they couldn't waste time. To hit now, while the Foundation was promising its citizens the Gundams had been destroyed, beaten - there was no doubt of the power the Gundams had, and moreso when witnessed by millions of citizens.
"Hey... " Meiran's face was drawn, beads of sweat dripping down her forehead. She spared a moment to wipe her brow with the back of her hand, and gave Quatre a tired smile. "Do you think... "
"I'm sure she'll be okay," Quatre assured Meiran. "She's your daughter, and you're as tough as that damn Gundam."
"Don't be dissing Nataku," Meiran said, but she smiled, a lighter version. She finished her own reload balancing processes, and nodded to Quatre. "My turn. See you on the flip side."
"Yeah," he said, and turned Sandstone towards the eastern rim of the Gulf.
Three thousand miles, and the sun was a constant before him while he skimmed down the Rio Grande heading for the ocean. Rising up over Nuevo Laredo like an avenging angel, he swept across the city, low enough to shake the foundations of the ramshackle huts lining the barrio. Dropping two quick bombs on the Foundation headquarters - conveniently marked with large banners - Quatre rounded the curve in the river and rose up to cut across the land before the Foundation's warning sensors had even registered his approach.
Moving above mach one and into two, he hit Matamoros, jogged inland for Ciudad Victoria, then down the coast to Tampico, Veracruz, and turning south into Villahermosa. There he caught radio noise from Wufei and Meiran, catching each other at Tuxtla Gutierrez, where the Foundation had a major training installation. At Puerto Barrios, Quatre flew past at top speed, seeing the smoke rising in dark bellows across the sky, and a quick transmission check identified the signature as Shenlong.
San Pedro Sula, La Ceiba, and around the coast down to Bluefields and Puerto Limon; Panama, the narrowest point connecting the two continents, and Quatre expected Wufei and Meiran to be either directly behind him or shortly ahead of him. Their signals were scattered, and he grimaced at the thought that such might be the result of a direct hit or battle, and not on purpose.
Ignoring such dark thoughts, he kept Sandstone running as close to the water as he could manage with catching a wave or the near-surface eddies. The water ripped in his wake, buoys bobbing off-shore, torn from their moorings by Sandstone's windshear. So far, he could only shake his head at the Foundation's utter lack of preparation. Whatever warning the Foundation had once had was now gone.
Two hundred clicks north-west of Medellin, and Quatre slowed, angling around the mountains for the empty caves used as ammunitions smuggling storage in his own version of the world. A series of random clicks on a low-band frequency told him Wufei was waiting; Meiran was five minutes behind him. Quatre flew past and came back around again, approaching from the east, and powered down not far from the cave. Dropping out of bird-mode, he landed Sandstone, then walked the Gundam forward into the natural hangar.
Wufei was waiting, leaning against the foot of Shenlong.
"We've got problems," Wufei announced.
"Meiran," Quatre said.
"No." Wufei sighed. "I picked up a signal relayed from Africa. I was keeping the lowest frequencies open, hoping to pick up local traffic. But... I got two things."
"And?" Quatre paused, rather than raise his voice over the high-volume purr as Nataku landed. He waited while Meiran maneuvered Nataku into place by Shenlong, and descended from her Gundam. She stretched, arms over her head, and joined the other two pilots.
"So what was the signal?" Meiran gave Quatre a disgusted look. "I saw him at Tuxtla Gutierrez, and he made this cryptic comment. I've been waiting three thousand miles to find out!"
Wufei snorted. "It's two things, actually. The first took me a bit to decipher, but Duo's sent out images on the Long designs. I suspect he's already begun modifying his Gundam, and I would bet Trowa isn't far behind."
"Download to Nataku, and I'll look," Meiran replied. Her eyebrows went up, and she waited, expectantly.
"The other... " Wufei licked his lips. "It's from Trowa, relayed by the resistance forces there. He's leading Hilde into the desert. We're to continue with our mission."
"He's... " Meiran gave Wufei a bewildered look, which morphed into irritation. "Oh, please. You five are all about the secrecy. Speak English, damn it."
"Trowa is treating Hilde as a potential defector," Quatre said, quietly.
"On what grounds?" Meiran turned on Quatre.
"She, and her Gundam, were held by the Foundation for some time," Wufei pointed out. "It could be a tracking device on Deathscythe."
"We checked the Gundams thoroughly," Meiran replied, shaking her head. "There's no way. Our techs went over every inch of those beasts."
"And that doesn't explain how our flight plan was compromised," Quatre pointed out. "They struck in Old Texas, and down the western coast, as well."
"A flight plan which both 02 and 03 had knowledge of," Meiran commented, her brow furrowed. "But not to any great detail, really. They weren't present for half the planning sessions, too busy working on their Gundams."
"They may have been broken," Quatre whispered, trying to gentle the suggestion as best he could.
"It's possible," Meiran said, and stared up at Nataku. "But I don't think so." She stepped back, and surveyed the three Gundams. "I can't go on living if I even let myself suspect that."
"So be it," Quatre replied. "It's almost dusk. Let's set up perimeter watch, Meiran. Wufei, decode those plans and have them ready when we get back. We can at least look before determining who's on first watch. Four hours sleep each, two-hour watch. Six hour layover, and we strike out again."
1500 GMT; 1600 local
Tournous, France
The bombs rocked the tombs, and Heero sat up, throwing the blanket off both of them. Dust filtered down from the ceiling, and several rocks clattered loose.
"What the hell?" Cat was on her feet, checking her gun before shoving it into a shoulder holster. She opened a small transmitter, and cursed under her breath. "I'm too deep to get a reading on Heavyarms."
"How did they know," Heero muttered, on his feet behind her.
They pounded down the twisting alleys of the catacombs, bursting into a large room at the base of the steps up to the cathedral. Their contact was coming down the steps, his brown robes flapping around his ankles.
"Hurry," he yelled, beckoning. "We've got a brother ready with a car---"
"The Gundams," Heero replied, running up the steps to join him. "Have---"
His words were drowned out by another explosion overhead. The cavern rumbled with the echoes, and more rocks fell from the ancient ceiling. The monk looked upwards, worried, and grabbed Cat just as a chunk of rock fell. It smashed into the stone steps. The monk cried out; the rock had shattered, pieces slamming into his back as he shielded Cat.
"Are you okay," Cat said, twisting around in the man's arms to hold him upright.
"I'm... fine," he said, gasping, but accepted her help up the steps into the cathedral's sacristy. "Nothing feels broken."
Heero held the door open, then ghosted out to the cathedral to check the interior. He jerked his head towards the door, stepping through; Cat and the monk followed.
"Leave me here," the monk ordered at the first row of pews. When Cat opened her mouth, he smiled. "I take care of this cathedral. That's my job. You fight for those of us who can't. That's your job." He kissed Cat on the forehead, then Heero. "Go."
Heero glanced at Cat, who nodded. The two sprinted from the cathedral, out through the foyer and into broad daylight. Another explosion hit behind them, and Heero turned to see the massive roof of the ancient cathedral cave in. Two of the flying buttresses cracked, the counter-weight giving way. The immense stone hung suspended over the cathedral, splintering the stained glass windows, then fell outwards. Debris sparkled in the air, and Cat screamed.
"No!" Heero held Cat back by the elbow, barely able to breathe from the effort of pushing the explosion outwards, rather than letting it fall inwards. "He's safe."
"But we---"
"Move! Now!"
When Cat only struggled again in his arms, Heero scowled. Flipping his gun around, he knocked her solidly in the back of the head. She'd wake in a few minutes, disoriented and annoyed, but hopefully still alive. Slinging her over his shoulder, Heero bolted down a side alley, cursing as fire began to eat at the ancient city. Foundation suits swarmed overhead, pounding the city into oblivion.
1600 GMT; 1700 local
Tirana, Albania
Lena brought Talon down in a field, and checked the radar reading for the third time in a minute. She'd run clearances and inductions via radar the entire frantic ride, hoping to mimic a little of the stealth-mode she'd seen from Deathscythe's plans. During the day it was hardly feasible to expect people not to notice a three-ton Gundam flying overhead, but in bird-mode with a white-blue underbelly, she could hope that at least civilians knocked it off to more Foundation presence.
So far no one had followed her signal, although one close call over the water had her white-knuckling her way across the waves. The water had acted as a massive shield, keeping the tracking Foundation vessels from getting a clear pinpoint on her.
Shoving her way free of the cockpit door before it could open fully, she hit the button for the tarpaulin to fire. It lifted up and fell, gracefully covering the Gundam from overhead eyes. Straightening it around the edges, she set off the protective mechanisms. There was a farmhouse in the distance, and with any luck, she could manage to steal a vehicle, or get a ride.
Fifteen minutes later she was bouncing down a rough dirt road, pushing the ancient truck to top speed. The farmer had been gone, but like most of his kind, he'd left the keys in the truck. Lena grinned to herself; she'd almost been disappointed she'd not had a chance to practice the skills Duo had taught her so long ago.
She moved across the landscape of unfolding trees and low hills, glimpsing the Adriatic Sea in the distance as she came over a crest. Moving almost solely on instinct and distant memory, she slowed down as she entered the bustling city of Tirana, once a major metropolis and now only a tourist destination for Foundation officers.
At the inner city, she had to force herself not to slow down and glare at the ruins of Old Sanq's main administration buildings, garrison, and castle. The park she'd visited as a child was now a parched no man's land, cracked and burnt from the Mediterranean sun. Bones of buildings stretched their mid-afternoon shadows across the city. Lena pushed on, hoping she'd run out of road before the truck ran out of gas, or power.
Two miles from the city center, the truck died, and Lena got out, moving on foot through a city she'd once known intimately. The houses were narrow and tall, leaning in over the uneven cobblestone streets, and a few times Lena nearly twisted her ankle taking a corner too sharply. She'd made a choice between speed and stealth, and chosen speed. She could only cross her fingers and hope it was the right one.
Two houses down on a side street, and she sighed to see the blue door. The name on the door hadn't changed, and she flew up the steps to pound at the door. It echoed in the empty streets, and she turned in a circle, wary.
The door was pulled open, to reveal an older woman. Her imperious expression changed to pure astonishment, and Lena pushed past her without a word. Only once the door was closed did the woman speak.
"Did anyone follow you?" She led the way into a back room.
"No," Lena said. At a sharp look from the woman, Lena raised her chin. "As far as I could tell."
"Your Gundam?" The woman said it as though the word itself tasted foul in her mouth.
"Safe." Lena frowned. "Well?"
"Out there," the woman said, pushing open a door.
Beyond was a small porch, and a garden beyond. An old man sat on a stone bench, a cane at his side. He was studying the rose trellis; the soft hum of an old melody filled the tiny brick-walled garden.
Lena was past the woman again, too filled with joy and relief to see he was still alive. At her footstep on the porch, the old man turned, and his eyes lit up at the sight of Lena sprinting off the porch. She didn't stop until she reached him, collapsing at his feet to throw her face against his lap, her arms around his waist.
"Oh, my little Relena," Pargan said. He slowly bent down around her, to embrace her in return. "Oh, my precious Relena, you've come home... "
1800 GMT; 1900 local
Siwa, Egypt
Duo brought Deathscythe Hell down at the edges of the town, following the radar beacon carried by the local resistance force's small radio tower. There were five men waiting, and he remained in Deathscythe Hell, scanning their body heat signatures. When all had raised their hands to reveal lanterns as their only weapons, he let the cockpit doors open with a rush of hot air.
It took several minutes to undo the latches around his ankles, shins, forearms, and wrists, and he stretched for another long minute before climbing out and taking the towline to the ground. The five men chattered and bowed, and he was glad to realize they were speaking Standard, not Arabic.
"We weren't expecting you," one of the men said, in lightly accented Standard. "But please, these are our local mechanics."
"No need," Duo replied. "I'm low on ammunition, but as long as I can recharge the particle system, I'll be okay. Could use a fill-up."
"We'll do what we can," the man told him, then rattled off a series of orders in rapid-fire Arabic. "Follow me. Dinner, and a safe place to sleep while we take care of your Gundam."
Duo nodded, scratching idly at the back of his head. His braid hung heavy and damp with sweat down his back, chilling in the cool desert air. He was beginning to shiver when his guide brought him to a low sandstone building, hoved up over centuries against the desert winds. Inside, the light was warm and inviting, and an old woman in solid black sat by the electric heater. At a quick word from his guide, she hurried to make Duo his share of the evening meal.
Despite his protests, his stomach grumbled, and the guide laughed, urging him to sit. The dishes placed before him were simple but filling, and soon Duo was drifting into sleep. He was shown to a small side room, only big enough for a single bed - no more than a blanket on rough ticking - but it was enough.
Lying in bed, he stared up at the dark ceiling, the bright blue patterns etched along the wall and around the single window. He'd struck almost seventeen installations since he'd left Kassala, covering more than seven thousand miles. Two pit-stops to refuel, and at no point did he encounter Foundation resistance.
His guess was right, he thought, and he sighed. Rolling over, he pounded the rough pillow, and curled up under the blankets. His last thought was of his partners, but as always they were black holes in his sight. For once, though, that fact was a comfort; as long as he couldn't see them, he knew they had to be all right.
He was tempted to ponder it further, but he only had an hour, maybe two, before he had to get moving.
1900 GMT; 2000 local
Valladolid, Spain
Cat hadn't spoken since they crossed into Spain, and Heero didn't bother to begin conversation. They'd barely made it to the waiting car outside Tournous, and had shoved the unknown monk away rather than let him be hurt further by aiding them. From there, they'd fled down to Macon, skirting Marseille and Toulouse. The car had broken down a hundred miles north of Toulouse, and Heero had jacked a car in some small town.
She'd protested leaving the Gundams behind, and Heero felt it just as acutely. But the Foundation was constantly on their tail, and he was beginning to suspect that had they gone back for the Gundams, they would have been surrounded. Better to leave them and move with a bit more stealth, blending into the afternoon traffic of locals heading from work to their quiet homes.
He was beginning to feel the strain, between the lack of sleep, and the lack of contact with his partners, but it was nothing more than he'd felt on previous difficult missions. Rather, it was the sense of being toyed with, he decided.
The radios in the car were tuned to local news, reporting Foundation checkpoints; there were three attacks on bridges, which the radio blamed on terrorists. Heero doubted it; the checkpoints were in towns and highways near their path, and the bridges were being destroyed in their wake. Either the Foundation's means for finding them were imperfect enough that in urban areas they were two needles in a massive haystack, or the Foundation was playing cat-and-mouse with them.
His stomach growled, and he pondered the wisdom of stopping long enough to rob a small store for groceries, a mouthful, even a bottle of water. They were on their fourth car, switching every time Heero saw a likely vehicle, although he knew it would leave a trail ten clicks wide if someone were to track the vehicles from their point of disappearance to relocation, farther south-east.
Cat sighed next to him, and curled up tighter on the seat. She'd complained of a headache through most of the day, but there was nothing Heero could do for her other than continue to drive. The one time he'd asked her to drive, she'd stared him right down and said she'd turn them around and head back to the Gundams.
He snorted, remembering that short but fierce argument. Most of the shouting had been from her, and any peaceful companionship they'd kept had been destroyed in that moment. She had an almost obsessive loyalty to her Gundam, he decided, rivaling Duo's love for the original Deathscythe. Heero frowned. Such loyalty would do nothing more than compromise one's ability to fight; to go back for something inanimate purely out of sentimental reasons was the ultimate in stupidity.
He blinked, and glanced over at Cat. Something in the thought process had finally fallen into place, between the exhaustion, the anxiety, the hunger, the thirst, the uncertainty, and that gnawing sense in his gut that he'd failed a mission. No, it was a quiet voice, underneath everything, that made him pull the car over on the side of an old highway leading south from Valladolid.
"What?" Cat sat up, looking around, and rubbed her eyes. "Are we switching cars again? Damn it, Heero, this car still has---" She stopped, frozen, upon finding Heero's gun pointed directly at her forehead. "Heero?"
"Get out of the car, slowly," Heero said. He jerked his head towards the door. "Keep your hands where I can see them."
"Wait... " Cat blinked, and opened the car door. She held up her hands, and her skin was pale in the moonlight. The road was empty, and she shied away when Heero came around the car, his gun still trained on her. "Heero... "
"We're going to walk a bit," Heero said. He motioned with the gun, and Cat glared at him for a second before huffing and heading off the road. They climbed over a wooden fence, and Cat gave a melodramatic heave of her chest before stomping off across the field.
"If there's a bull in this field and he comes after you," she threatened, "don't say I didn't warn you."
"I'll shoot him," Heero replied, unperturbed. "Stop. Here's far enough."
"What is this? You don't like my navigation skills as your passenger?" Cat put her hands on her hips and leaned into Heero, despite being a few inches shorter. "I don't know why my brother ever put up with your crap--- and your crazed ideas about social interaction!"
"Shut up," Heero replied. He holstered his gun, took her by the shoulders, and spun her around. Feeling carefully at the base of her skull where he'd hit her that morning, he could feel the bruise and a solid knot underneath. "This is where it hurts?"
"Yeah," Cat replied, then flinched under his fingers. "Hell yeah. You can stop that now!"
"Cat," Heero said. "Put your fingers up... no, give me your hand. Here. Feel... can you feel that? There!" He pressed her fingers hard into her skin, at the top of her spine.
"Crap," she said, and prodded, a bit more gently. "I... I... " She was silent for several minutes, then yanked her hand away from Heero. "I... "
"I'm going to take it out," Heero said.
"What if it kills me?" Cat whispered.
"If I don't take it out, they'll keep tracking us, they'll find us, and they'll kill us both." Heero spoke in a flat tone; there were only so many options. There was no reason to coddle her, if she was a warrior.
"Yeah." Cat took a deep breath, and knelt down in the fallow field. "I've got a knife... "
"I've got one." Heero knelt down behind her, studied the curve of her neck, and moved to sit in front of her. "Put your head in my lap, and your arms around my waist."
"When you get me with that, I'll squeeze you until you can't breathe," she warned.
"Maybe," Heero said, and smirked. "Maybe I'm stronger than that, though. Head down."
Cat buried her head in Heero's lap, her response muffled.
"Scream if you want," Heero said, and held the knife over the bump on the back of her neck.
2000 GMT; 2100 local
Tirana, Albania
Lena stepped out of the shower, and stared at the clothes Pargan's sister had left for her. She made a face at the delicate white blouse, and the slim but school-girlish skirt. They smelled of mothballs, and she wondered if the woman had saved these from her own childhood. Reluctantly Lena pulled the clothes on, smoothing them down. Tying her hair up into a low knot at the back of her head, she smoothed down a few flyaway strands and looked herself over. Six hours of sleep, and she wasn't too much worse for wear.
Padding downstairs on bare feet, she found Pargan in the house's front parlor with five other men, who came to their feet when she entered. One by one, each bowed, low and dignified. She resisted the urge to curtesy, but kept her chin up.
"Gentlemen," she said. "Good evening."
"Princess Relena," the first man said, stepping forward. He was heavy-set, more round than tall, and his voice was deep, gravelly and rough. "I'm Samuel, Lord Aster, Second Speaker of the house of Lords. These are the Lord Chamberlain Cecil," a tall man with thinning blond hair. "Alfred, Lord Warren, your father's Secretary of state," a man with small round glasses and a tight, pinched expression. "Thomas Beauchamp, Lord Ordainer, and Richard Foliaux, Lord Counselor." The last two men were dark-haired, but the second was stoop-shouldered, and clutched his hands to his chest as though worried.
Pargan spoke up from his seat by the window. He had not risen at Relena's approach, and when he tried to do so, she waved him back down with a smile.
"Please, Pargan, you've stood around me enough in my life," she told him, and moved to sit next to him on the small sofa.
"Relena," Pargan said, his voice anxious. "You shouldn't sit by the window. It might not be safe."
Lena sighed, and kissed him on the cheek before moving to a chair farther from the window. Pargan gave her a pleased nod, and she turned her attention to the gentlemen waiting.
"Before we fill you in on Sanq," Samuel told her, "we have a recording for you to see. This was made while you were sleeping, and we decided you needed sleep more. I hope we were not presumptuous, but... " He sighed, and motioned to Thomas, who raised a remote and clicked several buttons.
A picture on the wall resolved itself from a portrait of Old Sanq into a screen, and Relena frowned as the eight o'clock news in the city reported a series of riots in major cities during the day. The announcer broke off, only to return with the startling news that Mariemaia would be addressing the people's concerns.
"Marie... " Lena's voice trailed off at the sight of Khushrenada's daughter, now a handsome young woman.
Mariemaia was seated behind an impressive desk, her hands folded neatly before her. Her dark auburn hair fell down around her shoulders, curling across a beautiful jade blouse that bespoke elegance and wealth. Her tone was perfectly modulated, accent-less Standard.
"Many fear the Gundams will continue to attack," she began, without preamble. Her gaze was sharp and clear, and she seemed forthright. "I am here to assure you that peace will prevail. Contrary to the rumors you may have heard, at no time has the Foundation been in any danger of damage by these minor gnats worrying around the head of our great earth union. A dragon does not fear the mosquito," she said, in a tone of complete sincerity. There was not the least amount of smugness, or satisfaction, with which to be annoyed.
Lena shifted in her seat, glancing at the five men. They didn't look her way, and she frowned, turning her attention back to the recording.
"We have broken the backs of the rebels," Mariemaia continued. "Their reign of terror has come to an end, and what you see now are only the death throes of a group whose end has come. It has been long and hard, but good has prevailed over evil. The last of the ignominious three who ordered so many innocents to their deaths... we have her in custody."
Lena gasped, sitting up straight.
The camera pulled away, broadened, to show Une seated beside Mariemaia's desk. The woman's hair was down, her glasses gone, but she stared at the camera with a calm defiance.
"I do not believe in drawing this conflict out any longer than necessary, now that we have the means and knowledge to end it," Mariemaia continued. She smiled to the man on her right, and Lena's eyes widened.
"Doctor Darrow," Lena moaned, and clenched her hands in fists. A second later, though, she realized he wasn't among the prisoners. His smile at Mariemaia was too wide, too pleased, and her look too sickeningly sweet. The old man's white hair was a wreath around his head, floating in the air as he bobbed a short bow to Mariemaia, as though a silent thanks for her recognition. "Damn you," Lena muttered, under her breath.
"And we will end it here," Mariemaia said, smiling widely at the camera. "You have my word, as your world leader, on that fact. Peace will return in our time."
The broadcast ended, with station identification, and Lena slumped in her chair. Before she could speak, one of the men called her attention to the screen.
"Princess," he whispered, "there's more."
Lena looked up to see the broadcast return, only this time it was late afternoon. The camera was positioned on Une, her eyes far-seeing to sights the camera could not guess. Two men flanked Une, their expressions hard and cold beside her patient face. One blindfolded her, and the other checked the cuffs at her wrists. Une didn't move, didn't respond, but retained that peculiar little smile, as if enjoying a joke only she understood.
Lena shook her head, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen. One of the lords muted the recording, but it didn't change the image. The view jumped to another camera, a long shot, showing Mariemaia and her fiancé and cousin Alexander Romanov, the current Duke Barton and the great-nephew of Mariemaia's original advisor. On either side were generals and aristocracy, watching impassively from a platform above the training grounds.
Ten men took up position.
Ten men raised their guns.
Ten men fired.
One woman fell.
Lena covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
End Part 24
(:./sol/tetra24)
