21-Oct-2004
Title: Tetractys: Da'ath, I
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 Mal and Saro for their help on this chapter.
When you look long into an abyss,
the abyss also looks into you.
--- Nietzsche
"This afternoon, the capital city of Sanq was attacked by Foundation forces. Our soldiers and our citizens fought back as best they could, and while they bled and died, Parliament planned to beg truce with the Foundation. This is not an act of pacifism. This is an act of dishonor, of treason against those defending the city, its citizens, and Parliament itself. This is an act of suicide.
"We are a pacifist nation, and were it possible, we would welcome peace. But we must no longer welcome this tyranny and fool ourselves into believing that a lack of violence is the same as peace."
"On your eight!" Quatre took out two mines, grunting when the blast shook Sandstone.
"Got it!" Meiran flipped, spinning, pulling up abruptly. The g-forces slammed her back. She screamed with the effort of the turn. Twisting Nataku, she took aim and fired. The space mine exploded.
Shenlong passed within ten feet, aiming for the satellite. Two mines followed, and Meiran fell in behind.
"Pull up," she yelled to Wufei, and fired. One mine exploded. The other gained on Shenlong. Wufei cut past the satellite, firing rapidly at the relay towers. Meiran took aim again. "Pull up, damn it!"
Wufei remained silent; his expression on her screen was intent, focused. Shenlong skimmed the satellite, diving down to its surface then pulling up abruptly. The jets flared momentarily and Shenlong burst away from the station. The mine hit the station's surface and exploded.
"Two more rounds," Wufei repeated. "Quatre, get--"
"I see," Quatre replied, spinning Sandstone as he cut close to the station. Rounds pelted the station's surface, setting off explosions.
Meiran fell in behind the mines, catching one in her sights. Firing, she grinned when the mine was blown into shards. Many hit the station, taking out another group of towers.
"Coming around again," Wufei announced.
"I ask the people of my country and of the world to consider the facts. The history of the Foundation, and of Mariemaia's reign, is one of repeated injuries and injustices, with the sole purpose of tyranny over our land and all others.
"The Foundation has refused to allow Sanq's leaders to pass laws of immediate and pressing importance, insisting that such actions require the Foundation's assent. And then the Foundation's assent is neglected and delayed, despite Sanq's humble requests for action."
"This wasn't in the speech," Lord Warren hissed, and turned to the guard by the control panel. "Shut it down. Shut it down immediately--"
"I think we should let the little lady talk," Doro drawled from behind him. Lord Warren froze at the feel of something hard and metal against his ribs. Slowly he turned around, looking down to see a gun trained on his chest, at point-blank range. He raised his eyes to Doro's expression, cold yet excited. She didn't smile. "And perhaps you, Lord Warren, should sit down. You're looking a bit pale."
"You won't get away with this," Warren sputtered.
"Jeez, do you have a script or something?" Doro arched an eyebrow, completely unconcerned about the weapon still aimed at the Secretary of State. She stepped forward. The gun dug into him. He flinched, and she chuckled. "There, now that I've done my part and properly laughed in a maniacal manner, sit down and lay off." She glanced past Warren, at the guard and the frightened television technician, whose badge identified him as J. Thomason. "Keep broadcasting, or I'll start shooting."
Heero entered the courtroom, a laptop in hand. He nodded to Doro, then moved to stand beside the young man observing the recording and relay console. Thomason looked up, and shrank down under Heero's glare.
"Heero, dear, he's not a mind reader," Doro counseled. She jerked her gun over towards the wall, and Warren moved back, his hands raised. Doro kept her gun trained on him, but casually, as if she couldn't be bothered to give him her entire attention. She glared at the technician. "Move it. Heero's taking over."
"What are you going to do?" Thomason pulled off the headphones and slid from the chair. He eyed the controls worriedly, while Heero flipped open the laptop and began connecting it to the main console server. "Don't break anything," he whispered.
Heero ignored him, and opened a command window, typing in a series of commands. "What's the password?"
"Uh... " Thomason glanced at Doro, then at Warren, who shook his head. Thomason swallowed visibly, and bent over Heero, whispering it in his ear.
"Good," Heero murmured. His fingers flew across the keyboard at lightening speed. Readouts began to light up on the console display, and the young man whistled in shock.
"Dorothy Catalonia!" Lord Cecil came running into the small room, taking in the situation with one glance. "I want this shut down, not... not whatever you're doing!"
"Just sit down and be quiet," Doro said. She kept her gun steady, and moved to stand with her back to Heero. She waved the guard and Lord Warren farther away, towards the corner. Cecil hovered in front of the table, flabbergasted, but Doro ignored him. "How's Duo and Hil?"
Heero repeated the question softly, then shrugged. "Holding up the fort just fine." He began a second window, entering information even as he relayed the responses. "Cat's holding the rest of the parliament. Trowa's meeting with the visitors."
"Good." Doro pointed with her gun, and Cecil moved to stand next to Warren.
"We're dead," Warren moaned, under his breath. "Mariemaia is going to take this as an act of war... "
"It's too late," Cecil replied, watching the Gundam pilots working to get the Princess' broadcast past the Foundation satellite blocks. "I don't know why I let you frighten me."
"What?" Warren scoffed. "War doesn't frighten you? Dying doesn't frighten you?"
Cecil sighed. "Dying doesn't frighten me half as much as the pointlessness of dying for no reason."
Doro's command interrupted Warren's response. "Progress?"
"Almost," Heero replied, checking the code running down the screen of a small laptop. "Their code's more complex than I'm used to." He smirked. "But not unbreakable."
The guard, who'd been watching Warren and Cecil, frowned and stepped towards Heero, his mouth open to argue. Without warning he was suddenly thrown backwards across the room, slamming into the wall. He moaned, and slid down the wall into a crumpled heap.
Heero didn't look up, but his smirk didn't fade. He kept typing. In the corner, Warren imagined he could feel the world shaking beneath his feet. When the Princess was done speaking, nothing would ever be the same again.
"The Foundation has dissolved representative houses, solely for their opposition to the Foundation's trespasses on the rights of our people. It has refused, after such dissolutions, to allow new representatives to be elected immediately, leaving Sanq without proper leadership and on the brink of internal chaos.
"The Foundation has obstructed the administration of justice, by overturning laws establishing judiciary powers. It has made judges dependent on its will alone, for their tenure and salaries."
Zhiyi kept reading the speech; she felt like a little automaton but wasn't sure what else to do. She'd asked Erin and gotten nothing more than a pat on the head and an assurance that the people fighting in her name knew what they were doing. She could see the words, and read them easily, but something in her felt like dying.
It was a gasp from Ed that made her halt and look up. The screen that had been displaying the local rugby match no longer showed the game, but someone whose face Zhiyi had known all her life.
"Auntie Lena!" Zhiyi dropped the papers and dashed away from the camera. She jabbed the button until the volume came up, her face almost pressed to the screen in her excitement.
"Whoa," someone said, and Ed pulled her away from the screen. He crouched down next to her, and the two watched intently. Heavy footsteps came up behind, and Ed waved a hand over his shoulder. "Hold on. It's being transmitted live. Hacked in, probably."
"Turn it off," Erin growled. He reached past Ed, but Zhiyi leapt forward to press her hand over the buttons. Erin narrowed his eyes and grabbed Zhiyi's wrist, yanking her backwards. "I said, turn it off. We're in the middle of a broadcast recording."
"This is important," Ed retorted. "The recording can wait. Sanq is declaring its independence publicly. When people hear about it--"
"Yeah, whatever," Erin replied. He finally noticed Zhiyi clawing at his hold, and jerked her away from the television; he didn't let go despite her whimper. "We've got a campaign to run."
"We could ally with them," Ed said, coming to his feet. "We've got contacts in Bulgaria and Austria, ready and willing to fight. The people of Sanq don't know jack about such things. They'll need--"
"They're idiots," Erin growled. He turned on Zhiyi with a snarl. "Shut up, kid! The adults are talking."
Zhiyi whimpered, and tugged on her wrist again. When Erin didn't let go, she gave Ed a frightened look. He glanced towards her, then away, and she felt all her strength fade immediately. There was nothing she could do, she realized.
Just a kid, she thought. I thought I was a warrior, too...
"Look, it's great that Sanq wants to break away, but how's that going to help the rest of our people?" Erin's voice grew deeper, booming in the small room. "Whether they win or lose, we can't spare the people to help them. We've got to do our own thing."
Ed opened his mouth, then seemed to slump. He nodded, and gave Erin a rueful smile. "Yeah... just... let go of her, wouldya? You're scaring her."
"Oh, right." Erin released Zhiyi's wrist, and ruffled her hair, chuckling. "Sorry, kid. Just, tension's kinda high. No hard feelings, right?"
Zhiyi rubbed her wrist, and glanced at Ed. She could see a strange tension running through him, and it made her hesitate. Chewing on her lower lip, she looked up at Erin and managed a smile.
"Good," Erin said, and gave her a light shove towards her chair. "Now, get that speech finished so we can send it to our allies."
"Yeah," Zhiyi said, and dutifully collected the pages.
Ed knelt down to help, gathering up a sheet that had slipped away from the rest. When he handed it to her, his fingers coasted across the red marks on her skin, lightly, and then moved away fast enough she almost doubted the touch. But it was enough to make her duck her head, and file the whole incident away in her head.
"The Foundation has endeavored to prevent the free travel between the Nation-States of Sanq and its surrounding fellow-nations, isolating us within our own lands.
"The Foundation has kept among us standing armies without the consent of our legislatures, and rendered the military independent of, and superior to, our civil powers. It has further protected these standing armies through mock-trials, shielding the military against punishment for crimes committed upon our citizens."
"Home run!" Thayer crowed, leaping up from his seat when the distant satellite relay station exploded into bits. He slapped the button and opened a channel. "04, 05, and 05, great fireworks!"
"We're not done yet," Quatre's voice came over the line. "Heading to L1."
"What for?" Thayer glanced at Bethea, who gave him a puzzled look. "Do you need backup?"
"No... " Quatre paused, and a window opened. He was smiling tightly. "Maybe. How much do you treasure your shuttle?"
"She's my baby," Thayer said, running a hand along the console protectively. "I won't let her be blown up."
"Would you let her get fried?"
Thayer paused, and looked over to see Auda had come to stand behind the two piloting seats. Auda studied Quatre from a long minute, then grinned widely.
"I don't know what Master Quatre has planned," Auda said, all reserve gone. "But if it's coming out of his head, it's going to be interesting."
Quatre's smile turned wry. "Gee, thanks."
"Anytime, Master Quatre." Auda leaned forward. "So... what's your idea?"
"Head to L1," Quatre replied. "Don't dock. Just get their attention."
"They'll either fire, or take out our systems," Thayer replied, cautiously. He settled back down in his seat, and tugged on one end of his moustache. "I'm not sure I like either option."
"We'll deal with the firing," Quatre assured him. "Nataku will be running attention-getting flybys. Shenlong and I will be cleaning up after you."
"This is a risky way to test how those EMT disrupters work," Thayer muttered. One glance to Bethea and Auda, however, confirmed that they were willing to give it a shot.
A second window opened, revealing Terra's angry face. "Thayer! Get your ship back here. I'm not letting you head into certain suicide."
"Nothing's certain, missy," Thayer snapped. "And even if it is, it's probably negotiable."
"Stop being a smartass. This is serious! That colony has--"
"Two million people who have been ignorant of the world for too long," Thayer yelled. "We've been taking out the random Foundation shuttle, running and hiding, for ten fuckin' years, woman! War is here! We can fight!"
"And you'll die, you stupid boneheaded bastard!" Terra screamed right back at him.
Thayer's look turned sly. "So you finally admit you might miss me, then?"
Terra huffed and shut down the signal, only to reopen it immediately. "You've got five souls on that ship. Let the Gundams do their job, and stay out of it."
"No. Staying out of it is the whole reason we're still fighting this many years later," Thayer shot back, and closed down the signal. He gave Quatre a hard look, and nodded. "We're getting ready, and we're on our way."
"We'll start when you're at two clicks and counting," Quatre replied.
"Opening auxiliary boosters," Bethea said. She flipped a number of switches, and the shuttle lurched forward, then dropped into a smooth speed. "Transferring power." She jumped up from her seat, accepting the suits from Mikey. "Boss, catch."
Thayer caught the helmet one-handed, and shoved it down on his head. "Reviewing systems. Angle is three-point-nine-two, blue systems going offline."
"Roger," Auda called. "Shutting down backups." An alarm sounded, and Auda took the minute to hop into a space suit, closing it quickly. He dropped the helmet over his head and locked it into place. "Backups are down. Minimal communications online. Prepare for radio silence."
Thayer was halfway into his suit, and held onto the console as he adjusted. "Course correction to seven-point-nine-seven."
"Crap!" Bethea was thrown sideways, halfway into her suit. Muffled curses came from where she fell, but she popped back up, locking the helmet on. "Okay, belting in." She hit a button and repeated it. "All hands, hold the fuck on!"
"Holding the fuck on!" came a cry from down the hallway.
"Channel seven!" A window from Meiran opened on the shuttle's lower front screen. She was screaming incoherently, but caught herself. "Frequency eighty-six-point-five, or channel seven if you can get Foundation broadcasts--"
"What the hell?" Wufei appeared, opening a link, then grew silent, his eyes wide.
"What?" Thayer ran through the system, and yelled over his shoulder. "Auda, push back some comm. power. I can't get a channel."
"Hunh?" Auda hit a few buttons, and the light on the console flashed green. When the screen opened, all three stared at it, fascinated.
"Damn, so that's the princess," Thayer said. He raised his eyebrows, impressed. "Cute... and sounds like she's good at cue cards."
"Lena?" Meiran laughed, a delighted sound. "She's probably wrote it herself and memorized it immediately. Never underestimate a Gundam pilot just because we're pretty, Thayer!"
Thayer looked up at Meiran's laughing, and grinned. "I never would, miss. I always do my best to respect chicks with guns twice the size of my shuttle." He winked, and shut down the windows. "Okay, guys, let's take it down and prepare to get fried."
"Prepared to be fried, sir!" came Mikey's shout from the lower bay.
Thayer grinned, and belted in. "Let's do it."
"The Foundation has subjected us to a jurisdiction foreign to our constitution. It has imposed taxes without our consent; deprived citizens of trials by jury; deported citizens for trials for pretend offenses; taken away our charters, abolished our laws, and fundamentally altered the form of our government; it has suspended our legislature and declared itself invested with the power to decide for us in all cases.
"The Foundation has ravaged our coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people. It has abdicated government here by waging war against us. At this very moment, it is transporting large armies to retain these cruel and perfidious circumstances it began eight years ago."
"The television's broken," Sam told his wife. The screen had cut out in the middle of the announcer's summary of the game, becoming nothing but white noise with flickering vertical lines. He frowned, and got up, banging on the side of the set. "I wonder if our warranty is still good."
"Might be space interference," Dana replied, shrugging. She didn't look up from her book. "It's half-time. You've got a half-hour to figure it out. You could head to the bar."
"Naw," Sam said, and knelt down by the television, staring at the cryptic buttons along the bottom. "They're all rooting for the Reds, those unrepentant bastards. Besides, I like my beer without extra water." He poked a few buttons, and stared at the screen. The image appeared, wavered, and then went white again.
"We did pay our cable bill, right?" Dana set down her book and came to lean over Sam's shoulder. She straightened her reading glasses, peering at the labels on the buttons. "I think those are just for the display, dear."
"Well, something's got to bring the game back," Sam protested. "Score's fifteen-fourteen."
"Try another channel?"
"I think it's on channel six. Greens have got the ball, and Romanski's supposed to--" He switched the channel, only to find fuzz, then darkness, then more fuzz on the fourth channel. "Crap," he muttered.
"Must be the television," Dana said, shaking her head. She gave her husband a sympathetic look. "Sorry. I think the radio works. Want me to dig it out?"
"Yeah," Sam replied, absent-mindedly. He frowned, trying to recall if channel ten was supposed to run the game. Maybe it was only a few that were knocked out. He flipped a few more channels of fuzz and white noise, and then sat back on his heels, stunned. The screen showed an attractive young woman dressed in a simple blue shirt, standing up in front of what looked like a judge's bench. It was the line at the bottom that had his jaw open and his mind spinning to catch up.
"Live from Tirana, Sanq Kingdom's Capital City... " His words trailed off, and he blinked. The image wavered, lines of interference cutting it off, and Sam banged on the side of the set again.
"Honey, that's not going to--" Dana cut off when the image returned.
"My god," Sam said, and turned to look at his wife, his hand still frozen on the buttons. "We're getting a signal. From Earth... live."
Dana dropped the radio. It crashed against the rug in a clatter of metal but she ignored it, coming to kneel next to Sam. They stared at the young woman, not sure who she was but listening anyway. Goosebumps were rising on Dana's arms, and she blindly sought out her husband's hand, clinging tightly.
"It's been so long," Sam whispered. "What's going on down there... "
"A live signal," Dana breathed, then scrambled to her knees. "I'm going to the bedroom. Record that!"
"The bedroom?" Sam twisted to watch his wife dashing from the living room. "What for?"
"I'm going to see if there are more channels!" She popped her head back through the archway, excited, intent; she looked younger than she had in decades. "We've waited so long to hear what's out there, and I don't want to miss a minute of it!"
"Again and again Sanq's leaders have petitioned for redress following all the rules and established procedures, but these petitions have been ignored and answered only by further insults to our legislation and people. These acts I describe are not that of an honorable world leader, but that of a tyrant.
"Sanq has not been at peace, despite the lack of violence. Now that violence has come to our doorstep, we must face the truth. Total pacifism does not work. Non-violence is an effective weapon only against an adversary who shares your beliefs, who acts on his conscience. Our adversary does neither."
Trowa clicked the comm, waiting for responses from Duo and Heero. It took a moment, but Duo clicked back in code, and Heero relayed progress breaking through the Foundation barrier signals. Trowa stared down at the two women, both a foot shorter than him and at least two feet wider. They were dressed in black, ankle-length dresses, but each walked with a slight tilt to one side that told him both were carrying under their dark-colored shawls.
"Another half hour," Trowa told them.
"So... you're one of the Princess' guards?" The older diplomat - Mircheva - was in her mid-seventies; she gave Trowa a sharp look that didn't match the soft gray hair or the slightly frumpy body. She narrowed her eyes, assessing him carefully. "Sanq is no longer pacifist. Good."
"About time," the second diplomat - Volkova - said. Her accent was thicker, in a somewhat lilting way, but her brown eyes were as sharp as her counterpart's.
Trowa smirked, and decided to preempt the diplomatic process. He began by explaining Sanq's maneuvers against the Foundation, and the process of eviction.
"If you sent them packing at dawn," Mircheva observed, "they might not be as surprised when we do it."
"Unless we hit them on a Sunday morning," Volkova suggested. She was silent, her wrinkled lips pursed slightly. "Hangovers would be helpful. Soldiers are less likely to raise their voices when suffering the ill effects of drink."
Trowa raised his eyebrows, but nodded in agreement. A severe headache would not cause a person to want guns fired in the vicinity, that was certain.
"We should declare a holiday," Mircheva said. "Perhaps... " Her smile appeared, a wicked expression. "Perhaps we should support the Foundation."
Trowa blinked; even Volkova looked startled.
"Ekaterina," Volkova reproved.
"Ah, hear me out," Mircheva whispered. She looked around; the three were alone in the small office Lena had been using as a meeting room. "We get our Prime Ministers to declare that we are grateful for knowing our soldiers will protect us. New national holiday. All businesses serving alcohol who serve to people with military ID are to track the sales, and charge half-price. They'll be reimbursed by the government--"
"Ekaterina," Volkova said, her tone warning.
"No, no," Mircheva said, her smile growing. "We'll need to find a way to get word to the resistance to notify any of their men and women that they should drink little, but get their compatriots to drink more. Then, on Sunday morning, we show up at dawn and kick their asses out!" She leaned back to look up at Trowa, triumphant.
He couldn't help it. He smiled back, with the strange sense he'd just met a Doro or a Quatre, if one a foot shorter and forty years older. Still a kindred spirit, he thought, and grinned outright.
"The pacifist perspective says the Parliament is right in offering a truce, in surrendering before the military might of the Foundation. The pacifist perspective would say that we should shake hands with the Foundation and come to a peaceable agreement where we can be left to live.
"But before we shake hands with the Foundation, we should remember the blood on those hands."
"Lieutenant, we've got problems in Sector Three." Operator Lee studied the terminal, reaching up and changing the video screens manually. "Rioting. No injuries reported yet, but--" She listened briefly to the voice squawking on the headphones, and turned to her commanding officer with a worried look. "--Someone's hearing gunshots."
"Could be car backfire," Lieutenant Marks replied. "That's the industrial section, and I know there's a few mechanics around there with combustion vehicles." His own car was a much-babied Torvus A11. He shrugged. "Notify the station on Sector Two that they need to send reinforcements. Riot squad. Minimal gear at this time."
"Aye, sir," Lee said, relaying the commands via the terminal.
Jackson yelled from his end of the bank of terminals. "Sir! Station systems are picking up an incoming shuttle."
"Is it cleared?" Marks crossed his arms, and jerked his head towards the overhead screen. "Gimme visuals."
The screen blinked into life, showing a small shuttle coming towards L1 at top speed. It angled, swinging around, and then continued in a straight line.
"Port relays the shuttle is not responding. They're requesting we intervene," Jackson reported.
"Open a channel," Marks ordered. "Unidentified shuttle, state your ID, shipping route and port destination."
There was no answer. The shuttle continued towards the colony.
"There's no answer, and we're not picking up any signals," Jackson said. "Sir?"
"Fire disruptors, short blast," Marks said. "That should slow them down. Notify Port Authority for Sector One, Bay... "
"They're closest to 11-H," Jackson supplied.
"Right." Marks nodded. "Have security waiting with a pickup shuttle. Fire, Jackson."
"Sir." Jackson entered the commands. The shuttle faltered but continued at a good speed. "Sir? Shall I--"
"Again," Marks said. "What's the ETA on impact?"
"Computing," Yolen spoke up. "Seven minutes."
"They're well within range," Marks muttered. "Jackson, take it up to maximum. That's too close for comfort."
"Aircraft defense coming online," Lee said. She gave Marks a wide-eyed look. "If you require it, sir."
"Good," Marks replied. Jackson had hit another round of the disruptor, and the shuttle suddenly swung away from the colony, running parallel to the surface. "What the bloody hell are they doing?"
"Disruptor maneuver complete," Jackson said. "Two minutes to recharge."
"Be ready. Try contacting them again--"
"After we took down their system?" Jackson looked puzzled.
Marks shook his head. "You're right. Long shift. Get the Port Authority on the line, and have them--"
"Sir!" Lee stood up, pointing at the screen. "What the hell is that--"
"Holy fuck, it's... " Marks said, feeling ten years younger and a great deal more mortal.
The massive mechanical beast was unfolding, and lowering a beam cannon. From the camera's angle, it appeared as though the camera were the main target. Marks froze; and his crew of operators turned to see. The room was silent, and the beam cannon charged up, flaring in sudden brilliant gold. The camera went dead.
" ...A Gundam," Marks whispered.
"I know war. I know war very well. I know what it means to live in terror, to run bombing raids, to hide from air strikes, to see people killed and houses destroyed, to starve and dream of a piece of bread, to long for a simple glass of water. And worst of all, I know what it is to be responsible for someone else's death.
"Therefore I can say to you, there is a worse thing than war. It is the act of soul-killing, the murder of the spirit: it is the Foundation's contempt for individuals, its disregard for human rights. The world reeks with the foulness of the crimes committed by the Foundation - in Asia, in Europe, in the Americas, in Australia, in space, and in Sanq."
Zhiyi stared out across the seaside town, and toyed with the drapes, waiting in Marco's room while he got more paper for their games. She and Marco had agreed to not speak, but pretended to play a game of hangman to communicate. It seemed morbidly appropriate, except that he picked such easy words.
The numbers rattled in her head.
Sixty dead, three hundred injured in some small town near a military base in Brazil. The crowds died with her name on their lips, waving banners. Riots in Old Virginia, college students taking to the streets to demand freedom; the Foundation peacekeeping force - the title made Zhiyi feel nauseated - opened fire and threw grenades into the crowds. The three nearest colleges were bombed during class time. Eight hundred fatalities, twice as many injured.
In Dublin, the rioters broke open store windows and torched businesses. They were wearing shirts with her face on them. Zhiyi leaned her head against the glass, and tried to keep from throwing up.
But the worst wasn't the Foundation, she decided. It was the people, all the people... she closed her eyes and the images replayed, the bootleg tapes broadcast over pirate lines that she'd seen while she recorded her daily speech exhorting the people to fight the Foundation.
In Madrid, two thousand mothers had marched on the Foundation base, insisting the Foundation stop the fights, capture The Child - Zhiyi, she thought, I have a name, and it's Zhiyi - and put to death those who would use an innocent in war.
My mother was thirteen when she first got in a Gundam, Zhiyi thought.
The Foundation had turned the women away. The march continued, through the streets, until it met up with rioters supporting Zhiyi. Few fatalities, but beatings, broken arms, blood in the streets. She'd watched the tape, eyes wide at the brutality that people could perpetrate upon each other with only their bare hands. Screaming in a language she didn't know, tones of hatred and anger, frustration.
"The Foundation is letting them kill each other off," Erin had said, disgusted. "Teddy, come up with something for the kid to say about it."
Zhiyi had watched, listening, and curled up inside herself. She didn't want to get in front of that camera again, to know her words were causing people to hate her, to love her, to die for her, all because she just happened to be born to a woman who flew a Gundam. She didn't want to be a symbol.
The door opened, and Zhiyi didn't turn around. She buried her face in the curtains and tried to hide her tears. Marco was hurting just as badly, frustrated and helpless, but he was pretending to be strong for her. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and reminded herself she'd decided to be strong for him, too.
"Hey, kid," a man's voice said, and Zhiyi turned to see Ed standing behind her. He crouched down, and held out a coat. "You need to take your shirt off, and put this on underneath."
"I... " Zhiyi blinked at the lightweight coat. "What's happening?" She kept her voice low, suspicious at the way Ed kept looking around the room. "Where's Marco?"
"He's in the garden behind the pub," Ed said. "In fifteen minutes, there's going to be a car accident out front, and naturally everyone's going to run out to see. You've got to hide that coat, so no one looks twice."
Zhiyi made an irritated motion with her hands, and Ed obediently turned around. She considered hitting him on the back of the head and running to Marco, but something made her stop. She stripped off her long-sleeved shirt, pulled on the thin coat, and yanked her shirt over her head again.
"Ready," she told him.
"Great," and when he stood up, he was smiling as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Let's get some dinner."
Zhiyi followed him down the narrow stairs, and to a table near the kitchen. The waitress waved to Ed, who gave her a wide grin and yelled their order over the din of voices and the bland music in the jukebox. Zhiyi hunched over, kicking her feet nervously. Ed noticed, and shook his head, an abbreviated gesture.
"Relax," he whispered, barely moving his mouth.
She nodded, and took a deep breath, settling her elbows on the rough wooden table. Erin was over in the corner, laughing with some of the other guys, and her stomach went into knots again. She realized Ed was tapping against the table, with three fingers, and watched, fascinated, as it became two fingers... then one finger...
The room was rocked with a tremendous crash. Ed jumped up, along with most of the other men. Zhiyi came to her feet as well, looking curious but pushed aside as the men either yelled to each other or rushed towards the door. In the melee, Ed grabbed Zhiyi by the collar, dragging her backwards until she found her feet. Then he caught her hand, leading her through the back kitchen. The cook turned, nodded at Ed, and slammed the door shut behind them.
"Zhiyi!" Marco was at the back gate. Two men were lying on the ground, their mouths open, and Marco reached out, catching Zhiyi. "They're just knocked out. Ed?"
"This way," Ed yelled, into the alley where a van was waiting. The doors opened, and Marco and Zhiyi leapt inside. Ed poked his head in, and gave Zhiyi a quick smile. "Be well," he said, then slammed the door shut, pounding on the van's side.
The van pulled away, and Marco huddled at the back with Zhiyi. She clung to him in turn, then started giggling. It grew into soft laughter, and he gave her a puzzled look.
"It was like... " Zhiyi choked on her laughter. "Like a movie!"
"Yeah," Marco said, hugging her tightly.
"So... " Zhiyi twisted in his arms, and reached out for a strap on the van's bare wall. "Are you guys friends of Ed's?"
"Yeah," said the driver. He twisted around to look at her quickly, before returning his attention to the winding Irish road. "I'm Tim. I grew up with Ed. His Da and mine go way back."
"Oh, cool," Zhiyi replied. "Thanks for rescuing me."
"No problem," said the second man, turning around to reveal a gun in his hand. It was pointed at the driver.
"Why... " Zhiyi backed up, stumbling against Marco. She looked back and forth between Tim and the man with the gun, noting for the first time the driver's hunched shoulders, and white knuckles on the steering wheel. "I don't... "
"My name's Rob, and I go way back with Ed an' Tim," the man said. He didn't smile, and his gun remained steady on the driver. "But I go back farther with the Foundation."
"The... " Marco wrapped his arms around Zhiyi, pulling her next to him. Zhiyi had the strangest sense Marco was ready to shove her behind him; the engineer looked livid, and disgusted. "You're a turncoat."
"No, I'm a hero," Rob replied. "I'm bringing the ringleader to justice. Look at all the deaths you've caused, little girl. How do you think you're ever going to live with yourself after this?"
"How are you, when you've betrayed your friends?" Zhiyi shot right back at him. Her body was shaking, but her voice was strong.
"The only friend I need is the Foundation," Rob said. He yawned. "Now, shut up. We'll be at the shuttle port in another half-hour. You can either be quiet and wait nicely, or I'll make you be quiet."
"I'm not impressed," Zhiyi retorted. "You think you're the first person to threaten me?"
"Maybe not." Rob's gun swung around, and he took aim. There was a loud pop in the van's interior, and blood splashed up across Zhiyi. She stared, unable to move, and Rob shrugged. "I've got nine more bullets, so you've got nine more words. You want to risk it?"
Slowly Zhiyi turned to see Marco curled over, clutching his shoulder. Blood was pouring over his fingers. It ran down his arm, to his knee, staining the knee of his jeans into darkness. Zhiyi moved closer, putting her arms around Marco, holding him upright. She stared over his head at the gaping hole in the back of his shoulder. The smell of blood was too sweet; the taste in her mouth was like sucking pennies.
The blood pooled on the floor of the van, dripping slowly until Zhiyi was standing in it. She wondered why she wasn't crying.
"This is our Dark Age. If we are to bring peace, we must first light the torches of freedom and strike back at this evil. We must be willing to say that this tyranny will end here.
"It is time for Sanq to fight."
End Part x
I don't normally write political speeches, so this is one of the few times I had to go rack something other than my brain for first-person POVs on pacifism, war, and rebellion. Articles used, appropriated, read, paraphrased, and considered in the writing of this chapter:
On pacifism: http://www.nationalreview.com/kopel/kopel041103.asp, http://www.bbc.co.uk/religion/ethics/war/pacifism3.shtml, http://www.planetpapers.com/Assets/3420.php.
On pacifism and anarchy: http://www.ppu.org.uk/e_publications/dd-trad1.html#pac,%20pac%20and%20mil.
Editorial on Iraq, WWII, self-defense, and pacifism: http://opinionjournal.com/editorial/feature.html?id=110003191.
American Declaration of Independence: http://www.kidport.com/RefLib/UsaHistory/AmericanRevolution/DecIndWords.htm.
(:./sol/tetra29)
