21-Jun-2001
revised: 01-Sep-2001
Title: The Longest Dream Part 16 - Ambitions
By Hope of Dawn
C&C appreciated!
Archive: GW Addiction at http://www.gwaddiction.com
Legal stuff: None of these characters are mine. Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise, and Sotsu Agency, among others--Xenogears belongs to Squaresoft. For time-wasting purposes only and not for profit, so don't sue, 'kay?
Writer's Notes: Any and all half-baked political theories in this fic are mine, and I make no pretenses as to their accuracy or historical authenticity. Any and all flames should be directed to the American educational system, not me. *grin*
Warnings: AU, X-over, shonen-ai.
Of all the things that he had lost when Solaris had fallen, he missed the sun the most. It was a thought born of melancholy homesickness, Nicklay realized... but nevertheless true.
Not that it was *gone*, mind you. That was beyond the reach of even the Demon of Elru. But to a Solarian exiled to the ground, the sun seen only in feeble flickers from behind the clouds, it certainly seemed that way. He watched the rain bead against the tinted glass windows, high above the streets of his fledgling empire. His voice, once he chose to use it, was iron-hard, betraying nothing of his somber thoughts. "Our total losses?"
There was silence from his staff, full of the rustlings of paper. Finally his 2IC, Colonel Ryden, gave him the answer that no one wanted to say. "Significant, sir."
Nicklay waited, silent and unyielding.
A hand rubbing against his gray-bearded jaw, Ryden continued, "We've lost three of our light cruisers, twelve support craft, and Gear divisions Epsilon, Gamma, and most of Alpha. A few stragglers from Delta managed to make a retreat, but only half of our infantry divisions were able to disengage in time. The rest are either casualties or MIA. In addition, the Blitzkrieg only barely managed to make it back to a border supply base. The tech teams on-site are still evaluating the extent of the damage, but it looks like she may not be salvageable. And, as you know, we lost the Aurora." He hesitated, knowing that the last part of his report was the hardest. "I'm afraid there were no survivors."
Nicklay closed his eyes. Aurora's captain had been one of his best officers: ex-Gebler, a fellow Solarian survivor--and an old friend. The rain trickled down the window, streaking his reflection like slow tears.
"Most of our remaining aircraft have suffered varying amounts of damage," Ryden said, face somber. "The Retribution herself will take about three weeks to fix. Estimated repair time to put the other damaged Gears back on the field--two months."
Nicklay clasped his hands behind his back, not bothering to turn around. "They have one month. And the Retribution needs to be in the air four days from now."
"Sir!" That splutter of protest came from his technical chief. "With all due respect, it can't be done. Repairs to the Retribution alone are--"
Nicklay cut him off. "Double shifts for all personnel until the repairs are completed. Requisition staff from the civilian sector if you need to, but get it done." Turning, he focused his attention on the portly officer in charge of civilian affairs. "I also want round-the-clock shifts on your production lines, Colonel Thelm. With the recent influx of refugees, there are more than enough workers to go around, and there is no reason why a single factory in Kislev should be running at less than 100%. Military production is our single highest priority at this time. Understood?"
The reply was sour, but definite. "...Yessir."
He looked at his recruitment head, a hatchet-faced sergeant-major. "When will the new troops be ready?"
Tapping a pen lightly against the dark-grained wood, she replied, "Another platoon should be ready within a week, sir; they're on final training maneuvers right now. I also have five other batches coming up, including a good assortment of former Gear pilots. Recruitment is booming. All we have to promise is food and medical care, and they're eager enough to sign up--even if they are all Lambs." The sour twist of her lips showed her distaste for that fact.
"Acceptable. Let me know the minute they're ready for deployment. Also, another Gebler squad straggled in last week. Make sure they're well taken care of. I don't think I need to tell you that they're worth infinitely more to us than raw Lamb recruits." She nodded in acknowledgement.
"Despite our losses, the Nisan operation was invaluable to us in one respect." He watched them with an experienced eye, gauging their reactions. "It proved to us how severely we had miscalculated the amount of firepower Aveh has at its disposal. Which brings us to a very simple question: where did these new Gears come from--and why weren't we warned?"
Major Vaulier, his intelligence chief, coughed uncomfortably. "My people are still correlating the data, sir, but preliminary reports seem to indicate that we might be dealing with a whole new kind of Gear. Surviving pilots reported going up against several Gears on the ground that were at least superficially similar to the flying Gear that attacked our fleet from the rear and prevented us from moving in on Nisan. Unfortunately, we have no hard data on their differences; only heresay that these new Gears are apparently faster, stronger, and better armored than anything we've seen previously. Except for Xenogears, that is."
"Are they Omnigears?" Ryden asked sharply.
Vaulier shook his head. "I don't think so, sir. They don't match the description we have of any of the known Omnigears. In addition, none of them seemed to be attached to any particular Gear division, and they didn't bear any Aveh insignias. If they are Omnigears, they're ones never described in the Solarian records."
Nicklay tapped a finger as he contemplated the possibility of five Omnigears of unknown origin, all apparently allied with Aveh. It was not a pleasant prospect. "Where did these Gears come from?"
Vaulier flicked a glance over at the other staff members, then answered cautiously, "Well, sir, right now we have two possible scenarios. One is that Aveh's pet scientist, Balthazar, or 'old man Bal', as he likes to be called, has developed new upgrades to their existing suit technology, and that these are simply five prototypes of a new type of Gear."
Nicklay considered it. Balthazar was one of the three magi of Shevat, and an eccentric mechanical genius. It was possible that he had made a breakthrough in Gear design for the Fatima brat--but unlikely. "And the other theory?"
Vaulier fiddled with a pen nervously. "The second theory is that these Gears were part of the technology that Aveh scavenged from its expedition to the Ice Fields. They were certainly willing to risk an inordinate amount of firepower in defending those ruins from us, and perhaps that's the reason why. If so, than we have no idea what those Gears might be able to do--or what else Aveh has gained from there."
That possibility tasted even worse than the first. If Aveh gained the technological edge in this conflict because of their discoveries, it could mean the end of everything he wished to accomplish. Nicklay's expression darkened as he turned to face the smaller man. "So far, Major, all I'm hearing are 'ifs' and 'maybes'. Do you have anything more concrete to report?"
Flushing dully, Vaulier admitted, "No, sir."
"Then you'd better rectify that, and soon. I need accurate and timely intelligence, Vaulier, not random guesswork. If you can't provide that for me, Major, then find me someone who can."
Vaulier dropped his eyes to the table. "Yes, sir."
Nicklay flicked a stony gaze over his remaining officers. They weren't quite off the hook just yet. "We were beaten by *Lambs* today, gentlemen. Don't forget that. We are Solaris' only legacy--her only heirs--and we cannot afford such mistakes. Not if we are to achieve our dream and see Solaris reborn. Am I making myself clear?"
"Yessir!"
"Dismissed." Nicklay turned back to the window. "We *will* succeed," he said quietly, renewing his vow even as he mourned his friend. "No matter what it takes."
Alone in the dimness of the isolation ward, Jessie Black watched his son sleep.
Never a large man, the stark white sheets of the hospital bed had bleached the color from pale cheeks, making Billy look faded and fragile. A father's instinct had him reaching out a calloused hand to smooth back the mop of tangled hair--only to stop as he realized the betrayal of emotion for what it was, hand hovering a few inches above the silvery strands. With a muttered epithet, Jessie jammed his hands back into the pockets of his tattered trenchcoat, curling them into fists.
"Never occurred to you that your old man might care, did it?" he muttered. "Never even thought to let me know where it was you'd disappeared to." The still form on the bed made no answer. Only the voice of his own guilt answered--Turnabout is fair play. Right, old man?
He inspected Billy's bandages in an attempt to distract himself from old regrets. Assessing the damage was all too easy: deep cuts, covered by lighter bandages on hands and arms; the tight strapping around the chest that immobilized fractured ribs, a brace on a recently-healed broken leg. Most disturbing, however, was the heavy swathe of gauze that topped Billy's pale features and extended down across the bandage covering one eye. Jessie cringed internally. For a marksman like his son, losing an eye would be worse than losing a hand.
His son, who had become a proud and determined man. A son who had finally managed to forgive him for his failings as a father--but who could not reconcile a child's adoration with the reality of the drunken and weatherbeaten stranger he had found. Even after two years an abyss still yawned wide between them, full of too much loneliness, too many things neither of them could say. He took the blame freely. It had been his choice to leave a loving, laughing boy behind so many years ago. And now, confronted by the lonely warrior his son had become, he had found that they had only two things left in common: Primera's silent love, and the discipline and skill of a gunman; his only legacy to his son.
"You and your damned duty." His hand rose and traced over the ragged, x-shaped scar on a stubbled cheek, remembering. "Just like your old man."
Now, two years after their reunion, it had come to this. Playing messenger and spy at Sigurd's behest, all unknowing that his only son had gone to war once again... to find out only by accident how close Billy had come to dying... Jessie thumped a fist against the stone wall. "Damn you, boy," he muttered, even as he wondered just what he was damning Billy for. His loyalty? His sense of duty?
There was an approaching flicker of movement from the doorway; Jessie stiffened, then relaxed as he recognized the familiar form. He dredged up a cynical smile. "You can stop lurking in the shadows, Uzuki. I'm not going to go on the warpath just yet."
Citan stepped forward into the darkened room, the sling around his shoulder glimmering white in the dimness. "Glad to hear it, Jessie. Especially since I still haven't been able to break my bad habit of bringing a sword to a gunfight."
Jessie grinned lopsidedly at the old joke. "Nice to see you too, Uzuki." The smile faded as he looked at the bed once again.
"He's going to be okay, Jessie. Some of the medication contains sedatives, which is why he's so deeply asleep," Citan said. After a sideways glance at his former superior officer and friend, he added, "And his vision will recover completely. Fei saw to that."
Jessie nodded, trying to settle his features into their normal cynical mask.
With a final glance at Billy, Citan remarked, "I was about to join Sigurd for breakfast and an update on our situation. May I suggest you join us? A hot cup of tea would do you some good, and between the three of us, maybe we can figure out what's going on--and what we're going to do next."
{{And make sure my Billy doesn't have to do this anymore.}} Jessie's hands twitched instinctively at the thought. Then he deliberately hooked his thumbs on his gunbelt as he locked gazes with Citan. "If it involves getting my hands on the people who hurt my boy--count on it."
After a brief stopover in Operations to collect Sigurd, they headed down towards the commissary. Sigurd and Citan continued what was obviously a long-standing argument as they walked, Jessie listening as he trailed in their wake down the gunmetal-gray halls.
"...and I still think you need to take another look at your immediate crew, Sigurd," Citan repeated. "Whoever this mole is, they've got access to some very timely and sensitive information. The time window in between the Yggdrasil's expedition to the Ice Fields and Nicklay's invasion of Nisan is just too short for them to have obtained the information any other way. Only someone very close to Operations would have had both the access and the ability to relay such information in that amount of time."
"And I keep telling you, Citan--they all check out," Sigurd replied, exasperated. "Bart's command crew and my intelligence officers have all been with us for years. They've all gone through multiple checks. I know their backgrounds better than they do, and none of them have either the motive or the means to hook up with Nicklay. Hell, Citan, most of them have been with us since the beginning of that whole apocalyptic mess with Deus!" He shook his head. "There's always the possibility of betrayal, but I think we need to look elsewhere for our traitor. Someone close enough to know our movements, but far enough down the chain of command that his actions aren't so closely scrutinized."
They turned a corner, and cut through the Gear hangar. With most of the Aveh Gears deployed in and around Nisan, the hangar stood half-empty, with only those Gears too damaged to be usable and the few held in reserve still docked in their bays.
Citan ran a hand through his hair. "That's a reasonable premise, but the list of people who meet those qualifications is very short--and we've already gone through and eliminated most of the suspects that fit the bill. Of everyone who knew about the expedition to the Ice Fields, three-quarters were with us on the Yggdrasil, and the other one-third were at the Dune Sea base. Since there's no way for anyone on the Yggdrasil to send a signal without being intercepted, I think we need to consider the possibility that one of your own high-level intelligence officers has been compromised."
Sigurd inspected the hangar with a critical eye, even as he retorted, "Citan, my officers are kept under constant, careful scrutiny, and they know it. Moreover, each officer only has access to certain areas of intelligence. A couple of them knew the Yggdrasil was heading for the Ice Fields, but none of them were told that we were meeting up with Xenogears on the way there. Nicklay had troops moving into the Nisan region the day after Xenogears left; he had to have known in advance that Fei wasn't in the area. Therefore, we have to assume our traitor knows Fei's movements as well as our own. That eliminates my officers as suspects; unfortunately, it doesn't help solve the puzzle. " He paused, grimacing as they walked past the dock that contained what was left of Heimdal.
Jessie whistled in awe. "That's some nasty damage. What in Sophia's name happened, Citan?"
Citan grimaced as he looked at the shattered wreck of his Gear, listing brokenly within the confines of its bay. "I forgot to duck."
When no further explanation was forthcoming, Jessie looked over at Sigurd.
"He pushed one of the Gundams out of the line of fire of an airship barrage, only to get hit himself--at point-blank range. He and Heimdal were both badly damaged," Sigurd said, then added dryly, "Of the two, Citan has turned out to be easier to fix."
"Typical," Jessie said, grinning. Then he frowned. "Wait a minute. What the hell is a Gundam? Your boys cook up some sort of newfangled Gear?"
As if to answer his question, a small explosion erupted from the back of the hangar, accompanied by yelling. Jessie spun reflexively, hand dropping to the worn butt of his gun.
Citan sighed and shook his head. "That's right--you haven't met them yet, have you?" He headed towards the source of the noise, Jessie following warily behind. Sigurd winced at the mushrooming cloud of black smoke billowing up into the rafters from the back of the hangar. "You're half right. It is a kind of Gear, but it's more 'oldfangled' than new."
The source of the commotion came into view as they rounded the corner, and Jessie stopped and stared unabashedly at the Gears that stood docked in the far recesses of Yggdrasil's hangar. The white and ebony armor plating, splashed with a kaleidoscope of greens, golds, and reds, startled the eye from the--Gundams?--varied forms. Both larger and more massive than the smaller desert Gears, they dominated the hangar.
"Dammit, Bart--warn me next time!" A small grimy figure with an improbably long brown braid shouted as smoke wreathed around the gold-crested head of one of the Gears. He waved a fist from the repair platform. "You said it was gonna burn, not that it was gonna fuckin' explode!"
"Quit complainin'!" retorted a barely-recognizable Bart. White teeth flashed in a soot-caked face as he grinned. "It worked, didn't it? Sekkafish oil does the trick, every time--just pour it on and let it soak. Then light it on fire, and BAM! Cleans armor plate like nothin' else!"
The black-clad boy jumped onto the black Gear, and scrutinized it carefully. "Hrmph... I guess you're right. Ya know... " Jessie saw a flash of vivid sapphire eyes as the boy cocked his head consideringly. "Bet that stuff would make a great molotov cocktail."
"Molo--what?"
"Molotov cocktail. Basic tool for terrorists everywhere." The black-clad boy grinned evilly. "See, first ya put the oil in a bottle. Then you get some rags..."
At Sigurd's groan, Jessie remarked, "I take it you found another chip off of the old Fatima block?"
Sigurd stiffened. "Why do you say that?"
Jessie favored him with an 'I might be old, but I'm not stupid' look. "It's as plain as the nose on your face, Sig. Or should I say, your eyes. Only the Fatima royal blood has peepers the color of yours, and unless I miss my guess, that kid's got 'em too. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."
"I... had noticed," Sigurd admitted. He crossed his arms uncomfortably. "Bart saw it too. But it's impossible for Duo to be a descendent of the Fatima line. We assumed it was just a weird coincidence."
"And *that's* your problem, right there," Jessie stated, poking an accusing finger at both men. "You're assuming things. Both of you figured that, for whatever reason, it was impossible for that kid to have the Fatima Jasper--the hereditary retinal pattern of the Fatima dynasty, so you just assumed that he didn't. Did you ever bother to *check*?" He looked at them challengingly. "Well? Did you?"
"Well--no," Citan admitted, rubbing his neck with his good hand.
"You two. I oughta whop you both, just for forgetting the most important rule of military intelligence. NEVER assume." Jessie turned, watching the two soot-smeared pilots joking easily as they clambered down from the Gear platforms. "Just like you two are so focused on finding a traitor in your own ranks, that you just assumed that your leak is somewhere in the Aveh military. I'll bet both of you never once thought about who *Fei* might have told."
Sigurd started to shake his head. "That's impossible. The only person Fei would have told would be Elly--" He stopped short as realization struck, and Citan finished the thought for him, eyes narrowed.
"--but who would *Elly* have told?"
Jessie snorted and crossed his arms, watching as Bart and his dark-clad companion sauntered up. "See what I mean? Assumptions!"
Bart grinned and waved. "Hey, Jessie, you old coot! Looking good!" The older man scowled in a vain attempt to hide his grin.
"It's the alcohol. No matter what my idiot kid says, clean living ages ya faster than anything else." He jerked his head at Bart's companion. "New recruit, I take it?"
The dark-clad boy smirked, and Bart choked on a snicker. "Well, not exactly. Duo, here, is actually an old recruit." The two pilots grinned knowingly at each other. "A really, REALLY old recruit..."
Jessie hooked a hand on his gunbelt as both Bart and Duo burst out laughing, and looked at Sigurd. "Care to let an old man in on the joke?"
Even the normally reserved Sigurd seemed to be having a hard time stifling a smile. As he followed the laughing pair into the hall leading to the commissary, he remarked, "Of course, Jessie. But I think you'd better be sitting down first..."
"He's *how* old!?!"
"Over ten thousand years, near as we can tell," Citan replied. "We found them in some ancient ruins below the Ice Fields, right below the Zohar Modifier." He sipped at his tea, amused, as he watched curiosity and suspicion zip across his Jessie's weatherbeaten face.
"Huh... Well, that would explain why no one had ever found them before now," Jessie remarked, still half-disbelieving, He watched Bart and Duo join a nearby table, trays loaded with breakfast mush. "Cryogenic suspension?"
Citan nodded. "Yes. The readings I managed to retrieve were a bit anomalous, but their medical records were clear enough on that fact."
Swiping a hand through his ragged gray thatch of hair, Jessie mulled over this new information. He pulled his battered flask from his pocket, and thoughtfully took a swig, ignoring his tea. "How many of them did you say there were?"
"Five pilots in all, along with their corresponding Gears. You've met Duo Maxwell, of course-- the two other young men sitting with him and Bart are Heero Yuy and Trowa Barton." Citan inclined his head in the direction of the pair of stony-faced young men, one green-eyed and lanky, the other shorter, with a narrowed cobalt stare. "Quatre Winner and Chang Wufei are the two you haven't met yet."
"Hmm. And exactly how many people know about this little discovery of yours?"
"Hard to say. We tried to keep the expedition fairly low key, but our confrontation with Neo-Kislev over the ruins may have given us away. At the very least, the entire crew of the Yggdrasil knows about them." Citan looked over at Sigurd, who was muttering over a fresh sheaf of reports, tea in hand. "What do you think, Sigurd?"
"I think this whole thing is a bloody intelligence nightmare, that's what I think," Sigurd growled, tossing his paperwork down in disgust. "There's no way we can keep this quiet, and now that we've had some downtime, I'm sure the rumor mill is running at full speed. As if that weren't enough, you can add to that the fact that we've got five very old, very powerful, very *visible* Gears now running around out in the open." He rubbed his forehead, running fingers along the strap of his eyepatch. "Their existence can't be kept secret. The best I can do is keep any and all further details on a strict 'need to know' basis--who they are, what they can do, and so on--and as long as we have this information leak, I'm not even sure how well we can do that."
"So we're back were we started--at our unknown traitor." Citan contemplated the dregs of his tea. Steepling his fingers, Jessie lapsed into a contemplative silence, idly listening to Bart's rambling monologue over at the next table. Ingrained habits borne of years of undercover work were hard to break.
"--so anyway, after we kicked Shakhan's fat ass off the throne, I turned Aveh into a democracy, just like Dad wanted," Bart said cheerfully. "Then we went to--"
"You did what?!" Heads turned all across the cafeteria at Duo's indignant screech. Bart blinked in surprise.
"What?"
"You can't just turn a monarchy into a democracy, just like that! It doesn't work that way!"
Bart munched on a piece of toast, looking stubborn. "Why not?"
"Did you set up an electoral committee? A judicial body? A CONSTITUTION, for crying out loud?!"
"Nah. I just told 'em to elect whoever they wanted to be in charge. We got kinda busy after that." Bart paused. "What's a constitution?"
His fellow pilots watched in amusement as Duo banged his head against the table. Trowa remarked dryly, "Aveh's survived this long, Duo. I don't think it's the end of the world."
Duo shot upright, and pointed an accusing finger. "That's bullshit and you know it, Trowa!" He put his hands on his hips. "Listen--I'm American, even if I am colony born. And if there's one thing Americans know, it's all the ways you can fuck up a democracy. Trust me, we've tried 'em all."
Heero snorted into his tea.
Duo continued to rant as Bart and Trowa watched, wide-eyed. "And I'll bet the only reason Aveh's managed to last this long is because you guys never stopped fighting. After all, you're the commander-in-chief of the military, so Aveh still pretty much takes orders from you, right?"
Bart nodded.
"And in wartime, that's the way it should be. But what happens when you guys finally get some peace and quiet--some time for people to think?" Duo poked at him accusingly with his fork. "I'll tell ya what's gonna happen. Without some kind of rules, some checks and balances, you're gonna wind up with another two-bit petty dictator like Shakhan on the throne. Whoever grabs military control from the Fatimas is the one gonna be runnin' the show, and unless you get damn lucky, he probably won't be interested in any 'democratic elections'."
Bart crossed his arms defensively, and glared. "Then we'll just kick his ass too."
"Dammit, don't you see? That only makes the problem worse! 'Cause then you'll be the one doing the dictating, instead of the other guy. Either way, no democracy," Duo shot back. He sat back down and added more calmly, "Besides, you're not thinking long-term here. You're not gonna always be around--what's to keep a military coup from happening generations after the you're gone?"
"So what do you suggest, oh wise one?" Bart tossed back.
Duo grabbed a biscuit, picking it apart thoughtfully. "Democracies are fragile things, especially when they're just getting started. First thing you gotta do, though, is make sure the military never, ever gets controlled by just one guy or one little clique. War should only be the province of an elected body, no matter exactly how you go about doing the electing. Also, you need..."
Trowa shoved his empty plate aside as Duo continued to expound on his theories, and remarked, "I realize Duo is a bit of a history buff, but I never knew he was so vehement about politics." He raised an eyebrow as Heero chuckled dryly. "What's so funny?"
"Duo was just starting to work on his masters before that whole mess with the scientists' little secrets started." He cocked an eyebrow. "You know what it was in?"
"Let me guess. History?"
"Pre-Colonial and the Information Age, to be exact." Heero shook his head as he listened to Duo rant. "It was a bit strange to me. Duo's not stupid--but it's hard to think of him as the academic type."
Trowa nodded thoughtfully. "So why history? Why not math, or engineering? Something more practical?"
"It's because he doesn't have any." Heero glanced over at his lover, still arguing passionately with Bart about the perils and pitfalls of a democracy. "History, that is. No family, no heritage. I think this is the way he connects to something... solid."
Trowa blinked. He'd never thought about it in quite that way--but as a fellow orphan, rootless and nameless, it made sense. "I see what you mean. Where was he--?" he broke off as a hush fell over the formerly-noisy commissary.
Instinctively, they both scanned for the source of the disturbance--and found Fei, standing uncertainly in the doorway. For a moment, something dark and undefined flickered in his eyes--then it was gone. Shoulders stiff, Fei moved into line and picked up a bowl of the morning's gruel.
Oblivious, Bart waved. "Fei! Over here!"
Startled by the invitation, Fei glanced over--then shook his head with a tight smile. Instead, he left quietly. The hum of interrupted conversations rose in his wake, subdued and wary.
Citan watched Fei leave with concern. "Fei didn't mention that he was having so many problems."
Sigurd looked vaguely guilty. "I wasn't aware that the rumors had gotten that bad... I've done my best to quell them where I could." He sighed. "Thankfully, both the crew of the Yggdrasil and the men stationed at the Dune Sea base don't listen to the rumors; they've worked with Fei long enough to know and respect him. But the other divisions haven't seen Fei in anything other than the occasional battle, and far too many of them are afraid of the kind of power Fei--or Id, rather--can wield."
Citan grimaced in disgust. Sensing a potential rant in the offing, Jessie added, "Be honest--you can't blame them, Citan. Aveh's military has a pretty liberal recruitment base, mostly from refugees. That means not only demihumans and mutants, but also survivors from Shevat, Lahan, and even Solaris." He uncapped his flask, and took a swig. "He destroyed a lot of people's lives, even if he didn't intend to. Of course they're afraid of him."
Sighing in exasperation, Citan ran a hand through his already-rumbled black hair. "I realize that. However, fear and anger are what has always triggered Id in the past--and this kind of fear is not helping the situation any. Fei is already under a lot of stress with protecting Nisan and worrying about Elly. So far he's held up well--but put enough stress on *anything*, and it will break." He locked gazes with Sigurd, unflinching in his concerns. "And we all know what will happen then."
Eyes half-closed, Jessie absorbed what he was hearing; adding in his observations and analyzing it from every angle. These new pilots were definitely more than they seemed; and more importantly, complete wild cards in the current unstable state of affairs. Fei may or may not prove to be a cause for real concern in the future--but at least they knew more or less what Fei would do, should the worst come to pass. In contrast, no one--not himself, not Citan, and certainly not Nicklay--had any idea what these 'Gundam' pilots might do... or what they were truly capable of.
A more paranoid man might have felt threatened. Jessie, on the other hand, saw the glimmerings of opportunity. "Sig."
"Yes?"
"You ever think about letting two of your problems cancel each other out?" Jessie leaned back, lacing his hands over his stomach.
"What exactly are you suggesting?" Citan asked slowly. Despite the sudden change in subject, he thought he knew where Jessie was heading with this. He also wasn't sure he approved.
"What's the one piece of information that Nicklay desperately needs right now--and that he's gonna be pressuring his mole to find?" He let his eyes slide over to the Gundam pilots. "And what if we gave the mole a chance to find it?"
"You're suggesting that we use the Gundam pilots as bait?"
Jessie smiled without humor. "Exactly."
Despite his misgivings, Citan looked speculative. "Bart will not like it. I'm sure Elly will also disapprove."
"So what else is new?" Jessie shrugged. "We don't have time to quibble over the ethics of it all. That leak needs to be plugged and fast. If we don't, and Nicklay gets wind of what these guys can do..."
"...he'll hit us with everything he's got. Nicklay's a big fan of the 'do unto them before they do unto us' philosophy," Sigurd finished. "I don't know whether or not he'd actually succeed--but either way, the loss of life would be horribly high. Much as I hate to admit it, I agree with Jessie. This may be the best chance we have at damage control."
"Your best chance? I was thinking more along the lines of your *only* chance." Jessie turned his attention back to the table containing the Gundam pilots, watching them pensively. "No matter what, though, you'd better hope that we can stay one step ahead of it all. Because one thing's for damn sure--things are gonna get messy from here on out."
End Part Sixteen
(:./hope/dream16)
