Wild Roses – Cold Comfort
Chapter One
Mid-June AC 192
Khushrenada Ancestral Estate – Moscow
Treize found Leia in her rooms.
Her bedroom was shadowed, the heavy brocade drapes closed against the bright summers day outside, and stuffy, too warm without the bay windows thrown open for ventilation.
Leia herself was sitting nearly motionless on her bed, only her hands moving, constantly washing over and over themselves and plucking restlessly at the lace cuffs of her blouse, as she stared into nothing.
Treize frowned as he took it in. "Leia?" he asked, stepping across the soft carpeting hurriedly. "Is everything alright, love?"
It took the blonde woman a few breaths to respond, then she turned clear blue eyes sparkling with tears up towards him, and shook her head.
"No," she breathed. "It's not. Treize...,"
One delicate white hand reached towards him and Treize caught it automatically, sinking down to sit on the bed at her side.
"Leia-love, what's the matter?" Treize asked, now truly worried.
Leia shivered, then used her free hand to pass him a strip of white plastic which had been hidden form his view by the curve of her body.
"I'm sorry, Treize. I know we didn't intend again so soon..." She stopped and swallowed, then sobbed softly. "I think I'm pregnant."
Treize stared at his wife, then down at the test she'd passed him, reading the clear pictographic result for himself. If it was to be believed, Leia was telling him the truth.
Treize felt a lead weight settle into his stomach, shortening his breath even as he fought to control it. "You do seem to be, yes," he agreed, hating the waver in his voice. He coughed softly to steady it. "Have you spoken to your doctor?" he asked.
Leia shook her head. "What for? There's nothing they can do."
Treize had known that, but the hopelessness in his wife's voice drove it home even further. He forced himself to smile at her warmly, summoning up all his command and diplomatic training as he did so.
"You never know, love," he said gently. "Maybe it will be different this time."
Leia returned his smile, but it was doubting. "Maybe," she agreed uncertainly. "At least, it cannot be as bad as last time," she admitted.
That was certainly true. It would be worse. Far, far worse.
Early December AC 191
Zodiac Wing – Space Deployment near L5
"Out of the door, please!"
Treize, standing in the dividing door between hanger compartments where he could see as much of his unit as possible at once, jumped at the bark of command in the voice behind him and stepped aside hastily.
Specials medical personnel, all dressed in drab scrubs, flooded into the space as soon as he moved, splitting across the room seamlessly, following the single word commands and hand gestures of Dr Sinclair, the Wing's senior Surgeon.
The place was anarchy. The shouts of the medical personnel and the moans and screams of their patients mingled with the shriek and grind of cutting equipment. Medical techs carried pilots on stretchers as mechanics freed them from torn and damaged suits. The floor was awash with oil and hydraulic liquids, with blood and other bodily fluid.
His eyes still scanning across the bays, Treize winced as he saw one young pilot release the zip line of a badly damaged Leo and fall the last two feet to the floor.
The boy staggered, taking two unsteady steps and then collapsed to his knees and heaved emptily, bracing on one hand. He dragged himself up again a moment later and wavered his way to the side of an officer who was kneeling by the body of another pilot, holding his hand as the medical tech with them worked frantically.
For a moment, Treize didn't recognise his adoptive brother in the officer. Zechs's white-gold hair was dragged into a ragged knot at the base of his skull and so sweat dampened it looked almost brown; the red flight-jacket was gone and the white undershirt and breeches were badly stained.
As Treize watched, Doctor Sinclair reached the little group, bent over the injured pilot for a moment and then shook his head and stepped back, moving on immediately. The medical tech closed his eyes briefly, then selected a pre-loaded hypodermic from his little kit and slid it into the man's carotid artery.
The pilot's body convulsed for a second and then went limp. The med tech was already packing up his kit to move on. Zechs stayed with the body for a few breaths more, then reached out and closed his eyes and stood up, exhaustion in every line of his body.
His movement let Treize see the body he was walking away from and the older man had to swallow hard at the level of injury and look away. Ripped open, burned and broken, it never failed to stagger him just how much damage could be done to the human body without it being fatal. The young pilot had fought his injuries for almost an hour as his suit was tethered back into the ship, and all he'd bought himself was a Doctor's clinical assessment and a mercifully swift death at the end of it.
The blond moved without ever seeing his commander, going to the next of his men to kneel with them as they were dealt with. He was bleeding from half a dozen cuts himself, badly from one of them, but he didn't seem to notice.
The other pilot stayed where he was, his young face ashen under the grime. It took Treize a moment to identify Otto, and then he went to him and sank to one knee by his side, trying to stay clear of the blood spreading from the dead pilot. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed hard. "Otto, come on," he murmured quietly, suddenly recalling that the younger man had only been out of the Academy five months. Treize was sure he'd never seen anything like this before.
"Treize…?" Stunned eyes turned to his own. "Major," he corrected shakily. "He… he was in our class…."
"I know," Treize said heavily. Closer proximity had let him identify the dead pilot as one of his former students, one that he had selected personally for the Wing.
He squashed his emotions on that subject ruthlessly and got to his feet again, tugging with his hand to get Otto to move with him. "Come on, now. There's nothing you can do for him."
"I…I know but…."
Treize shook his head. "Come on," he repeated, more sternly. "You need to be checked by a Doctor and then you need to clean up."
Otto stood but he was shaking so hard he could barely hold his balance. Treize grabbed him by one arm and steadied him, watching as the boy tried to speak again, to say something in protest, and failed.
He looked at his commander helplessly, his brown eyes wide and pleading and all-but collapsed. Treize caught him, pulling him close for a moment as the younger man sobbed dryly – a sound of uncomprehending shock and pain rather than the prelude to cleansing tears – and then pushed him away. "Get it together, Officer," he said firmly.
Someone touched Treize on the arm and he turned his head to look into weary golden eyes. "I've got him, sir," Remy Chennault said softly, his accent heavy "I'll see him to his bed and stay with him. You won't need him for debrief tonight?" he asked.
Treize shook his head. "I'll have to speak to Zechs but I doubt it." He looked over the other man, seeing buried reaction and exhaustion in his face but also the surety of experience. It was enough to remind him why he had wanted the man – although only a Captain, he was actually eight years Treize's senior in age, his former squadron leader in fact, and one of the most seasoned pilots in the Wing.
"What happened?" he asked the Cajun man quietly. He'd been taking a wireless briefing from General Catalonia when the hanger relayed the signal that they'd had a request for disaster teams to meet the incoming suits – suits that hadn't been due back for almost six hours
The first and second Squadrons of Treize's Wing had been out on a 12 hour reconnaissance sweep of the local space under Zechs's command. It was the latest in a line of several similar missions; Treize's way of giving his blond friend command experience. There'd been no hint in any of the initial data that the Squadron would meet any real resistance – it should have been little more than an excuse for getting away from the command ship for a few hours and a glorified training exercise, especially with Chennault along, watching for problems.
Clearly, that wasn't what had happened.
Something had forced Zechs to pull his forces out of the field less than halfway through the sweep, and something had forced him to call ahead to the ship and ask that his incoming suits be met with medical teams and engineers.
Treize had abandoned his meeting with his uncle almost without the older man's permission when he'd heard that, scrambling through the corridors of the ship at a pace that wasn't quite a run, frantic with worry. Returning units were always met by a team of medical techs and mechanics – Zechs wouldn't have needed to call for additional support unless things had gone badly, badly wrong.
Chennault shrugged roughly. "Bloody slaughter, sir," he answered bluntly. "They knew we were coming, they knew our numbers – we didn't stand a chance. Zechs was totally blind-sided." He paused. "He held it together damn well, all things considered," he added steadily. "They'd've had the lot of us but for him thinking as fast as he did."
Treize found himself caught between cringing – Chennault wouldn't use words like 'slaughter' lightly - and sudden pride in his brother. Finally, he nodded his acknowledgement. "All right. Make sure Otto sees a Doctor before he showers, and see if you can get him to eat. Feel free to bring him to the Mess if he comes round enough. I suspect I'll be spending the night pouring vodka into Zechs; you're welcome – both of you – to join us."
"Yes, sir." Chennault gripped Otto's other arm, taking his weight from Treize. "Come on, baby bird. You did damn well out there today." He began steering the younger man towards one of the Doctors. "Just keep it up another minute and you can come unstuck all you like."
Treize watched after them for a few moments, then turned his head to look for Zechs.
As he did so, a high pitched whine shattered air across the deck. Treize span in place, barely in time to see one of the engineer's backing away from a damaged Leo at speed.
"Down! Get down!" the man shouted, throwing himself to the floor.
Reflex dropped Treize to the cold metal deck, his hands snapping to protect the vulnerable tissues at the back of his neck.
The ship rocked around him as the Leo's damaged reactor blew, flashing heat and blinding light across the confined space. Treize felt the skin on his hands blister, registered sudden sharp pain in his temples and spine, and then absolute silence fell.
It took Treize 3 full breaths before he could pull himself to his feet and then he was standing, moving, hitting the break glass that would sound the emergency sirens.
"Out!" he shouted. "Clear the deck!"
He scanned for Zechs again and spotted younger man over by the far end of the hanger, bending over a man sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. Even from this distance, Treize could make out the strapping that indicated he had a suspected broken bone in his left leg waiting to be seen to by a Doctor.
Zechs pulled the man to his feet roughly, supporting him as they made for the doors at the far end.
A firm hand under his arm rocked Treize on his feet.
"Move, Major," Dr Sinclair ordered him sharply, pulling the officer towards the near doors. "I need you in command, not down with severe radiation poisoning."
Treize obeyed automatically, clearing the deck and waiting till all the other personnel were out of the Hanger before he hit the door seals.
He barely got half a drawn breath in the stunned silence that followed the doors shutting before another hand grabbed him, sharp fingers digging hard into the soft tissues under his shoulder bones.
"Treize!" Zechs's voice was ragged behind him, harsh in his ear as the younger man pulled him round. "Are you all right?" he demanded.
The older officer rather thought he should be asking the other man that, but he nodded quickly, seeing some of the strung-out worry ease from the blonde's face as the gesture.
He reached up, patting Zechs's hand once before pulling his fingers from his coat, then tugged his jacket back into place before looking around properly.
The corridor was even more chaotic than the hanger bay had been, the smaller space rammed with bodies in various states of shock and injury. The medical personnel were already moving person to person again, assessing injury, directing the walking wounded out of their way towards the med bay so they could get to the more seriously wounded.
Treize watched for a few seconds, then looked back at Zechs, who was still standing next to him silently. "Start a head count, Lieutenant," he ordered quietly. "I want to know who's missing."
Zechs blinked, shaking himself as he reacted to Treize's voice. "Sir?" he asked.
"There aren't as many people here as there should be," Treize explained, still keeping his voice quiet. "There should have been two full squadrons in that hanger, plus support personnel and medics. We're missing people, but I don't know who. This was your command – you know them better than I do."
Zechs blinked, the expression visible through his glasses given how close to each other the two men were standing. Neither of them voiced the follow on to Treize's comment – that Zechs would know who had been dead before the reactor exploded – and the blond made to step away, following his orders.
Just before he passed from arm's reach Treize caught his sleeve. "I didn't ask – are you all right?"
Zechs stepped back half a pace, keeping the older man from touching him. "I'm fine," he returned harshly. "Not a scratch," he continued, and his tone was bitter, self-loathing.
Treize hesitated at it, clearly wanting to press and knowing this wasn't the time or the place. The conflict between older brother and commanding officer was written all over his face.
"I wouldn't say that," he replied after a moment, officer winning but with obvious reluctance. "You're bleeding all over the floor," he pointed out.
Zechs hissed between his teeth. "So are a lot of people in here!" he snapped, gesturing at the rest of the room. "Most of them from injuries far more serious than mine!"
"Yes, I'm aware of that," the older man countered mildly. He closed the gap Zechs had put between the two of them and reached out to touch him again, wanting to soothe, to comfort. "Zechs…."
"Don't, Treize," Zechs bit off. "Just don't." He shook his head, taking another step back. "I have to finish this. I won't be able to if you keep trying to make me feel better."
Treize wanted to argue with that but he knew his friend was right. They absolutely didn't have the time, and, besides, the pilot was obviously worn out, so spent that he was snappish, clearly running on the last dregs of crisis-induced adrenaline. Treize knew the feeling well, a bastard mix of exhaustion and frenetic energy that tended to translate mostly into blinkered stubbornness. There would be no talking to the younger man until he'd done what he felt he had to, or until he dropped where he stood.
Turning to start on the task Treize had given him, Zechs shoved though the crowds in the corridor, his clear voice ringing out a moment later.
Dr Sinclair appeared in the gap Zechs had left as soon as it was clear, levelling a cool glare at the younger officer.
"Show me your hands," he ordered.
Treize looked back at him, wondering what the medic was doing. Treize hadn't been part of the returning squadrons; he wasn't injured beyond a few bruises he'd taken in his fall to the decking. Still, he knew better than to argue with a doctor, so he held both hands out in front of him, wondering what the doctor was looking for.
The medic examined the skin closely, then scowled and looked back up at the officer. "I can't tell if that's heat or not," he said, pointing to the sunburn that had spread across the back of Treize's hands. "How are you feeling?"
Treize stared at the doctor in disbelief. "Absolutely fine," he answered, bewildered. "Forgive me, but shouldn't you be dealing with someone with actual injuries?" he asked.
Sinclair squinted at him. "Broken bones will wait, Major," he retorted flatly. "Strip," he ordered, "and answer the question."
"I beg your pardon?" Treize spluttered. "Do what?"
The doctor fairly glared at him. "Did you hit your head, Major Khushrenada, or do I need to start being really worried? Strip, now." He gestured at the door directly behind Treize, giving a frustrated sigh. "I told you in there, we need you in command now not down with radiation sickness. Strip and shower, now," he ordered. "The faster you wash, the less your total exposure, and the better the odds you have of getting through this."
Treize raised one eyebrow, then obeyed the Doctor's orders as rapidly as possible.