Revelations Part I
Alliance
by Michaela Wills
"Put your hands down. I was the first one to come out and surrender."
The boys stared at each other for a moment or two after those words. The second left his arms raised, for the echoes of metal on metal and radio static still ringing in his ears left him uncomprehending at first. When it finally dawned on him what had passed he slowly he dropped his hands until both stood staring across a wasteland of confusion.
Neither moved or spoke. Surely, there was something that should be said, but neither boy could figure it out. It seemed better simply to stand and let the moment wash over them. It was an unspoken agreement.
Two minds began calculating at the speed of light, desperately trying to come to a conclusion about what was really happening here. Why is the other boy still just standing here? What does he have to do with Oz and the Alliance, if anything? Is it at all possible that Operation Meteor has begun?
The wind tugged at them as if trying to convince them to move and play, or at least to move. The stillness previously was unearthly, especially to the witnesses of this scene. The fourty other mobile suits stood ranged around the outstanding two. One of brillant red, the other of a dusty grey. Red would not stay hidden very long, especially in the desert.
An explosion abruptly changed the mood. All eyes turned to the horizon where the cloud of dust, light and rubble rose at an astonishing rate.
"Quatre-sama! Quatre-sama!" someone called. Trowa looked over the edge of his platform. A great hulking man stood calling up from the foot of the grey suit. Its diminuative pilot tipped his head out over the edge of the platform and returned the call.
"Yes Rashid? What can I do for you?"
"Quatre-sama, I think we should return to the base. There's nothing else for our forces to do here. We'll be caught soon if we're not careful, Quatre-sama."
The blonde tipped his head to the side, "Of course, Rashid, you're absolutely right. Please relay to the others to return to the base immediately. I'll be right behind you." The boy stood up and looked across the expanse of empty space to where the other stood. Trowa watched the youth's eyes skimming the surface of his Gundam. He could just guess what this blonde boy was thinking. Red. A color like that would stand out anywhere. It was actually one of the things Trowa liked about the HeavyArms' design, though he was still unsure as to why.
"Excuse me, but would you please come with us?" the blonde called to him, "I know I don't know who you are, but you must understand the need for us to discuss this matter openly before we part. It isn't safe for either of us to just leave. At the least, I can promise you won't be harmed and we'll resupply your mobile suit."
"It's a Gundam." he responded, "No one who lays eyes on a Gundam can live to tell of it. Those were my orders."
The blonde smiled suddenly, "Well then, you're in good company, because mine is a Gundam also." The dark-haired boy stared at his smiling stranger for only a moment.
"Very well." Trowa said, then turned heel quickly and returned to the safety of HeavyArms' shielded torso. In his Gundanium shell, Trowa blindly followed the odd caravan of desert mobile suits under a cover of sand to their base. HeavyArms dutifully recorded the trail for him so he could think. Another Gundam . . .
So was this the Barton Foundation coming to haunt him? Certainly the Barton Foundation had not figured out what had happened and surely they could not have launched counter-measures against him that quickly. No one should know that Trowa Barton was dead and an unknown filled his place. Was he giving Dockor S too much credit? Surely though, the man could keep one subordinate with much at risk quiet.
Even if the Barton Foundation did know what was going on, there was no guarantee this young child was involved. The blonde boy who claimed ownership of the other Gundam couldn't be older than himself, if Trowa's age at all. He struggled to recall snippets of his one-sided conversations with the true Trowa Barton. The older boy had mentioned other, younger pilots and that he would lead them. Did this mean that 'Quatre-sama' was under orders from the Barton Foundation or were there even more factors involved in this than the Bartons were aware of?
As the light dimmed, and HeavyArms followed the grey suit underground he came to his decision. He would keep to himself and learn as much from the other as he could before saying anything about the Foundation. At the least, he had the reassurance that his Gundam would be resupplied. If things became too hot, he could bust his way out when the suit was reoutfitted.
Patting the interior of Sandrock's heavy defense shields, Quatre scrambled into the light. It seemed apparent to him already that placating this new . . . visitor and getting necessary information from him would be extremely difficult. The brunette he met so briefly was closed-lipped and terse, not to mention rather sullen. It would take much of Quatre's skill to get him to say anything of value.
As he walked across the metal planking and stood outside the awe-inspiring red Gundam Quatre shook his head. The moment of clarity during their interesting jaunt made it clear to him this one was trustworthy. If Quatre had learned one thing from his true training, it was to trust instinct. Confidence was the key. If he gave, then he would recieve. It wouldn't matter how the other responded to him. What was imporant was that he treated his guest with the dignity that he deserved as a pilot. If he was wrong, then he would deal with that best he could.
Trusting was the key. He would need to make alliances where and when he could. This young man couldn't be isolated if he was a possible comrade. Best to treat him with respect first and later find he was wrong than to earn his contempt and find he erred in judgement later.
The hatch opened after a pause and the boy stepped clear of the Gundam. Quatre quickly buried his surprise. From across the mote of desert air earlier, the dark pilot had seemed shorter. Yet that wasn't what had caused Quatre's shock. It was those eyes! From roughly fifteen yards away, the color of his eyes nor the intelligence and suspicion in then had been discernable. Here at close range they were quite apparent. Quatre cleared his throat and smiled.
"Welcome to our base. We're well hidden here, no current threat from the Alliance or Oz, although that may not last much longer. Please, come in and relax. We can discuss all the important matters at leisure."
Giving Quatre a measured look, the boy nodded, but turned to look at his injured Gundam, "I would like to--" he began, but Quatre cut him short.
"Abdul will take care of your Gundam, he is more than qualified and has trained many of the assisting personnel. I assure you your suit is in the most capable hands. You also have my word that the suit will be fixed and resupplied." The boy gave him a wary look before relenting and following as Quatre left the hangar.
"Rashid, can you tell me how everyone is? There were no major injuries, were there?" Quatre spoke quickly, taking two steps for every one of Rashid's. Thankfully, the Maguanac was aware of this and slowed his pace for Quatre's comfort. The boy hung back, but the blonde was conscious of his interest in the conversation.
"No injuries of any concern, Quatre-sama." Rashid reported evenly, "A number of suits gave reports of dust contamination and sluggish response times, which are being cleared up prior to work on the red suit."
"Gundam." Quatre corrected, almost absent-mindedly, "Thank you Rashid. I appreciate this, I know it's a trouble watching after multiple extra suits. I'll discuss the Corsica mission in depth with you later, after I see our guest installed and visit Ali. The village doctor said he was healing nicely if I remember correctly?" Rashid nodded.
"Very well Quatre-sama. I told Issac to have someone prepare the guest room next to your own. It should be done now. If you need me, you know where to find me." Rashid gave a quick nod of his head and strode down a different corridor.
The blonde had shown Trowa to a sparse, but elegant room a few hours ago and left him to his own devices with a smile and a kind word about talking and dinner. Trowa was now following a Maguanac to meet for dinner. It seemed the base was a remote desert town and greatly underground in actuality. All Trowa had seen from his window could be described as the everyday activities of a normal community. This was a great set-up if nothing else.
The final turn led him to a large hall, where he had the distinct impression the entire town community was currently installed. A small, rotund man stood on a dais at the far end, speaking in swift Arabic to the company.
"He's telling everyone how delighted he is that the Maguanac Corps. have returned to their base safely and is informing the community on the state of military affairs." a voice to Trowa's side informed him in Japanese.
Slightly startled, Trowa found the blonde boy to be his companion. On guard, he muttered his reply, "Is that wise, to tell everyone military information?"
The blonde smiled yet again, rather disarmingly, "Not in the Maguanac Corps. Almost everyone in the town is related to a member of the Corps. and we are all united in our struggle against the Alliance and it's domination. Among ourselves there is no need for secrets." He had a rather nice smile, all and all. "I gather you are more interested in talking than eating, or listening to this political chat." Trowa brought his attention firmly back to the blonde with a nod. "I anticipated that. We have a private room set aside where you and I can discuss and eat in private."
The blonde took his wrist and gently pulled him through the thickest of the crowd before letting go and leading him to a ornately carved door near the back of the large hall. They began to enter when the small Arabic speaker changed his tone. Trowa couldn't make out any descernable language, but his companion turned and looked to the dais in respose. Trowa watched as the entire town population turned their way.
Trowa's blonde escort gave him a quick smile and then stepped away from the door. He spoke loudly and clearly in Arabic to the audience. Trowa watched the faces of those listening carefully. For such a small boy, these people had a great deal of respect for the little pilot beside him. The boy's earlier assurances that HeavyArms would be repaired suddenly seemed founded in the face of this kind of reverence to the other. The blonde finished and bowed, retreating through the door before the applause died away. Trowa ducked inside and a Maguanac shut the door behind them.
A dinner was laid out on a table set for two, lamps around the room lit brightly and a window open to allow a breeze to pass inside. The room was still rather dark in coloring and the lights gave the other an odd glow that Trowa couldn't place.
The boy moved to the far end of the table gestering for Trowa to take the seat opposite, "Please, sit. I'm sorry about that. My involvement was unfortunately unavoidable."
They ate in silence, not uncomfortable, but full of expectation. After this, both knew the talk long anticipated would begin. It was a necessary discussion, they both knew that, but Trowa's standing in this small community was now up for debate. Trowa gave a quick prayer that the boy's earlier ascertation would hold true. When the two boys were left with only the water in their glasses and the silence between them, the blonde stood and moved to the hooded window.
Quatre stood at the window. He supressed the urge to laugh. This was the moment of truth. He still trusted his instinct in their comradeship, but now it would be tested. His reaction to the community, while negative was heartening. It proved he wasn't in league with the Alliance or Oz. However, no reports of the Alliance or Oz making Gundams gave him that assurance as well. He was part of another faction, a clear point. The Gundam suggested the Barton Foundation, which put Quatre in a bad position.
Would he now pay for his own disobedience and Instructor H's? He hoped it was more complex than that. His own knowledge of the Barton Foundation was limited. Instructor H had sheltered him from the politics of Operation Meteor. All he really knew was this was not the planned Operation and the other was less humane than guerilla warfare. If this boy was under the Barton umbrella, it was likely he knew of Quatre's infractions. Might as well make the situation perfectly clear. He had, after all, rebelled from the Barton Foundation as well as his father. He might as well pay the price the first time instead of under multiple extra charges.
The Barton Foundation, after all, had a reputation of militant command.
"Please," Quatre look firmly out the window, "You have questions, I know. Ask away, but first let me tell you what I know."
Quatre sighed, not looking at the other occupant of the room to catch his reaction. He's thought long and hard about this. It wasn't about give and take, not until this brunette knew his infractions and let it be known that he was like Quatre in his motives. Then they could share information. Looking back into the desert darkness, he continued.
"I was trained for the last few years to pilot Sandrock, my Gundam. Sandrock was designed for me alone. I left the L4 colony cluster recently. My orders were simple: to await further missions in the form of guerilla assignments to rackle the Alliance and Oz. I met with the Maguanac Corps. upon my arrival and they have been assisting me with my assignments."
He cleared his throat, "Sandrock was funded for by the Barton Foundation primarily, but additional funds were provided by my father and Winner Enterprises. However, I work for niether organization." he turned to face the brunette, "If that warrants something for you, please don't hesitate to hold me singlely responsible for any infraction."
He looked into those bright eyes. He blinked. The gaze was closed to him, what was the other pilot thinking?
Trowa couldn't believe it at first. The boy had just told him nearly every piece of pertinent information without batting an eyelash. Didn't this boy want anything from him?
He was rather grateful to not face the blonde as he admitted his purpose and his origin. It was almost too much. The boy put that much faith in Trowa that his ascertation was right to just tell him everything. Not to mention putting himelf at Trowa's mercy.
The blonde must have thought he was from the Barton Foundation or an associated company. That must be it. He certainly had not fear of the Alliance or Oz, but his attitude towards the Foundation was greatly chagrinned. As if he really was an offender. Trowa studied the slight boy facing him, his mouth set in a thin line of grim determination.
It suddenly struck Trowa to comfort he boy. They really did have nothing to fear from each other. The boy had been right: They shouldn't be fighting each other, they were allies, or could be. A smile quirked on his lips.
"I'm not from the Barton Foundation." he stated clearly, looking the blonde, Quatre, squarely in the eye. "However, HeavyArms was built by the Foundation with the intent to use in Operation Meteor. My orders are like yours and come from a source other than an organization."
Quatre blinked at him, almost uncomprehendingly at first as the impact of his statement dawned on the blonde. "We have the same missions?" Trowa nodded once, crossing his arms over his chest. Quatre tilted his head, eyes full of interest, "Can you tell me anything else about the Barton Foundation and Operation Meteor? I was told very little."
The chagrinned look on the boy's face almost brought a smile to Trowa's. This boy probably knew more about the Operation than he did, no matter how uninformed he was. Trowa really only knew one thing. And that one thing gave him some peace of mind. He was sure the original Operation was more malicious than even guerilla warfare.
"The original Operation Meteor has not taken place. At this point, it can't happen: all money was poured into preparations and the Gundams were not deployed under the Foundation's orders. They will have to take time to regroup before attempting anything." Trowa walked to the window and looked out.
"So any other Gundams are renegade, like you and I?" Quatre asked, Trowa didn't respond at all, "That's very good to know. Capital will take a great deal of time to generate. We're easily safe of the Foundation. For a time."
The wind blew past Trowa. It was cold, so very cold. The desert certainly had two faces. It seemed everything had two faces these days. The world was very unsure. What seemed simple was truly complex and in this case, a hopelessly complex situation had just sorted itself out effortlessly.
No matter how confusing the day had been, there was a new hope. There was someone he could depend on as another pilot. He was one man fighting a guerilla war: He was one of a group.
Quatre felt like leaping for joy. The boy had just washed away his greatest fear. He didn't truly need to worry himself over the Barton Foundation. That was enough. He bit back a grin and turned it into a smile. not that it mattered, the other wasn't paying attention to him at the moment.
"I've other good news, also." the brunette turned to him as he knew the boy would. "Abdul has done a preliminary check on HeavyArms. The damage is minimal and can be finished within three or four days. That includes time to resupply the Gundam."
The boy nodded. "That is good."
Quatre concurred, nodding with the brunette. They stood in silence, not concerning themselves with conversation. For the moment it wasn't necessary to understand each other. The chatter and Arbic speech from the hall adjacent drifted over them. Quatre sighed, a little more at peace after all the pressures of the day. Here was someone who understood piloting a Gundam. He wasn't alone.
He wasn't alone anymore.