Disclaimer: I do not purport to own Gundam Seed, Destiny, or its affiliated characters.
A/N: Rihaku here. This is my first GSeed fanfic, so I'm probably going to suck at characterization and dialogue. If you have any suggestions at all, feel free to leave a review or contact me at my email address.
"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
"How do you know I'm mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn't have come here."
C. E. 71
---
She was pearlescent. Dainty skin tinged with the trace of a blush, she stared at him, eyes brilliant, then confused. Her mouth widened to an O and she shied away, arms clutching each other.
"You're…" Her voice was small, a dying flame.
He considered for a moment, a finger on his lips. Then, he whirled away, boots clapping stone-like against the hanger floor. "Yes."
She floated down, hair swirling like a calligraphy pen in the zero gravity. "Oh." Her eyes flicked from side to side, shining like pools. Haro hummed around her, bleeping warningly. "What will you do with us?"
In mid-stride, he paused, tilted his head a bit. "I do not intend to hurt you."
He strode away, inexorable. Light slanted in colorless shafts across the hanger, eclipsed by slowly turning fans hissing from above. A pair of shadows detached from the walls, bled into men, stood in front of her. She detected deference, a hint of amusement. No hostility.
"Um…"
They exchanged crow's feet glances. "Please come with us, Miss Clyne. We'll show you to your quarters."
Shepherding Haro along with the curve of her palm, she followed. For the moment, it had quieted, occasionally emitting a curious whirr. Ahead, one of the men sneezed violently, and she stumbled back. The other chuckled, his eyes wrinkling into slits. "Don't mind him, Miss Clyne, Norman's been down with the cold lately. Unusual for a Coordinator, neh?"
She nodded hesitatingly. "Y-Yes." Then, as if jolted: "Oh! My manners! Bless you, Mister Norman."
Grinning, he shook his head. "You're a saint, Miss Clyne. Don't worry 'bout us, though, we're going straight down once we die." His friend thumped him on the back, sparking a coughing fit.
Lacus Clyne took a step back, hand on her mouth. "Are you alright?"
The thumper's eyes laughed at her. "Like he said, Miss Clyne, don't worry 'bout it. Anyway, we'd best get you to your chambers before Captain charges us with derelicsion of duties!" 'Captain' was enunciated crisply, in contrast to his normal speech. She couldn't tell whether it was sarcasm or respect.
Standing smartly, he began marching down the hall. She re-oriented herself as she hit half gravity, trailing him with her fingers tracing the wall. Haro buzzed around, eager to absorb its new surroundings.
For a rogue ship, it was well-maintained, the walls a neutral pastel with carefully inscribed, color-coded markings on each corner. Rooms flanked her and spread along the hall in orderly file, receding into a cross-shaped intersect in the distance. They paced easily along the passageway for about fifteen minutes before Norman stopped at a door, its mechanized sliding system firmly shut. The display-panel which indicated room rank was, curiously, blank.
She cocked her head to one side, looked at her amiable captors. "Here?"
They passed a card before the panel, and the door zoomed open. "Yup. Captain ordered officer's quarters for you after he confirmed your identity. You need us, there's a button on the inside."
It could have been worse – she had certainly been expecting worse. "Well then, I'll just…"
"Oh!" Norman slapped his forehead, handing her the card. "Meals are in the Commons, 5 AM, 11 AM, and 6 PM. You need directions, they're on the corners of every hall. If you're unsure for the first day, just beep us. We're your wardens, per se."
She was taken aback. "You're letting me go wherever I want?"
He shrugged. "Captain doesn't think you're much of a threat. You're allowed anywhere on the ship but his quarters and the hanger."
At this, the other man spoke up: "Trust us, he's serious about that kind of stuff. You don't wanna an-tag-o-nize the Captain."
"Ah, okay. I'll just be in here then!" She gave a halfhearted smile, attempting to cheer them up, then ushered Haro in the room behind her. The door shut with a pneumatic hiss. She slumped on the crisply made bed, breathing out a sigh.
"It's been a long day, hasn't it, Haro?" It chirped miserably, pattering around her shoulders.
"Yes, I feel that way too." She took Haro into her arms, brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The walls were placid, but not welcoming. She turned on the bed, creasing the sheets, as she surveyed her quarters for the foreseeable future: a functional table, middling closet, small chair. To the side, a door that led – presumably – to her washroom.
Yawning, she absently petted Haro, then set it free. The air conditioning was bitterly cold, knifing through her dress, and she shivered before climbing under the sheets, pulling them snug around her neck. The world swayed, dimmed, faded. Her eyelids slid shut.
---
A rapping at the door: cold, impatient. Haro twirled around her head, nettling her into wakefulness. She blinked bleary eyes, sat up. The blankets slid off her shoulders as she turned her head, oh!ed to herself. Straightening her hair, she clambered out of bed, steeled herself against the cold, then depressed the doorpad.
The Captain stood testily, a tray of food in his hand. As she rubbed an eye, he glared at her expectantly.
"May I enter?" His voice was chipped ice.
She backstepped in a hurry, drowsiness cut away. "Yes, certainly!" He was even more overwhelming up close. Haro withered from him, drooping into a far corner of the room.
Tsking, he strode rapidly into the room, deposited the food on her bedside counter. It steamed merrily, and she felt her stomach clench in anticipation. "The lights are voice-activated. When you no longer feel like sleeping, just tell the panel 'Lights On.'"
Swiftly unwrapping her napkin and utensils, he set them on the counter, then turned to her.
"I apologize for the incompetence of my men. I had told them to send a meal an hour ago but they were too busy gossiping to remember." His face was cast into shadow by light blazing from the hallway, a stark rectangle into the room. All she could see were eyes like cut amethysts, glacier-sharp. Curled up in the bed, her knees bent, she stared up at him, a cornered fawn.
She summoned her courage, venturing a question: "How long have I been sleeping?"
He regarded her coolly, turned away. "It's been three hours since we retrieved you. Currently it is twelve PM your time. Finish your food, set the tray out on the table. Then get some rest."
"Why did you save me?"
His hand clasped the side of her doorframe as he glanced at her over his shoulder.
"Leverage."
---
Two weeks prior
Space was a blight of vacuum. Stars punched cold pinpricks of light into the empty firmament. Below: the arc of Earth, spilling blue-green into the void, life a thin film plastered on. And, burning towards space: a ship, angel-pale. He veered to the left, observing this craft that would be bait and prey. A trail of sparks, sunburst-bright, scattered in his wake.
Twisting behind debris, he scouted the targets, dancing carefully around scanner range – not that they would be concerned with him, by this point. In the distance, four stars twinkled, exhaust fans hissing like water aboil. He judged distance, the engagement speed, thruster skill. They moved like a flood, surging forth, covering one another. Red flashed, blue, green, black: a peacock tail, twining downwards.
They weren't good enough.
He slipped into their backstream, drew his gun. It glinted with reflected light, diamond-hard. And then he was upon then, an avenging spectre.
Broken from their rhythm, they were slow. He pulled his thrust, snapping off twelve shots, whirling madly to the side, evading their counter-fire. The black one had been sluggish, turned his shoulder directly into a blast. It reeled; the others remained untouched. An acid green bolt sizzled inches from his knee frame. He darted out of view, drawing them in.
Like sheep, they complied. And then he was among them, a wolf. A smattering of shots zoomed into the vacuum, and they scattered before the deadly rain. He drew his sword, vaulted onto the red one with matchless skill, plunged the tip of his blade into armor like a serpent sinking fang-
And the precision-cut steel stopped, blunted. He cursed to himself. Phase Shift – so the rumors were true. He flipped off, evading the retaliatory beam strike. Turning, he found himself surrounded.
The legged ship opened fire, deployed its lonely sentinel.
Distracted, the other three suits fired off, flitting like birds between the lethal ship batteries. He stared at his opponent, noted the inscription on its side.
GATX-303 Aegis.
A sufficient prize.
He funneled energy to the beam rifle, raised it as if in salute.
His foe exploded across space, a crimson blur. Beam sabers erupted from its hands, cutting the void. He dodged the first clumsy slash, brought down his hand in a punishing blow to the joint. Impact jarred him more than his opponent – Phase Shift was a devil to contend with. Exploiting the opening, Aegis stabbed viciously towards his torso, right-left-right in a controlled combination. He threw himself back, escaping the spears of light. Hoarsely, the Ambition strained, its engines unable to compensate for his rash maneuvering. He cursed, twisted past another blow, then grappled his foe's overextended arm.
With a grin, he locked the arm behind his adversary's back, spun away to flank the red suit, their torsos touching. He raised his elbow with an executioner's air.
"Now," His eyes narrowed. "let's see how tough Phase Shift really is."
He smashed the bladed refractor crystal downwards, a stiletto. It promptly shattered, organic crystal whipping into space as glasslike shards. Frowning, he kicked the Aegis downwards, punched off a volley of impeccable shots.
The suit smoothly brought up its shield, absorbed the blasts. Then, sabers drawn, it closed in once more, confident in its invincibility. He threw his useless longsword at it, aiming for the face. Twitchy, it raised its shield to deflect, blocked its own view of the two energy bursts he proceeded to fire. Two smoking tunnels marred its cardinal surface, hissing in the empty cold.
Furious, his opponent advanced again, forward thrust unimpeded by its effective amputation.
Growling to himself, he urged the Ambition to the right, turning outside the searing arc of his foe's beam saber. The steel of his joints groaned, approaching their limit. Then, fire bloomed across his backside, a lance of energy sped past.
The green suit – the Buster? – had broken its engagement with their primary target, come to overwhelm him. He rotated slowly, kept both foes in view. With an engine flare, they spread to the sides, flanking him. He fired off two rounds at the Buster, then tackled the Aegis, ramming the armored juggernaut with his shoulder. It stumbled back, ajar. He winced as his shoulder crystals imploded from impact.
Still, he had procured the necessary edge. He slammed his fist, a black-blue blur, into the chest of the off-balance Aegis, concussing its pilot. Dipping down, he avoided the Buster's hesitant spray, snatched blood-red beam sabers from boneless hands.
Twirling one lightly, he tested the heft, weight, then smiled. The Buster took careful aim, fired. He soared past the ray, saber rising in a vicious crescent. It swooped up, drawing sparks on the Buster's paint, skimming the edge of the armor. His opponent raised its long-barreled rifle in a warding gesture, fleeing melee range with apogee thrusters. He pursued, speared the gundam like a fish, his blade diving through glass, steel, flesh.
---
Athrun Zala slammed his palm on the desk, turned with arctic propriety to the blank-faced stare of his superior.
"Commander. We've suffered devastating losses since the Artemis mission. I do not believe, at this point, that continued pursuit of the Ashitsuki would be a sound idea."
Le Creuset nodded thoughtfully. "And, Yzak, your opinion on this?"
"Absolutely not!" Yzak Joule's unmarked face blazed resentfully at Athrun. "The Naturals have escaped time after time through sheer idiot luck and timely interventions. With the pirate threat crippled by our previous counterattack, we should be able to crush whatever resistance they can hold. Their best pilot can barely move in that mobile suit!"
"You're letting your emotions control you, Yzak." Athrun's tone was countermanding. "Dearka and Nicole would not have wanted us to move rashly just to revenge them."
"Bastard!" Mouth twisting into a sneer, the silver-haired redcoat clenched his fists at his sides. Quivering with fury, he bit out a retort. "What's wrong with pressing our strategic advantage? The Naturals are even more wounded than we are, and running low on supplies. If we strike now, we can eliminate their dangerous technology forever!"
The white-faced mask bobbed up and down, interceded. "Cool yourselves, gentlemen. You are redcoats. Yzak, how are you so sure their luck has run thin?"
Blindsided, Yzak's mouth opened, closed, like a fish taking water. Regaining his composure, he faced Le Creuset, keeping the infuriating Zala out of view. "I never believed in luck in the first place. But regardless of how well chance has favored the Naturals, they can't keep winning. We destroyed Artemis before they could properly resupply – they're bound to be running low on munitions and rest. They're practically within arm's reach! If we don't move decisively, they'll merge with their 8th Fleet, and, with recent losses, we'll be outgunned."
Le Creuset smiled, a spider in his web. "A well-articulated case, Joule. We will proceed with my original plan – to intercept the Legged Ship en route to its rendezvous with the 8th Fleet and to terminate it."
His arm came up for a salute, dismissing the surviving pair. They fired theirs off in response, Athrum grim; Yzak vicious.
---
"When are we in action?" Yzak tossed his towel on the couch, hefted himself over its back and hard on the seat.
Zala, enthralled by the screen, ignored him. Him, a sore loser? Pathetic. Yzak launched a pillow at the blue-haired pilot, his expression contentious. Irritably, Zala batted it away, skewered him with a glare. Voice tight, he delivered a very impolitic ultimatum.
"Not now, Yzak. This is important."
Unlike him. What's so great about the new-
"We repeat, the PLANT civilian ship Silverwind, carrying Lacus Clyne to the Bloody Valentine Memorial, was destroyed yesterday by suspected Earth Alliance Forces. Miss Clyne herself is missing – we are currently unable to report on her status. Truly, this is a dark day for all of Plant, and we join Supreme Chairman Siegal Clyne in fervent prayer for his daughter's safety. Stay tuned as we'll…"
Yzak violently clicked off the screen.
"Those damned Naturals!" He seethed, baring his alabaster teeth. "To sink this low…attacking civilian ships…Lacus Clyne! Now do you see the idiocy of your 'opinions,' Zala?"
Athrun's knuckles were paler than bone. "Get out. I've got no patience to deal with you."
Perhaps it was respect for Athrun's grief – more likely, just plain exhaustion, but, surprisingly, the other Elite complied. Yzak rose tiredly, passed through the sliding portal without a word.
---
"How is it going?" Hibiki Kira clipped towards his mobile suit, slumping crucified on the far end of the hanger. His mechanics swarmed over the mechanical behemoth, ants on a corpse. A blonde-haired, fair-skinned man with a brutish handlebar mustache hailed the Captain, moving briskly to accost his superior.
Kira came to a halt, his magnetic soles booming the echo of his steps across the massive cavity.
"Ah, Captain sir, it'll be good to go within seventy-two hours." Fingering his mustache, the Chief Mechanic handed Kira a clipboard smothered in notes.
Scanning the checklist disapprovingly, Kira commented archly: "We've been held up here for two days, waiting for combat effectiveness. You're telling me we're going to be sitting ducks for three more?"
Joseph Sturgeon's pallid complexion paled even further. "Well, Captain, it's- it's not exactly a matter of course to replace lost limbs like this. There are a lot of internal damages, and we've got to re-filter the-"
"Enough. What of the salvaged mobile suits?"
Sturgeon raised a powerful arm, pointed to the opposite end of the hanger. Two mobile suits lay partially recumbent, their insides laid open, like felled giants. One, which had been speared cleanly through the cockpit, was a dead gray, its hyper impulse rifle laid carefully to the side. The other was a burn-charred and pockmarked monstrosity of steel, its metallic innards hanging loose and hissing with steam as technicians picked over it like scavengers. Plates of its armoring had been removed, laid flat on the floor for inspection. Its relatively undamaged head, however, shined blacker than midnight.
"The coloration effect is a consequence of the phase-shift armor?"
"Yes, sir. As you can see, we're still knee-deep in the mechanics, trying to decipher its secrets."
Kira was implacable. "I sent you and your team a memo on this hours ago. There are no 'secrets' to decipher. Why is this not equipped on the Ambition?"
"Well, you see, we all understand the thing from a theoretical perspective – your treatise did clear that up – but we still haven't figured out its practical application. The whole system requires a huge amount of energy, and with the Ambition's already watt-heavy rapid propulsion systems, we haven't quite managed to incorporate the armor and… leave you with any combat endurance." Joseph finished, somewhat shocked that his Captain hadn't cut him off.
Kira was gazing intently at the vivisected Blitz, eyes somewhat glazed. "It's rare that we have to kill people. They should have surrendered, knowing our reputation."
"Er- indeed, sir. Very foolish of them."
He pointed to the hole in the Buster. "Why aren't you working on that one? I retrieved it first and it's nearly unharmed."
"Well, sir, we had discovered that you had, in fact, wiped out its entire OS and storage systems with your beam saber. We tried looking at it, but the Blitz is much easier to handle, since its computers are comparatively intact."
"You can't even cannibalize its battery?" Kira's eyes widened, resentful that his work had been in vain.
"Sorry, sir, the battery system was also destroyed by your blow."
"A waste." Kira turned again to the Blitz. "How are you doing on the Mirage Colloid technology?"
"Well, sir, our progress seems to fit your initial predictions."
Kira raised his eyebrows. "None? You're telling me that our attacks on a highly trained and well-guarded ZAFT insertion vessel were fruitless?"
Joseph rubbed the back of his neck, sweat prickling down his forehead. Whenever the Captain acted surprised, they were in for a blowup. "Well, sir, I wouldn't call it entirely fruitless – we did get more of the beam sabers you liked so much, insight into the redcoat's hacking methods, and a good supply of raw and refined materials. Without these, we would've had to make another salvage run just to fix up the Ambition!"
"So all our efforts amounted to a glorified salvage run." Kira was less than enthused. Loosing an uncharacteristic sigh, he glared sideways at the Ambition, thrust the checklist at his mechanic's chest. "Fourty-eight hours."
With a last glance at Lacus Clyne's intercepted escape module, he stalked away, ready to end the day. The pains were returning – he had been running too high, too long.
---
Joseph Sturgeon dropped back to the Ambition's side, wiping his creased brow of sweat. Picking up a wrench, he rapped it against the half-wall of the service pit.
"You guys think you've got it rough," he shouted to the mechanics, "I've got to deal with him." He jacked his thumb backwards, over his shoulder.
They snickered, blind to his plight.
---
Murrue Ramius leaned inconsolably on the crux of her palm, hair disheveled.
"You know, a ship's captain needs to have good posture. You're the backbone of this vessel." A mug, unmarked ceramic, was set steaming before her nose. It smelled like caffeine and heaven, both of which she was sure she hadn't smelled before. Maybe she was getting delusional in her old age?
Mwu la Flaga hunkered down on the seat opposite her, taking a sip of the brew. He made a face. "It's not great, but I think your position takes precedence over your palate." He motioned with mug hand to the untouched cup.
She was hallucinating alliterations now. Time to fall back chemical stimulants: she caressed the heated side of the mug, raised it to her lips. It was like drinking bile in oil; she gagged it down.
"Whew, that's better. Thanks, Mwu."
He swiveled playfully in his chair, a lord surveying his domain. "Think nothing of it. When are we catching up to Halberton?" He snapped his foot up, caught the desk, arresting his momentum.
She squashed her cheek in her wrist, met his ocean-blue gaze. "Less than eight days. The Le Creuset team hasn't made any overt attempts at following us since that black mobile suit attacked them the second time."
Mwu shrugged. "If they think he's helping us, all the better for the Archangel. Tell you the truth, I just can't figure out that Strike. If I had to go against Le Creuset undistracted, we wouldn't stand a chance."
She closed her eyes, took a slow, masochistic gulp of the coffee. "Well, we all know you're trying your best, Mwu. Have the children settled in okay?"
He grinned. "They're doing fine. We've got a decent crew – hey, you think I could coax one of them into flying the Strike for me? Really, I think we'd do better just deploying my Zero."
Squinting at him, she shook her head. "A teenager, piloting Strike? That's crazy. You're sure I'm the one that needs sleep?"
---
Ashitsuki: Legged Ship, ZAFT's name for the Archangel.
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