The Sweepers, 200 clicks off of Colony X18999...

Duo sighed and leaned heavily against his door. It had only been half a year since he rejoined the Sweepers and already his daily tasks were dauntingly boring. He closed his eyes for a moment, then entered the pin number to his room and swiped his I.D. card. It opened with the same beep it had opened with the day before, and the day before that one. "Can my life get any more redundant?" he mumbled to himself as he flopped onto his cot and let out a deeply rooted sigh. He let his mind drift for a while, thinking about the war. It was over now, that's why he'd become a Sweeper again. The world didn't need Gundams anymore, which meant that it didn't need Duo Maxwell. He couldn't help but wonder if he was fated to monotonously collect garbage for the rest of his life.

"Hey, Stupid!" Hilde shouted from outside the bunkroom. "Open the door, will you?"

Sitting up out of his stupor Duo tried to get an angle on how long he'd just laid there. Obviously long enough to exasperate Hilde, which didn't him help at all because she was having one of her 'girl weeks.' Duo recalled last month when literally walking on an egg shell was enough to get her to throw a lunch tray at him. The bruise was there for a week. Oh well.

The braided youth got up and walked to his door, sliding it open and looking out. "I've been out here for fifteen minutes! I thought you'd died!" The ebony haired teenager let a flash of anger sweep across her face, then pushed past Duo and sat down on his bed, letting a large bag of something settle neatly on the floor. "You're really slaking off. When was the last time you checked your mailbox?"

"Why sure, Hilde, come on in! Its nice to see you too. Me? My day was great! Picked up a lot of junk out there in that big abyss of black, star speckled nothingness, but enough about me, how was your day? Oh? Didn't find any large chunks of roaming metal to latch onto and pull aboard the ship? Well that just downright stinks! I'm sure you'll find something of interest tomorrow." Duo gestured quite sarcastically with his hands before shutting the door.

A splash of soft color crossed Hilde's face. "Sorry... I was just irritated..."

Smiling, Duo sat down next to her and leaned back. "So..." he eyed the bag. "What's all that?"

"That..." Hilde leaned forward and heaved the package onto her lap, "is all your mail. There're a few messages waiting for you on the Bridge, too."

"Seriously?" There very thought of having to go through paperwork frightened him. An entire bag full of it nearly made him shit his pants.

Nodding, the young Sweeper placed the canvas bag on Duo's pillow and stood up. "Well, have fun with that. I've got to report to the Bay in five."

"That's it?" Duo acted astonished as she walked out. "First you barge in, then leave me with all this... this organic stuff you people so commonly refer to as paper and run out? Without even leaving ice cream?"

Giggling, Hilde opened the door and stepped out. "See ya 'round, Duo."

"Not even ice cream?!" he pleaded.

"Bye."

"May your days be filled with faulty equipment and long hours and," he paused, "and more mail than you can shake a flaming stick at!" But it was too late; the door had shut somewhere around 'faulty' and Hilde was probably already halfway down the corridor. Duo imagined her sprinting away with a look of malevolent pleasure on her face, cackling about her latest evil deed.

Duo looked to his pillow. Hilde's little gift was leaning to one side, casting a shadow over a small portion of the bed. It was sitting there, just sitting there, ominously waiting for him. A flaming stick didn't sound so bad.

He scooted closer to it and peered inside. It wasn't as full as he expected it to be, and most of it looked like junk mail, but that didn't change the fact that it was there and it had not come with ice cream. Sighing as he had done so many times that day already, Duo reached in and fished around. He pulled the first letter out and looked at it warily. There was something strange about it. No return address, no identifying watermarks, only the letters D.M. scrawled across the back of it.

The Preventers Unit 2 Flag Ship, L1...

The light from the eastern side docking bay on L1 filtered into the cockpit, disrupted every now and again by passing shuttles. It was quiet; Wufei liked quiet. Noin had tied up and gone shopping for supplies about half an hour ago, leaving the Chinese youth to his own mischief. He'd thought about seeing how much had changed, what with the recent burst of Colonial development, but persuaded himself to stay aboard and relax while he could instead.

Being a Preventer wasn't the most exiting job he'd ever taken, but it wasn't a walk in the park either. If there was an hour when he didn't have to scan video feeds or private com links for suspicious activity or report to a local authority about potentially dangerous debris, he was reading over maintenance files on the ship and trying to ignore Noin rant about Zechs Merquise's latest mishaps. Wufei took great pleasure in the rare moments when he was free of worries.

He stretched out in his chair and enjoyed the space. The sounds of the cool air drifting through the air vents were like a lullaby to him and the faint noises of the other crew members getting off and on the ship were as familiar to him as walking. Just as Wufei was about to drift into one of his memories about Shen-Long, the com board blinked to life with a little red warning light.

"Incoming wave link." The computerized voice was hollow. "Acceptance requested."

"Source?" Wufei questioned, professional and commanding.

"Unidentified."

"Identify," he ordered.

A few moments passed before the computer answered him. "Unidentified."

Suddenly curious, the Preventer agent straightened himself and scooted closer to the main control board. There were only one or two waves that had come in without a known origin before this one, but the computer had always been able to reroute and give them a feed I.D. Wufei weighed his options. "Prerecorded?"

"Negative."

"Video feed?"

"Affirmative." Hesitant, he turned on the LED screen. Wufei rested his elbows on the counter top and laced his fingers thoughtfully in front of his face. Who could possibly bypass the Preventers security system? He watched the screen brighten and the words 'incoming request' form on it. "Incoming wave link," the computer insisted. "Acceptance requested."

Wufei finally sat back in his chair and said aloud, "granted."

The screen became fuzzy for a moment, then added color and self adjusted so that the picture came in as clear as possible.

"Chang Wufei, it's been a long time."

Wufei jumped to his feet and stood as straight as possible. "Master O!? This is unexpected!"

Atlanta Georgia, Earth...

"I don't know what I'll do if that thing bites him," Quatre mumbled to himself, brow wrinkled as he watched Trowa guide a lion through an obstacle course. "There's not leash on it or anything! Trowa's not even wearing a helmet!"

Rashid chuckled and placed a comforting hand on Quatre's shoulder. "Young Master, he's in no danger. Besides, Mr. Barton does this sort of thing for a living! He'll be fine."

"Yeah," Quatre pushed his hair out of his face. "I guess..." Rashid could tell he was not comforted, though. Quatre had a knack for worrying, especially if it involved Trowa Barton.

Quatre managed to suffer through the remaining portion of Trowa's tiger act without looking away and was eternally overjoyed when the quiet young man lived to perform as a clown who's life was not in danger. After the show he met Trowa behind the Bloom trailer. Already changed into clothing more suitable for daily life, Trowa slipped into lightweight jacket.

"You were great!" The Winner boy exclaimed, concealing his fretfulness.

Smiling, Trowa fluffed Quatre's hair and left a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Catherine, I'm going out!" he called quietly into the trailer.

"Make sure you're back before dark," the reply was a little snippy but a wave of relief crossed Trowa's face anyway. She still didn't approve of him leaving, let alone leaving with another guy. She was overprotective of him and often put up fights when he tried to go out. Today he'd gotten off easy.

"Where do you want to go?" Quatre asked him as they walked away, Trowa's arm draped protectively over his shoulders.

Both confessing that food sounded like a thing of pleasure, the conversation now centered around whether to take Quatre's car or Trowa's motorcycle.

"I don't know... will two people even fit?"

"Yes."

"But how do you know I wont fall off?"

"I wont let you fall."

Quatre blushed. "Ok then, I guess we'll--"

"Master Quatre!" Auda called out and ran up from the parking lot. His sudden outburst had taken both of the ex-pilots by surprise, though Trowa didn't show it. The Maganac Corp member held out a cell phone, "a call for you!"

Quatre looked up at Trowa apologetically, but took the phone. "Thank you, Auda." Smiling, the Arab turned and left. Quatre mouthed an "I'm sorry" to his partner, who shrugged and smiled. Winner took a deep breath. "Hello? Duo! It's so good to hear from you! Um... no, not in quite sometime. I'm visiting Earth, you see, so I left matters too-- Oh. No, its ok. Thank you so much, I'll check it out right away. Thanks. Ok. Bye." Quatre hung up, a perplexed look shadowing his face.

Trowa raised an eyebrow.

"Duo recently received a letter from Professor G. It was um┘ about us, all of us, Wufei and Heero too."

"Something wrong?" Trowa questioned, shifting his gaze to search for unwanted ears.

"Well he didn't say, but he thinks I should be expecting a letter like his. Duo also sent a wave explaining everything, but when I didn't call to confirm it he got worried." Quatre paused. "I guess we'll have to stop at the hotel so I can check things out."

Trowa sighed. He'd been wanting to get out, no strings attached, no outside worries. That didn't seem to be a feasible thing to ask for at the moment though. "Why don't you use my laptop. It'll save time," he offered dejectedly.

"Really?" Quatre looked unsure if he wanted to deal with the issue, but he submitted nonetheless. "Ok."

Once inside Trowa's trailer, Quatre accessed his mailing account. Three feeds came through, one from Duo, one from home telling him he had mail and one from an unknown sender. Quatre opened Duo's first.
His voice buzzed through the speakers. "Hey Quat, just checkin up on ya. How're things? ...I guess I'll just get to the point. Professor G sent me a letter sayin he wanted all us ex-pilots to gather at L1. Bermuda Resort, Suit two hundred and six, at eight AM on the twelfth. Apparently there's somthin really important he needs to propose to us. I don't think its a matter of life or death, but he did say it involved our future. I mean like, all of us. You, Trowa, Heero, Wufei... I was kinda weirded out, but I think you should go. Oh yeah and it'd be cool if you could tell Trowa, I lost his address a while ago. Wufei already knows, says O contacted him, but I haven't heard back from Heero. Gimme a ring when you get this so I'll know it got through. Bye, man."

It was quiet in the trailer for a long time when Duo's voice cut off. "Did you know about this?" Quatre asked Trowa almost in a whisper.

Trowa shook his head, but opened the anonymous message. It was H, saying basically the same thing Duo had sent, accept it was much more professional and said things like, 'the future belongs to a new generation' and, 'it will be good to see you, my boy.'

There was another pause. Trowa quickly gathered his wits and checked his own feeds, finding a similar message from Professor S.

The former Gundam Boys looked at each other, amazement in their eyes. The Doctors had vanished without warning after the Eve Wars, so not only was hearing from them in and of itself strange, but an invitation to meet them in person was as bizarre as things could get.

Quatre was the first to speak. "I guess this means we're going. Today's the ninth, so we'll have to leave immediately..."

"Absolutely not!" Catherine shouted from behind them. They jumped. In all the excitement the boys had forgotten she was in the trailer. Trowa and the blond turned to face her. She was fuming, arms crossed and red-faced. "I wont have you running off through space again! Not again!"

"Catherine--" Trowa began.

"And certainly not with him!" Trowa's sister motioned angrily toward Quatre, pointing an accusing finger as if it were his fault.

Barton's face hardened. He stood up to his full height and looked down on his sister. His stare was cold as he put her hand back at her side and walked passed her. While she stuttered and struggled to find her words, shouting erratically, Trowa pulled a small satchel out from under his bed. He stuffed a few clean sets of clothes inside and slung it over his shoulder.

"Put that down!" She shrieked and ran towards him, tears already staining her face.

"Catherine, please," Quatre stood up and reached out to calm her.

"Shut up, you good-for-nothing!"

Promptly closing his mouth, Quatre looked away. He balled his fists in an effort to find self-control in the horribly loud situation.

Trowa pushed past Catherine, took Quatre by the shoulders and led him outside. Walking side by side, Trowa encouraged him to head toward the SUV.

Catherine had resorted to pulling at the bag on Trowa's back and making a racket for the whole world to see. She was shouting at him, shouting at Quatre, screaming things no woman should ever scream. That is, until her physical strength left her and she stopped in a heap of huffing, crying female hormones.

The ex-pilots kept walking, slowly, deliberately.

There was a silence, an awful, menacing silence that made Quatre afraid to turn around. Then came Catherine's last resort. "If you leave now," she cried out hysterically, "you can never come back!"

Trowa froze in his footsteps. Quatre closed his eyes and held his breath. The same sort of deadly quiet that preceded the threat followed it, and he could tell it was grabbing hold of Trowa, trying to make him look back; go back. When Quatre felt a hand in his he opened his eyes, surprised. Trowa was looking at him, the crushing power of his hand threatening to break poor Quatre's. "Trowa?" Quatre hadn't expected the answer to look so clear in those deep green eyes, but it did and it made his heart skip a beat.

"Come on." Trowa said, low in his throat and almost too quietly to be heard. "We only have 3 days."