[This would needs be take place after Endless Waltz, and so it does, and as I haven't seen the manga that actually comes after it, it's not involved. This fic, reflecting my own opinions, is NON-YAOI, so if you want to flame me, go ahead, but if it involves your hatred of non-yaoi pairings, any of the female cast members, or who is paired with whom, I will read it, point and laugh at you, and forward it to my friends so that they can point and laugh at you, too. Okay? Okay.
Non-flame-y emails and reviews and suchlike are welcomed and muchly lurved by Metsuki, though, yes they are.]
{DISCLAIMER: Much to my chagrin (and the relief of fans everywhere), I do not own GundamWing or any of the characters therein, all of which is compyrighted to a company that I can't remember but don't care about anyway. I own neither Heero's phrase "Ryoukai," nor Duo's braid, or Hilde's beret, or Wufei's poor pathetic chauvinism, or Trowa's Magical Anime See-through Hair™, or Quatre's pink shirt, or Relena's butler Pagan, or Pagan's tuxedo thing he's always wearing. I own nothing related to Gundam Wing except for this fic (but honestly, how original is it really?), the glass that falls off the table in the first chapter (this is the prologue, genius), and a share in the daisy. If you sue me, I will laugh at you, because I'm dead broke. Okay? Okay.}
- . - . - . - . -
"Ukiyo-e"p r o l o g u e
The year is After-Colony 198. Again there is peace, a year since the final battle. The Preventers have finally registered activity on a small abandoned technological colony. Plans for investigation and action are being made, but despite a lack of actual threats, there are those who fear it cannot be stopped without another war.
They always forget about the minions.
No matter what war, no matter the cost in human life, when the puppet masters are defeated, everyone assumes that the common soldiers who did the real fighting were only that—puppets—and will no longer make trouble. They always think that the soldiers don't really care, won't further the cause. They think they disappear.
They disappear—but only to hide and grow stronger. Roaches were here before anything else and will be here long after all else is gone.
We are roaches.
These were the thoughts of the uniformed young man as he strode confidently down the corridor of Colony Base. It had once had a registered number for identification, but that had been forgotten when it was abandoned—and now it was the Base. He stopped at a door identical to so many others in the hallway, smartly punching several buttons on the keypad. As it slid open and disappeared into the wall, he took three steps into the room and stopped without a glance at three pale-gray-coated technicians seated at computer consoles.
"Crinian reporting," he rapped out, without any form of salute whatsoever.
The three technicians continued typing away dutifully, and a hollow, metallic voice spoke from nowhere and everywhere at once. "ARE WE ON SCHEDULE?"
Crinian nodded smartly. "Commencation in one week."
"DISMISSED."
He turned on his heel and strode from the room. The door slid shut behind him.
. . .
Worried blue eyes stared out a large window, belying the determined set of the young girl's face that housed them. "You're sure nothing has been confirmed?"
"We have found nothing to indicate hostile intent, save the refusal to communicate. The colony is either too far off, too outdated, or too well-shielded—or a combination—for any satellite scans to register anything significant." The older woman shifted slightly in her chair. "It's not healthy for you to worry yourself so, Ms. Relena," she said, sounding far more worried about the girl's health than worldwide security.
"I know, Noin," Relena said, turning from the window with a small sigh, leaving one hand pressed against the glass. "I just can't see how this could turn into anything good."
-
"So lemme get this straight," the boy said, crunching into an apple rather loudly and swinging his long legs back and forth. "You're getting this information—"
"Directly from the scanning satellites," answered the second boy flatly, his eyes on the glowing screen before him.
"You sure that's safe? Shouldn't the Preventers know?"
"No."
"And you're not gonna elaborate, are ya?"
Silence, save the tapping on the keyboard.
"You'd think," the tall boy muttered to himself as he tossed his apple core and missed the trashcan, "that after all this time he'd open up a little. You do know," he added, raising his voice slightly, "that we haven't got Gundams anymore?"
The typing stopped for a moment, and then resumed. "No consequence."
"Sure. Whatever you say, buddy."
-
"Master Quatre," the tall, burly man said, "please, I must ask you not to worry so much. You no longer have your Gundam and nothing has been registered to cause anxiety."
The small blonde boy lifted his cup to his mouth, sipping the steaming liquid as an excuse not to answer right away. Setting it down with a faint 'clink', he sighed. "I can't help it. I know there's something I should be doing. But please don't worry about me so much, alright?"
Rashid didn't answer, but the look on his face suggested that he had denied that request several times before. He considered himself lucky that his young master didn't go off looking for trouble specifically to give him a heart attack.
-
The knife flew and bit deep into the wood.
"It's not as easy to practice without you there," said a young woman, pushing a brown curl out of her face and looking at the boy sitting behind her. He didn't answer, and she continued. "What's been with you lately? All you seem to do is sit. And stare. And listen to the news. Are you sick?"
"I'm fine," he answered quietly, green eyes watching the horizon pensively. I'm just waiting for communication, he added to himself.
-
The blonde woman sighed rather exasperatedly, flicking one twist over her shoulder. "What exactly do you plan to do about it, then?"
The boy behind her didn't reply as he stared intensely—almost angrily—out over the scenery.
"You're not doing any good," she told him. "The least you could to is to initiate contact. You ought to know there most of them are."
"What would you know about it?" he asked, the condescension in his voice sounding rather limp.
"More than you," she retorted calmly. "Beautiful as it is, that mountain's not going to give you answers. You've got to do something yourself."
"I don't need you preaching," he told her, black eyes darting to her and back again.
"Then stop acting like it." She walked into the small cabin. Honestly, am I his mother? She poured herself a cup of coffee, looking slightly satisfied. No, I guess not. He listens to me too much.
-
The man was technically the president and it was technically his job to lead the country, but at present he was in a spa and Lady Une could not reach him. She returned to her office angrily, opening up the transcripts of the failed communications attempts and looking through them again, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
"There's just no reason for this to happen!" she said out loud. "I don't want to worry anyone… but why would they refuse communication? And why can't we pick up anything via satellite scan?"
"The only explanation I can see is outside interference," interjected a smooth voice.
"But that's impractical," Une told him, her forehead creasing. "Why would someone do that? And who could?"
"My suspicions aren't for anyone else at this time," said the man, making no effort to remove platinum bangs from his eyes. "It's unlikely at best, anyway."
"Your suspicions may be all we have." She turned her chair to look out the window. "Something's going to happen… soon."