I don't think there should be any more errors. If anyone has found one, please notify me.
Hey guys, cranked this out because I really needed a vent after that SAT. The quote is at the end this time.
In the still darkness the pen-click was as loud as a gunshot. He stared ahead, eyes amber-hard, sweat beading down the side of his brow, fury twitching across the lines of his face.
His thumb spasmed, and the pen clicked again.
"You need the money, do you not?"
Eyes shifting, side to side. Could he trust these people, these snakes? The steel around him smelled harsher, seemed to close in. If they found out…but no. It was as Da Flaga had said: humans enforced laws.
"Look at it this way: improvement creates happiness. This prototype you will be creating will be an improvement on the Coordinator template, yes?"
He gulped. A nod in the darkness.
"But just think what you could accomplish with our funds and this purpose! Not just an optimized Coordinator, a being who is to Coordinators what we are to Naturals! The next step in human evolution, Doctor, and by your hands."
He laid his hands flat on the table, felt the clammy wetness of his palms against his work papers. "My work…improves humanity. It spreads happiness. I do not manufacture killing machines."
"Oh?" A sonorous chuckle. The voice was genial, polite: who would have expected such a despicable being behind that voice?
The pen clicked one final time. "If you gentlemen would excuse me I still have work to do."
And then, swiftly, a ghost of wind, nothing of movement, a cold hard muzzle pressed into the meeting of his neck and his head. Sweat ran cold down his face; not nearly as cold as the blood in his veins. A tremor of motion as the pistol's safety clicked off.
The voice, again, near his ear now, so that he could feel the puffs of air coming from exhaled breaths: "There are carrots and there are sticks, Doctor. Nothing will stand in the way of our rise. We have dealt with the Naturals. Will you stop us?"
Fear squeezed his heart like a frozen snare. He gritted his teeth so hard he felt they would crack. Half-turning, he peered furiously into the shadows, noting the black gunmetal, the pale hand.
"How, exactly, would my refusal to create this monster stop the Zodiac-"
Suddenly the muzzle was pushed in deeper, grinding furiously into the top of his spine. He gasped, a ragged panting breath like a fish floundering on ice.
"You must learn to be careful with names, Doctor Hibiki. Those things still being born are fragile, you see. To name them may be to ruin them. And that is something neither of us wants."
"But I will not force you. Simply remember this: your finest creation, your heir, could elevate humanity significantly while proving the efficacy of your artificial womb. Or he could be the harbinger that revolutionizes humanity, greater in stature than even Glenn himself.
"After all, military technology soon penetrates the civilian market. Your first may be created for war, but the ones after – those could be scientists and doctors and artists, right? And then, perhaps, your wife may acknowledge how correct you are. How correct you have always been."
He slapped the pen down on the table with a vicious clang. Does he really think his petty psychological maneuvers will get to me?
"Get. Out." He spat, and the other complied, leaving in his wake only a mocking laugh and the lonely shadows of the workroom.
Ulen Hibiki turned back to his computer, eyes squinting at the light. His fingers danced over the keyboard, mapping out his son unborn…
And, months later, when his funding had all but dried up, (had he been too ambitious? Not financially alert? Were there strings being pulled, to manufacture his poverty?) he thought: perhaps it would be alright to make a few adjustments.
Just a few.
---
"Aristotle."
Hm?
"Perhaps we should make a few adjustments."
For the desert? Sounds good.
He had never been to Earth before, so true gravity was a new sensation for him. He hadn't thought it would be any different from the rotational gravity generated by most space colonies – and, in most cases, it wasn't.
He realized later (about the time he launched) that he would be using a mobile suit in true gravity. With this realization came another one:
Gravity sucked.
He had just barely managed to avoid a catastrophically embarrassing Gundam faceplant into the dunes. Now, his machine was bent over, as if kowtowing, arms at awkward angles, knees creaking bent.
Mwu appeared on the commscreen. "Hey kid, what's taking you so long?"
He managed to stifle a growl. "This machine is a space warfare model. Adapting it to the Earth's environment will take time, especially compensating for gravity and atmospheric refraction. The fact that we landed in the desert isn't helping. Go ahead without me."
The other pilot nodded and the transmission blinked out.
There was a rainstorm tapping of keys and he let the keyboard slide back in. The mobile suit was well-designed, and certainly powerful, but inelegant. The blocky modular composition of the weapon made it difficult to maneuver in Earth's thick air, and the unnecessarily colossal weapons systems were slow and inaccurate.
Though it was more heavily armed and armored than the Ambition, it was clumsy and lacked range of motion: a steel-shelled knight instead of an agile fencer.
I should get my mobile suit fixed. Perhaps the ship's engineers could help me with Phase-Shift implementation…
Dozing off? That's not like you.
His eyes immediately veered to the front, and saw…sand dunes.
The battle is over there, moron. Has being around Naturals made you soft in the head?
No. It'd be…being around her.
Enough of that train of thought. He powered his thrusters into the – blue? – above and headed for the source of the explosions. The Skygrasper was already engaged with a pack of sliding BuCUEs, and on the other side of the shallow bowl of sand a convoy of jeeps, lightly armed, struggled pathetically against a LaGOWE.
He positioned himself with the sun at his back and plummeted with pinpoint savagery, drawing the hulking anti-ship sword as he fell, and struck like a sandsnake.
The LaGOWE froze as it split, cleaved straight in half, front and rear separated by a splinter of bloody light. It crumpled inwards, bleeding oil and smoke, the cannon on its back erupting into a coruscating mass of sparks and slag.
That got their attention.
The remaining mobile suits charged him in a blunt arrowhead formation, two leading the pack with the remainder coming behind, the BuCUEs on the fringes curling inward in a smooth pincer formation to catch him in crossfire, so that there was a mech on either side with a firing line facing him. A curtain of sand screened their movements, blown upwards by their monstrous treads, but they had practiced this a dozen times and moved like well-oiled gears.
Convenient. He did like it when the enemy did his work for him.
They fired in a fit of fury, possibly out of regard for their fallen commander, and so they did not check the laser designators, did not see what exactly they had locked on to.
So by the time they realized that the flanking BuCUEs, the jaws of the pincer, had destroyed each other in a storm of missiles - by the time they saw the balloons of flame mushroom in the maelstrom of sand - he was already behind them.
And then it was too late, because the anti-ship sword was sweeping across their perfectly ordered ranks like a scythe through millet.
There was a rain of scalding metal and engine parts: broken machine innards. No blood, no bodies, but an occasional wisp of red. A dull, heavy thunder blasted the desert and drowned their screams.
Still, he heard them, echoing off his skull: they were, after all, no different than the thousands of screams which had come before.
---
There were people coming from the convoy, streaming out in a tide of sun-tanned skin and faded desert garb, mute greens and vivid browns, and he scanned them carefully as they swarmed around the feet of the Strike.
Some were cheering, drunk on newly-rescued life, roaring with laughter and pounding each other on the back, whipping off dark blue bandanas and whooping, dancing, hugging each other. Others were stunned, sat silently on the sands, looking forward. A few peered heavenward, as if thankful for their deliverance. One glared at him.
He narrowed his eyes and caught the glare. Now what would Ledonir Kisaka be doing out here?
Mwu popped up on-screen again, gave him a rueful smile. "They love ya, kid. Go meet the fans."
What?
They had started banging on the Gundam with rocks, clamoring for the pilot. He stood up and sighed. I don't have the time for this.
The hatch popped open, and below, a hush fell on the crowd. With liquid speed he hoisted himself out of the cockpit and dropped twenty meters to the sand, landing with a soft patter on the balls of his feet.
Before they could surge upon him, a crushing tide, two men stepped forward. One was Kisaka, dressed in a dirty muscle shirt and rough khakis.
A serious departure from his uniform. Is he undercover?
The other was a bulky, weathered man that seemed to grow out of the sand: creases so deep they looked carved into his face and sallow crystal eyes.
The latter was about to speak when Kisaka held up a muscular arm, palm facing Kira. "I know this man, Cyan."
Kira tensed, preparing for any engagement. I could take them. There's only seventy-six.
A rough-worn hand was extended to him. Kira blinked. A…handshake?
Reluctantly he gripped the larger palm in his own.
"Signed up with the Earth Forces, have you, Scourge?"
He looked at Kisaka a while longer, then released his grip.
"No."
The colonel looked at him expectantly. He offered no answer. He turned to the man called Cyan.
"Do you have any food?"
---
Her dream was a miasma of shadow and blood, boiled together in a twining quagmire that threatened to throttle her. She gasped, pulled at her collar, the sheets, legs sliding against each other, head tossing side to side, scrunched up even deeper into the fetal position, breathing fast, faster. Her sweat was chilly, even under the sheets.
Nothing made sense. The world had lost north and south, and she was pitching in a void where up lurched down and there was no day but the night. She shivered, the darkness frostbite-cold, and in the distance she heard the gnashing of teeth, remorseless. She was constantly moving – no, the world was moving around her. She stayed still. Vertigo threatened to overwhelm her.
The gnashing began to grow louder, as if approaching her, and suddenly she was suspended over the abyss, a huge pupil, and then the chains broke and she was diving, falling like a broken bird into a pitiless violet eye.
Her eyelids were heavy, too heavy, but she forced them up and blinked as the world swam into focus. Her bed, a ruin of sheets, and the bed across, neatly made. The bland white of the walls, chair, desk. Pink-chan…somewhere.
The other rooms have bunk-beds. Kira got us rooms without them, because he was afraid I'd bang my head. Miriallia told me that. I wonder…was that his real reason?
Whatever had awoken her had left already. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. When she removed her fingers, Kira was in the room, glancing around as if looking for something. In his hand he held a bag of chips.
A bag of chips? He looked almost normal, munching on those, with his back turned to her. She cleared her throat softly, was about to speak, when he turned. He started at her presence, peering at her quizzically, as if this wasn't her room. Then, staring at the chips as if they had betrayed him, he dumped the half-filled bag in the garbage.
Strangely, she spoke before he did. "Why-"
"You look tired. Go back to sleep."
She was about to lie back down, but caught herself.
"I have a question." She put the tiniest bit of reproach in her voice.
Kira exhaled, stared at the wall, then her. The wall, her again.
He sat down on the bed opposite hers, face propped up with a hand. "Yes?"
He looked tired; even more than normal. There were huge dark crescents under his eyes, and he seemed to be fighting the weariness, his eyelids wavering. His skin was pale and his gaze – his gaze hadn't changed at all.
Somehow, she wasn't surprised. Still, I should make this quick, so Kira can get to sleep. I've really been lazy about keeping track on time since he found me…how can I know whether it's day or night?
She was originally going to ask him about the chips, but he had thrown them away. Was he expecting a serious question?
She bit her lip unconsciously for a second, then: "Why…do you treat me with more kindness now?"
She regretted it the moment it left her lips. Oh, that didn't sound anything like what I'd intended. Something about him just made her lose all composure at times…
He looked as if she had dropped an artillery shell between his knees.
She spoke up swiftly, before he could muster a reply. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. You don't have to answer that if you don't want to. You see, I was originally going to ask you about the bag of chips, but then you threw them away, so then I was going to ask you why you threw them away, but I was feeling a little petulant from you interrupting me, and then you were still expecting a question, and I thought you needed a serious question, so I just…blurted the first thing that came to me, I really didn't mean it in that way…"
Lacus trailed off. He was cradling his forehead in his palm, eyes locked on to the ground, face a rictus of pain.
"Kira?"
Kira felt like an axe was being slowly driven into his brainpan, hacking wetly at a splintery incision on the fore of his skull. Thoughts were distant, ribbonlike, hard to grasp, slipping from his mind like…like…some slippery thing. Lacus' voice – what was she saying? – was far away. He felt like he was underwater, and she was the light above, disappearing as he sank.
Am…I unraveling? Too much strain on one body, one mind? No. My design specifications…I should be able to handle this level of stress comfortably for the next fifty years.
What is this? Some sort of system shock? The events today have pushed me, yes, but certainly not far enough that I would enter hibernation. Physically, mentally they haven't been bothersome at all. Well, maybe that last encounter. Regardless…
The brain is adaptable, but it dislikes sudden change. If some new variable entered that disrupted existing paradigms, a central nervous system of my complexity would be forced into an amorphous state, for a time, to recover. To change.
It is her. She is doing this, has affected me like this.
I cannot afford to have this happen. Not now. Never.
I need to sleep. I will not think about it. I will force myself not to remember.
He had never been able to do that. Memory crept over him like a plague of beetles.
---
The bonfires dance merrily in the night. To him they seem almost pagan: revelers circling them, bright licks of flame carving up the darkness. The moon is huge, filling the sky with silver, dwarfing the fistful of stars scattered across the void above.
And to think, they plunged from that void, hours ago…not longer? He has been on Earth an eternity since she spoke to him. He feels that he had passed some turning point, though he cannot identify what it is. It is a mildly disquieting feeling. He quenches it.
He is almost in a meditative state right now, halfway between watching the celebration and watching his thoughts, stone in a stream of black water. He breathes in and smells char from the fires, sand from below, a pungent hint of alcohol, and a trace of her.
Strange. But she grasped his hand, this side of eternity, so it is really not so outlandish.
His sister, also, is here in the camp. That had been a surprise for him.
Cagalli does not remember him – no surprise there. He wonders if she is really his sister – genetically, they are complete strangers. Socially as well, though that does not matter to him.
She is passionate, almost as passionate as Father was. She has Father's eyes and hair, and something of his heart. Kira does not know if this is a good thing.
He ponders, idly, if he should feel anything, knowing that she is close by. The last time they saw each other was during infancy. He had ignored her, mainly – he was too busy thinking.
Somewhat disappointingly, he feels nothing - especially nothing approaching love or camaraderie. He muses on the idiosyncrasies of humans for a few minutes before he decides he should, at least, make an effort.
He stands up on slim legs. He shall pay her a visit.
His predator's eyes pick her out easily in the desultory radiance of the fires. She is sitting across from someone, a hint of green eyes. Something protective uncurls inside him: is that a male? There is a huge bulk behind her. She is holding a gun, waving it dangerously.
Her voice, her shout, blends easily enough into the conviviality of the night. But to Kira, it cuts the air like a saber.
"Athrun Zala! You get back here…"
His eyes alight on the bulk again, blood pumping through his system, hard enough he can feel it in his eardrums. The shape is a reddish hue, clumsy, fallen on its knees, burn marks on its hands, but he cannot mistake it.
X-303 Aegis.
And now the world is slowing, still, and there is only the pulse of adrenaline and the rhythm of his feet, red a veil falling across his vision, and from somewhere comes a seed, twirling, brilliant, beautiful, and it shatters into a thousand shards of light.
Vengeance sings sweet, trills in his mind, and he can see it now, his palm reared back to pierce, slamming forward, a knife of flesh, upwards, past the ribcage, into the worthless murderer heart-
"Athrun Zala was- is the man I will marry someday."
His strength flees him. He staggers to his knees. Around him, the world whips past, going too fast, spinning, and he feels sick for the first time in years. It is as if his chest has been punctured with a spear – no, it is worse, a thousand times worse.
He feels as if something has been stolen from him, but he cannot place it. Something precious, whose value he has not realized until this moment. Whatever it is, its beating fills his mind, too massive, a wall of sound, thud-thud, thud-thud, and he feels blood pour warm and thick onto his hands.
---
In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter - bitter", he answered,
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."
-Stephan Crane, "In the Desert"
I need ideas for a new story summary, because I got bored of the old one. Anyone have a suggestion? Anyone like the old one?
Also, I'm getting some questions from people who don't understand the plot of this chapter, which is pretty understandable since I made it so convoluted. Basically the chronological order of events is messed up, for dramatic effect.
1. Part one shows Ulen Hibiki's decision to create Kira, as he is now.
2. Part two continues where the last chapter finished.
3. After Kira asks for food, he basically hangs around Desert Dawn's camp, notes Cagalli's existence, etc. At dinnertime, he notices Athrun next to Cagalli, moves to kill him (visualizing it in his mind), but remembers that Athrun is Lacus' engagement partner, and can't bring himself to kill him, which is highly disturbing to Kira.
4. Lacus wakes up and talks to Kira. Kira goes to sleep in Lacus' room.
Please review!