Chapter 25: Eugene

Eugene stumbled in the direction of the bridge, using the walls to support himself. His breathing was loud in his ears. He thought of the younger boys in the hangar gathering around an unconscious and bloody Artima, of Nadi helping Atra and Kudelia see to her even as the Isaribi rocked and swung. He couldn't go with her to the med bay just yet. He couldn't stop, couldn't let this be the end of his involvement.

Because he'd understood something in the pandemonium of the last hour, found it in the murk of the synchronization with a machine that was not a machine and a woman who was not a woman. He understood why Artima hadn't listened to him, hadn't tried to rescue Shino though they were so close. She hadn't articulated it for herself yet much less for him, but he understood -

He could feel the memories of Taki, Heero, and Duo pushing and pulling Artima onward as clearly as if it were on his own back, arms and shoulders -

He understood not everyone could live, and if you were the one who lived, you did your damn best to keep on living for the sake of those who didn't.

But Orga...Orga doesn't know that. Or maybe he does, but he's not going to remember it right now. Not when it looks like the end.

He hit a fist on the button that opened the door to the bridge, pushed himself into the anxious, eerily quiet space. No one noticed his entry. On the screen was a view of the sparking carcass of the Flauros, while in another corner was a fazed-out view of the Hotarubi and a countdown timer crowned with the words 'Self-Destruct'.

Self-destruct? He thought quickly. Nano-Mirror Chaff would be produced. Then that means they're gearing up for a retreat - Shino was buying us time. Why aren't we moving? The timer showed three minutes, forty-seven seconds. He reflected that if Artima had been any slower, or chosen differently, he wouldn't be standing here.

Orga surged from the captain's chair. "Somebody get Shino!"

"Yes sir!" sounded one of the boys up front.

Eugene felt his heart break a little and a deep frown cut his face. He reached the pilot's chair; one hand landed on Chad's shoulder, startling him, and the other grabbed Orga's arm. He could feel the tension in it like a piece of rebar. Orga's eyes were blazing, desperate, and that desperation was only mildly relieved when he seemed to recognize Eugene.

"No," Eugene said as firmly as he could manage. "We don't have time. Hotarubi's timer is about to go off - hurry and tell the others to fall back."

"What about Shino?" Orga demanded.

Eugene grabbed the knot of Orga's loosened tie and pulled him close, his teeth bared. "He risked his life to give us this chance. We can't waste it." He held Orga's eye and hesitated before releasing him. Chad moved for him as he sank into the pilot's chair. "Shino…" he searched for the words as his hands moved of their own accord over the controls, wired himself into another machine that felt clumsy in comparison to Kheree. 'Is dead', that's what you want to say. But he couldn't say that yet. His eyes pricked with tears he didn't have time for. He said lowly, "He went for Tekkadan." He began to bring the Isaribi about as the countdown chirped at them. He cast a sharp glance at Orga, who hadn't moved or reacted. "He bought it for you!"

The bridge remained silent except for the distant gunfire explosions and the countdown. Everyone was staring at him. Orga turned and took heavy steps to the captain's chair, practically fell into it, and stared at the floor.

Eugene waited - What am I waiting for? - and when nothing happened, he began to steer the Isaribi away. He hailed Mikazuki. "Hey, get back here now!"

Crackling on the other end, like lightning. He was battling then, still. "No. Shino failed, so I have to do it now."

Eugene eyed the countdown. Just over two minutes to go. "Once Hotarubi's timer goes off, we won't be able to rendezvous. You won't be able to come back." There was no response, but he saw Barbatos on the monitor arc in their direction. He let out a small grateful sigh, settled into the familiar rhythms of piloting evasive maneuvers that distracted him from the tiredness, the ache in his chest. You can do this. Don't waste the chance. Mourn later. Go to her later.

The countdown blared and a second later, the Hotarubi exploded in a cloud of violet.

(A couple of hours later.)

Eugene went first through the airlock onto the Gjallarhorn ship. Two soldiers stood aside for them, and did not bother to escort them to McGillis. It was just as well. Orga was too tired for the theatrics. He eyed the middle spot between Eugene's shoulders, noted how Eugene seemed to have more adrenaline than he did despite what he'd no doubt experienced in Kheree.

"When was the last time you slept?" Orga asked, just for something to say. He didn't have words yet for what had happened when Eugene had showed up the bridge and told them not to get Shino.

There was an interesting pause before he answered. "Don't know."

A lie, then. Not that it matters.

"You?"

"Don't know either," Orga said. He realized he'd slowed to a stop. He watched Eugene march on ahead a few paces in the bright, clinical space. With the windows on one side, he was abruptly reminded of the day they'd rescued Artima from Vingolf and he half-expected her to stumble out in front of them, a shadow of a memory herself. Would all this have gone differently if they been two minutes out of sync with her? If he hadn't listened to Merribit? If Mikazuki had killed her without thinking?

Eugene realized he'd stopped, turned on his heel. His face was pinched with impatience, as if he stopped moving he'd drop dead.

"I told you not to come back to the Isaribi," Orga said.

Eugene folded his arms. "Yeah, you told me."

"You nearly died getting back and -"

"Well we didn't -"

"I was about to say thank you," Orga finished. His smile was small, wan. "Whatever's waiting for us, I'm glad to have you back. I don't think I could've lost you too."

"And her," Eugene prompted.

Orga didn't echo. He averted his eyes and walked past him to the bridge.

The bridge was empty except for McGillis and two shift-pilots at the front helm; walls of screens blinked sleepily over the windows in shades of blue, silver, and teal over the blessed emptiness of space. No whirs and bleeps of combat alerts, no shaking, no frantic chatter, no flashes of red, no throbbing from gunfire or shields absorbing impacts. But for how long?

McGillis himself looked composed for somehow who had reportedly barely escaped with his life, but then, Orga had never known him not to be. He supposed in hindsight that should have made him suspicious. His uniform wasn't fresh - there were blood smears on the right cuff and hip of the jacket - but it was unwrinkled. Yet his gloves were gone and the fact that he was bleeding through a too-hasty bandage on his right hand reminded Orga that he was looking at a human being. The impassive blue eyes alighted on them. He drifted to one side of the empty captain's chair and they met him there.

"We still have the forces from Mars - ten halfbeaks and about 40 Mobile Suits," McGillis said.

No rest for the wicked, Orga thought.

"What use is that? We just fought twice that number and lost," Eugene sniped back.

The familiar goad was back in McGillis' voice as he said, "That's unlike you, Tekkadan. You've always survived through adverse battle conditions with your own strength."

"Yeah, but…"

"The next battlefield is like your home ground. If we engage the enemy after joining with the Mars Branch forces, we still have a great chance," McGillis slipped his hands into his pockets.

Orga tried to focus on the salient facts of the situation, tried to respond with strategy. He felt heavy, clouded. He regretted coming here - talking to this Gjallarhorn renegade about 'what's to come' - but Eugene had pushed for it. They had to keep going. But going where? With whom? Where was the meaning in all this? McGillis wasn't going to stop until they were wading in a mire of blood as unending as the red dirt of Mars. Did Eugene believe that now, too? All this time he'd been worried about what kind of Artima he'd get back if Eugene was successful, but maybe now he should've been worried about what kind of Eugene stepped out of that cockpit. Was Tekkadan supposed to be doing this? Was it too late - had he lost his grip? Could the death of one of them no longer mean anything, if it meant they kept going and took ten enemies with them?

"If it becomes a battle in the Mars sphere resupplying will be harder for them," Eugene was saying, his voice thoughtful. Agreeing.

McGillis tipped his head. "We did have some detours. But showing your strength over the skies of Mars should be meaningful."

Meaningful… Orga thought. Biscuit came to mind, a happy smile over a half-hope made in those early days under the cold night sky. Before Tekkadan. When it was just a group of friends all wanting the same thing. "There's nothing more meaningful than the lives of our friends," Orga said to himself.

"Orga," Eugene said, but Orga wasn't sure if it was in surprise or caution.

McGillis paused, as if reading him. "We cannot stop now. We must carry on with the wishes of our deceased comrades in our hearts. We cannot waste their deaths."

Orga looked up in surprise. He hadn't expected compassion from McGillis and was reluctant to believe it. It felt like a trick with a fallout he couldn't yet see.

"Incidentally," McGillis continued. "I feel I must congratulate you, Mr Sevenstark, on the successful rescue of the Khort Mogoi and its pilot. Provided they're intact?"

"Artima. Her name's Artima," Eugene answered bluntly.

Orga noted how McGillis studied Eugene, reading something there that caused his polite half-smile to grow into something fuller. "Present tense, so I'll take that as a yes." His hands slipped behind his back. "Good. She'll be valuable in the days to come. Please pass on my wishes for her swift recovery."

An aide called, "General, the second propulsion unit has been fixed."

"Then accelerate immediately," McGillis replied over his shoulder.

"Yes sir."

McGillis began to walk away. "We have time before we reach Mars. Let's talk again at a later time."

They'd wandered back to the shuttle that'd take them to the Isaribi, absorbed in thought, and the mutual silence continued when they reached the battered ship. Though he hadn't asked for it, Eugene felt compelled to accompany Orga a little longer - like one of them was waiting for the other to say something. Their steps were slow, and he could feel the tiredness settling on them both and watched it slump their shoulders, lower their heads.

Eugene followed Orga into the quieter bowels of the Isaribi, not knowing where exactly they were going. It didn't seem to matter until Orga stopped outside a storage room door, hesitated, and then opened it. It took a moment, but the tang of recent blood reached out and pressed a heavy hand to his face. He didn't flinch - instead, he took a step forward and stood beside Orga, looking into the dark maw that their shadows were flung into.

Around a dozen corpses formed odd, anonymous shapes in their black body bags. Eugene's first thought was one of surprise - that they'd fortunately had bags on hand - and then of dark humor - that thankfully they'd had enough. Anger at this humor quickly followed, clearing the way for remorse. Who were they and why didn't he know already? Neither he nor Orga spoke; he wasn't sure how long they stared. Eugene felt resolve harden in him, like blood drying, but he could feel Orga's presence beside him as something already as still as stone, tough as steel. He felt like he couldn't be strong enough quickly enough, and that without the anchor of Orga maybe he'd regress, weaken, be pulled into that awful black room to be alone with the most terrible parts of himself forever, until one day they came to put him in a bag, too. Would whoever did it know his name?

Orga...he knows who these guys are. And still he doesn't flinch. He can't. He's been dreaming about this. He's just...been wondering who's time it is first. Wondering who it'll be next. How many at a time. How they go. Who's left behind - if anybody. And there...there will be more. More of us. We can't all survive. And...he knows we can't.

Somehow this was even more dreadful than the room. He realized now too that Artima had known that Orga knew, somewhere deep down - that she had called it out in him and somehow that'd started this whole terrible thing. It was why she'd stayed with them, and he'd let her stay. He thought she'd lead them - him - back out as easily as she'd led them in.

Instead she's lying half-dead in the med bay and might not wake up before we're all in bags. Fear - for himself and for Orga and for all of them - and anger at her surged in him, and he trembled for a moment before he got it under control.

If Orga noticed, he didn't say. Instead, he murmured, "We were only able to recover half of them."

Eugene tried to form a suitable word but only a, "Yeah," came out. He cursed himself.

"I wanted to make a place where these guys could belong."

Pain was added to the fear and anger. "Orga," he said. Really he wanted to scream at him - but scream what? What was there to scream at this point? Was it Orga he wanted to scream at, or Artima? Or himself? The world? He felt like he'd been wanting to scream his whole life.

Orga continued, unmoving, "So they could make money without any bloodshed, and have warm homes. And yet...I made them fight to obtain that, and they ended up in this cold place."

A Note from the Author: You'll notice some of the dialogue - Eugene's on the bridge, that with McGillis, and the bits at the end by Orga - are taken from Episodes 45-47. Thanks for your patience with updates and let me know what you think!