April 26 AC 201
It had been raining all morning. His hair and clothing were soaked through, despite the umbrella that he'd purchased with almost the last of his ready cash. To make matters worse, the subway route he needed had been delayed for nearly half an hour. The announcement made just a little while ago over the station's obnoxiously buzzing loudspeaker had promised a renewal of service within forty-five minutes.
So he sat there, dripping, staring aimlessly at the bustling passers by.
Trowa was accustomed to traveling inconveniences. After the war his circus troop had encountered them everywhere they turned, since many roads, bridges and long expanses of train track had been destroyed during the fighting. They'd decided to return to Earth as a sort of good will gesture from the colonies. He would have been perfectly content to have remained in space, but Cathy and the other performers had thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
Cathy. It was difficult for Trowa to admit it, but when his adopted older sister had gotten engaged at the end of AC 199, he had been stunned to find himself feeling abandoned--and somewhat lost. The idea was rather ludicrous, since he'd lived on his own for almost his entire life. But when her fiancé had decided the relationship wasn't working out, Trowa had been secretly glad.
He liked having a family. He didn't want anything to intrude on that. Not just yet.
It had taken a long time for him to come to grips with the idea that his fellow performers were bound and determined to provide him with the same love and protection that they offered one another. It had been such a foreign concept at first. Back then, the only one he had trusted was Cathy.
And the ringmaster, to a certain extent. He was a good man.
"May I have your attention please! Service on track 10 has been restored. The next train to..."
The remainder of the announcement was drowned out by the whooshing sound of an incoming train.
Trowa rose. This looked like it should be his. In less than half an hour he ought to be done with this task and on his way home.
The message had come out of no where. He'd started up his laptop the previous morning with the sole intention of checking his mail, and by two O'clock that afternoon he'd been on a shuttle bound for Earth.
Cathy hadn't liked it. but when he'd shown her the contents of the message she'd agreed that this journey was necessary.
At least the Preventers could take care of such things nowadays. It wasn't his responsibility anymore.
He didn't miss being a soldier. The course of his life had pretty much forced him into that line of work, for there had been little homeless, nameless children could do other than fight. Or be taken in by orphanages, raised to believe the world was a good place and then shipped off to low-paid labor camps when they reached their fourteenth birthdays.
He stepped onto the train, discretely keeping one hand near the opening to his pocket. The one which contained the data cylinder.
They'd know what to do with it. That was there job.
Trowa was amused to intercept the stares of several girls, mostly around his own age. They were looking at his hair. He enjoyed making people guess how on earth he got his bangs to stay so pointy.
He still kept in touch with Quatre, but the bond they had forged during the war was gradually beginning to fade. The Arabian was kind, but his life of meetings, deadlines and business suits was very far removed from the life Trowa led as an itinerant performer.
When the train screeched to a halt at the third stop, he drew his jacket closer about his shoulders and pushed his way through the crowd of boarding and disembarking travelers until he reached the platform. Keeping his head lowered, Trowa followed the signs toward the street exit.
This was Preventer territory. He had no doubt that his face, as well as those of the other Gundam pilots must be on file somewhere. Doubtless their images and profiles were top secret, but still, he had no wish to be identified.
Not today.
He wanted to get this mission out of the way and then go home.
Taking out his umbrella once again, Trowa hurried through the unusually deserted streets until he reached the complex that housed Preventer headquarters. Now came the hard part.
He approached the guard station at the entrance to the base, reaching into the pocket of his jacket for the identification he'd rapidly forged before his departure. He hoped they wouldn't run it through any extensive background checks, since the identification number and date of birth were both fake.
"Hi, kid," said the guard at the window, peering at Trowa with no hint of suspicion from under his bushy eyebrows. "Whatcha doing here?"
"I've come to inquire about joining the Preventers."
The man took the papers he held out, keeping an eye on Trowa as he swiveled around in his chair. "Hey Paul! We got another kid says he wants to join up!"
"Lemmie see his id." replied a rather bored-looking man at the back of the small office. After squinting for a moment at the signature, the picture, and then at Trowa, the man nodded. "It looks all right, but aren't you here a bit late. I doubt anybody'll be there to process your application this late on a Friday."
"I actually just wanted to pick up the paperwork," Trowa responded. He'd been anticipating this.
"It's a long way to come, just to pick up the papers. Says here you live on L3." The two men seemed to upraise him again.
"Well, my sister and I are on Earth for a few weeks, so..."
"Ah, I gotcha. Well, lemmie print you up a pass...it's good for an hour." As he spoke, the man at the back of the office began to type rapidly. After a moment a small printer on the floor by his feet began to whir softly, and within seconds it spit out a small white card.
"Here. Follow this road down past the next three buildings, take a left, go over to the next street and it'll be there on the right."
"Thanks."
He followed the mans instructions until he'd rounded the corner after the third building. Then, drawing on the mental map he'd been able to put together from accessing classified schematics of the base, Trowa ducked down a narrow alley that ran between two large brick edifices.
Her office was on the third floor of a formidable looking white omplex. Trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, Trowa flashed his pass to the guards at the door, then headed for the elevator.
He couldn't help but think that the security at Preventer headquarters was unbelievably lax. It would be so easy for a terrorist to slip in unnoticed and wreak an incredible amount of havoc.
They said the world was safe now. That war had been banished forever. But Trowa had a sinking feeling that they were wrong.
That's why he was here.
It had been raining all morning. His hair and clothing were soaked through, despite the umbrella that he'd purchased with almost the last of his ready cash. To make matters worse, the subway route he needed had been delayed for nearly half an hour. The announcement made just a little while ago over the station's obnoxiously buzzing loudspeaker had promised a renewal of service within forty-five minutes.
So he sat there, dripping, staring aimlessly at the bustling passers by.
Trowa was accustomed to traveling inconveniences. After the war his circus troop had encountered them everywhere they turned, since many roads, bridges and long expanses of train track had been destroyed during the fighting. They'd decided to return to Earth as a sort of good will gesture from the colonies. He would have been perfectly content to have remained in space, but Cathy and the other performers had thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
Cathy. It was difficult for Trowa to admit it, but when his adopted older sister had gotten engaged at the end of AC 199, he had been stunned to find himself feeling abandoned--and somewhat lost. The idea was rather ludicrous, since he'd lived on his own for almost his entire life. But when her fiancé had decided the relationship wasn't working out, Trowa had been secretly glad.
He liked having a family. He didn't want anything to intrude on that. Not just yet.
It had taken a long time for him to come to grips with the idea that his fellow performers were bound and determined to provide him with the same love and protection that they offered one another. It had been such a foreign concept at first. Back then, the only one he had trusted was Cathy.
And the ringmaster, to a certain extent. He was a good man.
"May I have your attention please! Service on track 10 has been restored. The next train to..."
The remainder of the announcement was drowned out by the whooshing sound of an incoming train.
Trowa rose. This looked like it should be his. In less than half an hour he ought to be done with this task and on his way home.
The message had come out of no where. He'd started up his laptop the previous morning with the sole intention of checking his mail, and by two O'clock that afternoon he'd been on a shuttle bound for Earth.
Cathy hadn't liked it. but when he'd shown her the contents of the message she'd agreed that this journey was necessary.
At least the Preventers could take care of such things nowadays. It wasn't his responsibility anymore.
He didn't miss being a soldier. The course of his life had pretty much forced him into that line of work, for there had been little homeless, nameless children could do other than fight. Or be taken in by orphanages, raised to believe the world was a good place and then shipped off to low-paid labor camps when they reached their fourteenth birthdays.
He stepped onto the train, discretely keeping one hand near the opening to his pocket. The one which contained the data cylinder.
They'd know what to do with it. That was there job.
Trowa was amused to intercept the stares of several girls, mostly around his own age. They were looking at his hair. He enjoyed making people guess how on earth he got his bangs to stay so pointy.
He still kept in touch with Quatre, but the bond they had forged during the war was gradually beginning to fade. The Arabian was kind, but his life of meetings, deadlines and business suits was very far removed from the life Trowa led as an itinerant performer.
When the train screeched to a halt at the third stop, he drew his jacket closer about his shoulders and pushed his way through the crowd of boarding and disembarking travelers until he reached the platform. Keeping his head lowered, Trowa followed the signs toward the street exit.
This was Preventer territory. He had no doubt that his face, as well as those of the other Gundam pilots must be on file somewhere. Doubtless their images and profiles were top secret, but still, he had no wish to be identified.
Not today.
He wanted to get this mission out of the way and then go home.
Taking out his umbrella once again, Trowa hurried through the unusually deserted streets until he reached the complex that housed Preventer headquarters. Now came the hard part.
He approached the guard station at the entrance to the base, reaching into the pocket of his jacket for the identification he'd rapidly forged before his departure. He hoped they wouldn't run it through any extensive background checks, since the identification number and date of birth were both fake.
"Hi, kid," said the guard at the window, peering at Trowa with no hint of suspicion from under his bushy eyebrows. "Whatcha doing here?"
"I've come to inquire about joining the Preventers."
The man took the papers he held out, keeping an eye on Trowa as he swiveled around in his chair. "Hey Paul! We got another kid says he wants to join up!"
"Lemmie see his id." replied a rather bored-looking man at the back of the small office. After squinting for a moment at the signature, the picture, and then at Trowa, the man nodded. "It looks all right, but aren't you here a bit late. I doubt anybody'll be there to process your application this late on a Friday."
"I actually just wanted to pick up the paperwork," Trowa responded. He'd been anticipating this.
"It's a long way to come, just to pick up the papers. Says here you live on L3." The two men seemed to upraise him again.
"Well, my sister and I are on Earth for a few weeks, so..."
"Ah, I gotcha. Well, lemmie print you up a pass...it's good for an hour." As he spoke, the man at the back of the office began to type rapidly. After a moment a small printer on the floor by his feet began to whir softly, and within seconds it spit out a small white card.
"Here. Follow this road down past the next three buildings, take a left, go over to the next street and it'll be there on the right."
"Thanks."
He followed the mans instructions until he'd rounded the corner after the third building. Then, drawing on the mental map he'd been able to put together from accessing classified schematics of the base, Trowa ducked down a narrow alley that ran between two large brick edifices.
Her office was on the third floor of a formidable looking white omplex. Trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, Trowa flashed his pass to the guards at the door, then headed for the elevator.
He couldn't help but think that the security at Preventer headquarters was unbelievably lax. It would be so easy for a terrorist to slip in unnoticed and wreak an incredible amount of havoc.
They said the world was safe now. That war had been banished forever. But Trowa had a sinking feeling that they were wrong.
That's why he was here.