That's Childish, So Childish…
Chapter Four: Or Do You Want Revenge?—That's Childish, So Childish…
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Disclaimer: Er… yes, that fish is still alive, and once again, that and the teddy bear are all I can truly claim.
Pairings: Still nobody's giving me ideas, other than adding Treize into this. Oh well.
Warnings: Egads—possible attack of Barney. No, really, it's not that bad. Otherwise, things blow up, psychological torture, and various GW characters feeling very confused… Oh, yes: reasons why, in the hands of some people, certain toys should be given higher age limits… for the safety of others…
Oh, just read it!
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//Three remote-control cars and two remote-control airplanes… I need new batteries for these things.// Zechs rubbed his chin as he glanced at his favorite finds. //I have to raid storage. Those firecrackers won't cut it for the hangar-business, though I'm glad I found them. I always wondered what it'd be like to set them off indoors!//
Looking back at the screen of the daycare room's computer, he sighed softly and finished adding touches to his hand-drawn map. With a teal-blue crayon.
//What is with adults denying pens to kids? It's not like they'll poke an eye out any less with these things,// he mused as he scrawled away, grimacing at the width of the lines forced upon him by the tools available. //I had better not lose this map anywhere—it'll be too humiliating if anyone finds the thing! But the ductwork in this place is too complicated to memorize…//
Meanwhile, as he finished copying the map, the computer was copying—and saving to a small ancient floppy disc—everything it could find on something he'd discovered called "The Phoenix Project." What he'd glimpsed of the reports were all medical jargon to him, except some bits about not only making someone look young again in a literal sense, but /feeling/ young again, too. Apparently it was /supposed/ to lengthen the lifespan of the old aristocrats of Romefeller… but that was all he could make out of it except his own name. Zechs Merquise, test subject #6.
//Can't worry about it right now. I can examine their research later—when I've that thing called "leisure time" or something. Got to get out of here first!//
A final flourish, and he folded up the map, changing the views on the screen to some procedure forms he'd hacked away from the hanger's computers. Order forms, of sorts—changes of plans, demanding the rearrangement of things in the hangar, all signed by higher-ups, though he recognized none of the names.
Neatly, Zechs set to cutting certain bits of text away, replacing them. //Okay… "For precautionary purposes in the light of a recent missing persons report"… That should make them shove the Gundam and Tallgeese onto the /good/ transporter plane. Change the date. Blur the signature a bit. Who ever reads these things through, anyway? And… send it off to their computers… Done. They'll need three hours to get their business in gear, though, according to the other reports… What lousy service! If this were an Oz base and not Romefeller's, Treize would have them court marshaled for sheer laziness!//
That done, he checked on the disc—also done, it seemed—and switched the computer off, taking out his disc and tucking it between "boot" wrappings at the back of his calf. Zechs swung about in his seat, resting elbows on thighs as he studied the toys he'd "requisitioned", now awaiting his will on a blanket on the floor. Beside his pillowcase sack were an interesting variety of useful items. Remote control toys. Fireworks. Some extremely slimy stuff. Insanely-adhesive model cement/glue. A plastic tape-player and a certain tape of music. A chain of jump-ropes tied together to make a decent length. A BB-gun. A paintball gun with 50 rounds of blue paint.
The last two drew a sly smile to his lips, and he pushed up the edge of his mask slightly—the darn thing was a little bigger than he remembered and tended to slide down slightly over time to obscure his eyes.
//I've everything except for a handful of /serious/ explosives and good batteries. And food… God, but I'm hungry! Well… off to Supplies. Surely they have canned rations somewhere.//
So Zechs hopped down from the tall chair, kneeling to tie the corners of the blanket together and haul the mass onto the desk. From the desk, he shoved it onto the top of a tall cabinet. Panting, he stood on the top of the cabinet—and refused to look down.
//Good thing they never knew their "fearless" Lightening Count is afraid of certain heights… Though why it's only short heights, I don't get it. I'm fine higher up or lower down… I'd survive a fall from here without any trouble, so what am I afraid of?// Shaking his head, Zechs looked up carefully, frowning… then reached up to grab the grill of the air duct, trying to reach the fastenings. He had to stand on his toes to grasp them, then shook them loose.
//Whoo! Heavier than I expected!// He staggered a bit under the weight, grimacing, then heavily set it onto the cabinet's surface by his feet. //At least I can /fit/ in here, though. I never would have as my normal self!//
The sack went up first… then Zechs himself.
Pulling out a flashlight, he turned it on and tucked it into his belt before hauling his supplies over the gaping hole left by the missing grill—and began crawling through the ductwork, dragging the blanket behind. It slid along nicely on the smooth metal surface.
//Twelve junctions down, then right, then seven, and left… then fifteen and I'm there.// His stomach growled softly, making Zechs pause and grimace at it. //Shut up, you. We're getting there!//
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Treize steepled his hands, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers thoughtfully as he gazed at the Nairobi Base's commander from behind the man's own desk.
//You sold him out to save your own hide. You had better hope he is still alive…// His eyes narrowed at the man, who was squirming a little under the General's silent gaze. //If you are an example of all Oz has left, I should resign very, very soon.//
"Ah… Your Excellency Sir" the middle-aged fellow half-stammered nervously, trying to break the silence.
Treize didn't bother to hide his anger in his expression, and decided to make this sharp, quick, and to the point. "You sold him out to Acht to save your own hide," he stated coldly.
The base commander shivered and couldn't meet Treize's eyes, shifting uncomfortably. "Sir! I didn't do anything—"
//LIAR!// "Where did they take him!"
Paling, the base commander almost staggered back. "I—I /had/ to, they'd have destroyed the base between them otherwise and Acht was ready to flatten this base if I didn't comply—"
"I don't want your excuses—tell me where Acht took Zechs!" Treize commanded, tone deadly. //The idiot! Maybe Acht would have tried, but Zechs would have made mincemeat of him quickly enough!//
"I—I don't know, Sir, really I don't…" The fellow had the wisdom and grace to look frightened.
Closing his eyes, Treize let his expression calm, taking a deep breath. //Incompetents and fools! /Someone/ here must know!// "Get me your second," he growled, opening his eyes slowly again.
With a stumbling salute, the base commander fled.
Sighing softly, Treize rested his head in his hands. //Really, is intelligence so lacking lately? Have the Gundams killed off every man with /sense/ in this organization? What does Romefeller—and Duke Dermail for that matter—think they're doing, anyway? The mobile dolls Tseuberov is creating aren't an answer. Throw a handful of pilots with certain skills at them, and the pilots will win hands-down. We /need/ Zechs…//
Brushing aside stray hairs that were tickling his forehead, the General looked up again at the door, waiting for the man's second-in-command. ///I/ need him. If they're going to throw aside sense, I'm going to leave with it and start something else. The wasting of lives for nothing except stupidity should not be tolerated… And /someone/ has to be available afterwards to pick up the pieces for humanity…//
The door finally opened, admitting a younger man this time, as impeccably dressed, less nervous and more ashamed. The crisp fellow flung off an uneasy salute and waited, trying not to fidget with visible effort.
Steeling himself for yet another unproductive chat, yet determined to keep going down through the ranks until he /did/ hit some answers, Treize set his cold gaze on this new victim. //I intend to know even if I have to interrogate the /cook/ personally!// "Perhaps you can tell me more than your superior. I have some idea what happened here… but I want the rest from /you/."
The young fellow gulped, and looked down at his feet. "Ah… well… I… er… I don't know /everything/, Your Excellency Sir, but I saw /some/…"
Treize couldn't withhold a pronged eyebrow from arching. //An eyewitness? Maybe I'm in luck…// "Tell me what you saw, then." This time his voice wasn't so chilly.
The young second nodded, taking a deep breath. "Well… the Colonel's team had arrived a few hours ago to refuel, and he'd gone for some coffee when Acht and his bunch arrived…" Apparently the second didn't care much for Acht or those who tagged along with the sly Inspector, according to his disgusted tone. "They didn't even look for the Gundam, Sir. Acht asked to be directly shown to the Colonel."
Treize frowned slightly at that news. //Then Acht knew… But how? Zechs is no fool…// Abruptly, his eyes widened, shifting to the young second's face.
Betrayal.
//Someone told on Zechs and the Gundam. That was all Acht would need!// A chill tickled the General's spine.
"Do you know who did it?" he asked quietly, keeping his fear out of his voice. //Traitors in our midst… Zechs didn't stand a chance!//
The young man simply looked bewildered. "Who did what, Sir?"
Treize shook his head dismissively. //I suppose expecting him to be more intelligent and observant than his superior is asking too much…// "Never mind. Continue."
"Well, Sir, when they came out, Acht was all flustered—"
"Do you know what they spoke of during that time?" the General interrupted, sharply curious.
Again, the young man could only shake his head.
//No wonder the Gundams can wreck such havoc. Military intelligence really /is/ an oxymoron!// "Continue, continue…"
"Erm… As I was saying, Sir, Acht was all flustered about something, but the Colonel surrendered peacefully to his men… Though I can't say they were very nice about it, Sir; I'm sorry…"
Shaking his head, Treize held up a dismissive hand. "It's all right. I have low expectations of Acht and his men… Continue, please." //Acht, your days are numbered… I intend to collect, as soon as I find Zechs…//
A long pause followed as the base's second collected his thoughts. "Ah… all I saw was that Acht's men took him to Acht's transporter plane, Sir. A few of them were joking about how glad they were it's only a short flight to the research base because if the Colonel woke up before they arrived, the planes would go up in a sprinkling of fiery parts. They seemed to think the Colonel would be… rather pissed when he woke up."
A faint growl escaped Treize's throat, despite his usual control. //Acht… You are /so/ dead!// "Where did they take him?"
It took a moment, during which Treize's eyes narrowed in growing anger, but his luck held. "Romefeller's Congo Research Facility, Sir, I think… They seemed to think it's a good joke. Something about obscurity, Sir…"
//Obscurity…?// Waving the man off dismissively, Treize pondered those last words, not watching the man salute and depart.
//Obscurity…? Zechs is rather hard to hide… A red herring in a pond of red herrings… Unless. Unless… They know? Then they know who he is? If they know that much… the rest falls into place too easily. They know /too/ much!// With a faint shudder, the General surged to his feet, calling sharply for his plane to be readied immediately. //I hope you're not too badly hurt, Zechs…//
//I hope you're still alive when we find you…//
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Milliardo dropped the mask onto his makeshift pack, leaning his back against a create, nibbling the product of hard labor.
Chocolate.
//I never knew the chocolate came in such massive bars! Good thing there's literally a box of hammers here, among other tools. Takes some work to shatter, all the same, being more then two inches thick. But good stuff…//
Licking fingers, he pulled the crate of grenades closer, and set about adhering a pair to either wing of one of the remote-control planes with the superglue. As the glue dried, he reached over to the mess he'd made—a pile of chocolate chunks lying beside a hammer on a concrete brick meant for building bunkers. He'd eaten most of it already, finding the sweet too hard to resist. The chocolate had nearly rivaled the brick in moving difficulty due to its weight.
Popping another piece into his mouth, Miri reached for the next plane, thinking over his plan—which wasn't much of one. Disabling a few of the mobile suits would be the best he could do, but at least he'd have fewer to deal with on the tarmac. Chasing off the personnel in the hangar would be no problem at all, though. Once he got on the plane, anyway.
//Ah, so I wing it. Oh well…// Shrugging, the boy reached across the grenades for another type of explosive, which he set to attaching to the remote-control cars. Eying the strongest, largest one—more truck than car—young Milliardo frowned. //You'd better be up to it, or we all go up in smoke.//
He licked his fingers again, and considered the rest of the chocolate. //Hmmm… I think I'll take some of this along. Pretty good creamy stuff!//
Eyes narrowing, Miri finished off his preparations, then repacked for the air ducts again, wrapping shards of chocolate into a rag, tucking a pair of pliers into his belt… and slinging the smallest missile-launcher he could find over his back. The last nearly dragged along the floor when he was standing.
//Time's up… Let's get this show on the road, Miri. Or better yet, in the air!//
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The chaos all began with the pressing of a single button…
Of a machine model-cemented tightly to one of the basewide communication speakers whose "on" button had been likewise adhered down. The tape had been set at "repeat" permanently.
Barney began to serenade the entire base on families and love.
Sheer horror erupted all over instantaneously.
"What the Hell?!?"
"Who the heck put /that/ on?"
"Turn it off! Turn it OFF!"
"Who on Earth is /that/ insane…?!?"
"Where the heck is that /coming/ from?!? Find it, damn it!"
People in the hangar peeked out of mobile suits and various base vehicles, confused, disgusted, a few very upset at how their ears were under assault by a purple dinosaur. A fair number left their work to find superiors and complain to about work conditions.
It's amazing how few people watch the ground when they walk. Had they, they may have caught sight of the remote-control convertible car with a couple armed grenades in the seats a lot sooner. Then again, it whirred across the floor of the hangar at full speed, so they hadn't much time to notice it, either. So they didn't…
Until it slammed into a mobile suit's foot at full speed, nose first, literally throwing itself into the air with the rebound—and shaking out the contents. Grenades scattered across the floor at the feet of astonished personnel.
Then they screamed, panicked, and fled for their lives. Just in time for the explosions to help them depart, flinging them around in a succession of BOOMs like rag dolls sent airborne by an upset child.
Across the hangar, hidden behind some mechanical equipment, a pale-haired boy with a makeshift blanket backpack (and a small missile launcher over that) and wearing a cracked silvery mask smiled slowly as the toy car sped backwards from the expanding inferno towards the command observation deck's base…
//Next stop, bye-bye communications with the commander…// An evil grin touched the edges of his lips. //Phase Two, begin!//
He'd always been ambidextrous. A good thing, too, because otherwise controlling the other remote-control car would have been awkward and ruined his plans. But the control-boxes hung from his belt, and he had memorized where the buttons were and how the sticks moved. And the second car, armed with contact-explosives, was chasing the feet of a number of engineers who were too close to /his/ plane.
Zechs had checked the records to be sure the Gundam and Tallgeese were loaded on Transport Plane number 2576. But now he wanted those who had loaded them long gone. //I have nothing against you doing your jobs, but I want you to go /elsewhere/… I need to get over there!//
But from the corner of his eyes, he could see that after the grenades, people were beginning to gather in groups and regain their courage—and draw guns.
The rocking explosion caused by the first car crashing against the wall beneath the observation deck dampened that renewed courage a bit, though.
//One down. Time to run!// Wrenching the useless control-box off his belt, he flung it aside, knelt quickly to plant something on a stick carefully amid the floor wiring of the machine he was positioned by. Pulling a lighter from the wrappings of leather about his legs, Zechs lit the end of the paper contraption, tucked the lighter back into hiding, and sprinted down its target-path towards the open tail-ramp of number 2576, expertly making the deadly toy car chase a few engineers out of his path with one hand as he pulled the BB-gun from the back of his belt. A couple passing shots of stinging BBs sent others scurrying out of the way with surprised yelps, not even bothering to look where this strange gunfire was coming from. Not everyone got out of the way, though—two soldiers on the ramp saw Zechs coming and charged to intercept, and another pair forgot the threat of the explosive toy car when they spotted him coming, halting in their flight to grab at his passing form.
The firecracker whistled as sharply as a furious referee. Faces turned towards the sound, but Zechs's wasn't one of them.
He dove face-first at the metal floor, sliding past the closer pair.
Just in time. The firecracker rocketed wildly in his wake like a missile gone wild. Which it now was. Men scattered, singed by the passing explosive, before it smashed into the ramp with a brilliant display of blue and scarlet sparkles.
Zechs struggled for traction as he scrambled back to his feet, and despite his fast reflexes, barely evaded a grasping hand reaching for his pack of "toys". Firing BB-shots at close range was a good deterrent of further attempts by that particular soldier, however—the man screamed and fell, clutching a leg and shoulder.
//Get out of my way!!!// Zechs growled as he flung aside the empty weapon, continuing his dash for the plane—and sending explosive car #2 towards the fuel cache between the hangar doors and his target plane.
This time people realized the car's target and ran for cover like terrified rabbits at the shadow of a hawk.
Sensing footsteps behind him—and feeling a bullet whistle past his shoulder—Zechs glanced back… to find a handful of soldiers pounding behind him. He whipped out the paintball gun, firing, hoping the car would get to those damn fuel cans and free up his other hand in time, even as a couple of his chasers fell down with blue splotches on their chests…
His feet clattered on the tail-ramp just as the fuel cans combusted in a hangar-shaking roar of fire, the ramp protecting him from the resulting wave of fire and sheer force. His pursuers hit the ground, either on purpose to protect themselves from flying debris, or sent there by the blast. That gave him the time he needed.
Zechs whipped out another firecracker, shoving his gun in his belt long enough to light it, and held it in line with the floor in the middle of his pack of pursuers.
They paled.
Ignoring the pain and fizzling of the tail of the firecracker, which singed his wrist and forearm, he waited just long enough for the legal missile to reach full thrusting power—a mere instant—before releasing it. It sailed true, giving the targets little time to react, though a couple /were/ wise enough to flee immediately when they saw it in his hand. There were more cries when the rest scattered involuntarily, though.
Then Zechs was in, and slammed his hand against the hatch-control, closing the ramp and tail doors.
//YES! I made it!// But all was not over—he knew he wasn't in the clear /yet/. Dashing to the cockpit, he slammed on the engines, flicked open the fuel lines, and pushed everything on "full" power. The plane groaned and whistled, preparing to move, starting to struggle against her wheel-blocks. //Come on, baby, get worked up—we need to move /fast/!//
No go. The blocks wouldn't let the wheels move. But he had expected as much.
//Contingency plan, don't fail me now…//
The third remote-control car—the truck—roared to life from behind a floor station, speeding for the wheel-blocks like a machine possessed. People started to move to intercept—until they realized it carried explosives in the bed. More grenades. Most left it alone after that. It charged the wheel-blocks, using sheer speed and momentum to slam first one set, then another, out of the way and set the wheels free.
The plane began to move, with increasing speed, towards the freedom of the open sky.
The truck, however, wheeled about and charged full-speed towards the feet of the last of a carefully-arranged line of Leos, to smack with full-force. Grenades flew from the bed wildly, only to get scattered about by the machine as soon as it hit the ground again. The pins had been adhered to the truck… The truck itself crashed backwards into the legs of another Leo, setting off another small set of contact-explosives. Leos groaned, creaked, swaying… leaning… One fell against another, starting a chain reaction.
//I love the Domino Effect,// Zechs mused, pulling his head in through the pilot's window as a bullet clinked off the plane a bit too close.
Something akin to a small earthquake announced the collapse of a whole line of heavy Leos. He could feel it even through the plane's shock-absorbers.
//They'll have fun sorting that out…// A sly grin traced Zechs's lips as he flung himself into the oversized pilot's seat, tossing the mask and pack off and aside. Grabbing the steering controls, he quickly navigated the turn towards the runway.
The radio crackled. "Transport plane #2576RF, you are not authorized for takeoff."
For a minute, he debated actually answering the control tower. Then, with a shrug and evil smile, shoved the throttle as far as it could go instead, making sure the wings were at full extension.
The plane sped up, engines roaring to full strength.
"Number 2576RF, you are not authorized for takeoff! Abort immediately!"
//Ahhh… why not?// Zechs flicked the radio on. "Number 2576 here. You'd better clear the air, or I'll do it on my way out."
Someone was muttering on the other end, confused, to someone else. Meanwhile, the plane neared the end of the runway, and Zechs took a firm grip on the controls, taking a deep breath.
//I'm going to have to wrestle with this half-redundant tub of lard. Hey, look on the bright side, Miri—could be worse. You could be trying to do this in the Tallgeese! If /this/ is hard when the controls aren't set for you, /that/ will be worse!//
"Return to the hangar, sir! You are under court marshal! Abort takeoff /now/!"
Zechs laughed. "Too late!" And he hauled with all his strength back on the controls.
Airborne! The heavy transport plane's nose lifted, and the wheels lost touch with the ground—at least it had good engines.
Milliardo tabbed the button for retracting the landing-gear. //It flies like a loaded brick but still, it's better than I expected… Not like the Raven Transporter, my lovely blue-metal wonder, but still… could be much worse.//
Transport plane #2576 roared off into the desert sky as if aiming for the moon, leaving the Romefeller Congo Research Base behind.
//Okay, Tuff Bear—I bet you five pieces of chocolate that they can't muster pursuit for a good ten minutes… Let's see how far we can get with this brick until then, hmm?//
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To be continued.
"So ask yourself now: can you forgive her
Like she asked you to?
Ask yourself: can you even deliver
What she demands of you?
Or do you want revenge?
That's childish, so childish…" -------"Can You Forgive Her" by Petshop Boys
Chapter Four: Or Do You Want Revenge?—That's Childish, So Childish…
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Disclaimer: Er… yes, that fish is still alive, and once again, that and the teddy bear are all I can truly claim.
Pairings: Still nobody's giving me ideas, other than adding Treize into this. Oh well.
Warnings: Egads—possible attack of Barney. No, really, it's not that bad. Otherwise, things blow up, psychological torture, and various GW characters feeling very confused… Oh, yes: reasons why, in the hands of some people, certain toys should be given higher age limits… for the safety of others…
Oh, just read it!
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//Three remote-control cars and two remote-control airplanes… I need new batteries for these things.// Zechs rubbed his chin as he glanced at his favorite finds. //I have to raid storage. Those firecrackers won't cut it for the hangar-business, though I'm glad I found them. I always wondered what it'd be like to set them off indoors!//
Looking back at the screen of the daycare room's computer, he sighed softly and finished adding touches to his hand-drawn map. With a teal-blue crayon.
//What is with adults denying pens to kids? It's not like they'll poke an eye out any less with these things,// he mused as he scrawled away, grimacing at the width of the lines forced upon him by the tools available. //I had better not lose this map anywhere—it'll be too humiliating if anyone finds the thing! But the ductwork in this place is too complicated to memorize…//
Meanwhile, as he finished copying the map, the computer was copying—and saving to a small ancient floppy disc—everything it could find on something he'd discovered called "The Phoenix Project." What he'd glimpsed of the reports were all medical jargon to him, except some bits about not only making someone look young again in a literal sense, but /feeling/ young again, too. Apparently it was /supposed/ to lengthen the lifespan of the old aristocrats of Romefeller… but that was all he could make out of it except his own name. Zechs Merquise, test subject #6.
//Can't worry about it right now. I can examine their research later—when I've that thing called "leisure time" or something. Got to get out of here first!//
A final flourish, and he folded up the map, changing the views on the screen to some procedure forms he'd hacked away from the hanger's computers. Order forms, of sorts—changes of plans, demanding the rearrangement of things in the hangar, all signed by higher-ups, though he recognized none of the names.
Neatly, Zechs set to cutting certain bits of text away, replacing them. //Okay… "For precautionary purposes in the light of a recent missing persons report"… That should make them shove the Gundam and Tallgeese onto the /good/ transporter plane. Change the date. Blur the signature a bit. Who ever reads these things through, anyway? And… send it off to their computers… Done. They'll need three hours to get their business in gear, though, according to the other reports… What lousy service! If this were an Oz base and not Romefeller's, Treize would have them court marshaled for sheer laziness!//
That done, he checked on the disc—also done, it seemed—and switched the computer off, taking out his disc and tucking it between "boot" wrappings at the back of his calf. Zechs swung about in his seat, resting elbows on thighs as he studied the toys he'd "requisitioned", now awaiting his will on a blanket on the floor. Beside his pillowcase sack were an interesting variety of useful items. Remote control toys. Fireworks. Some extremely slimy stuff. Insanely-adhesive model cement/glue. A plastic tape-player and a certain tape of music. A chain of jump-ropes tied together to make a decent length. A BB-gun. A paintball gun with 50 rounds of blue paint.
The last two drew a sly smile to his lips, and he pushed up the edge of his mask slightly—the darn thing was a little bigger than he remembered and tended to slide down slightly over time to obscure his eyes.
//I've everything except for a handful of /serious/ explosives and good batteries. And food… God, but I'm hungry! Well… off to Supplies. Surely they have canned rations somewhere.//
So Zechs hopped down from the tall chair, kneeling to tie the corners of the blanket together and haul the mass onto the desk. From the desk, he shoved it onto the top of a tall cabinet. Panting, he stood on the top of the cabinet—and refused to look down.
//Good thing they never knew their "fearless" Lightening Count is afraid of certain heights… Though why it's only short heights, I don't get it. I'm fine higher up or lower down… I'd survive a fall from here without any trouble, so what am I afraid of?// Shaking his head, Zechs looked up carefully, frowning… then reached up to grab the grill of the air duct, trying to reach the fastenings. He had to stand on his toes to grasp them, then shook them loose.
//Whoo! Heavier than I expected!// He staggered a bit under the weight, grimacing, then heavily set it onto the cabinet's surface by his feet. //At least I can /fit/ in here, though. I never would have as my normal self!//
The sack went up first… then Zechs himself.
Pulling out a flashlight, he turned it on and tucked it into his belt before hauling his supplies over the gaping hole left by the missing grill—and began crawling through the ductwork, dragging the blanket behind. It slid along nicely on the smooth metal surface.
//Twelve junctions down, then right, then seven, and left… then fifteen and I'm there.// His stomach growled softly, making Zechs pause and grimace at it. //Shut up, you. We're getting there!//
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Treize steepled his hands, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers thoughtfully as he gazed at the Nairobi Base's commander from behind the man's own desk.
//You sold him out to save your own hide. You had better hope he is still alive…// His eyes narrowed at the man, who was squirming a little under the General's silent gaze. //If you are an example of all Oz has left, I should resign very, very soon.//
"Ah… Your Excellency Sir" the middle-aged fellow half-stammered nervously, trying to break the silence.
Treize didn't bother to hide his anger in his expression, and decided to make this sharp, quick, and to the point. "You sold him out to Acht to save your own hide," he stated coldly.
The base commander shivered and couldn't meet Treize's eyes, shifting uncomfortably. "Sir! I didn't do anything—"
//LIAR!// "Where did they take him!"
Paling, the base commander almost staggered back. "I—I /had/ to, they'd have destroyed the base between them otherwise and Acht was ready to flatten this base if I didn't comply—"
"I don't want your excuses—tell me where Acht took Zechs!" Treize commanded, tone deadly. //The idiot! Maybe Acht would have tried, but Zechs would have made mincemeat of him quickly enough!//
"I—I don't know, Sir, really I don't…" The fellow had the wisdom and grace to look frightened.
Closing his eyes, Treize let his expression calm, taking a deep breath. //Incompetents and fools! /Someone/ here must know!// "Get me your second," he growled, opening his eyes slowly again.
With a stumbling salute, the base commander fled.
Sighing softly, Treize rested his head in his hands. //Really, is intelligence so lacking lately? Have the Gundams killed off every man with /sense/ in this organization? What does Romefeller—and Duke Dermail for that matter—think they're doing, anyway? The mobile dolls Tseuberov is creating aren't an answer. Throw a handful of pilots with certain skills at them, and the pilots will win hands-down. We /need/ Zechs…//
Brushing aside stray hairs that were tickling his forehead, the General looked up again at the door, waiting for the man's second-in-command. ///I/ need him. If they're going to throw aside sense, I'm going to leave with it and start something else. The wasting of lives for nothing except stupidity should not be tolerated… And /someone/ has to be available afterwards to pick up the pieces for humanity…//
The door finally opened, admitting a younger man this time, as impeccably dressed, less nervous and more ashamed. The crisp fellow flung off an uneasy salute and waited, trying not to fidget with visible effort.
Steeling himself for yet another unproductive chat, yet determined to keep going down through the ranks until he /did/ hit some answers, Treize set his cold gaze on this new victim. //I intend to know even if I have to interrogate the /cook/ personally!// "Perhaps you can tell me more than your superior. I have some idea what happened here… but I want the rest from /you/."
The young fellow gulped, and looked down at his feet. "Ah… well… I… er… I don't know /everything/, Your Excellency Sir, but I saw /some/…"
Treize couldn't withhold a pronged eyebrow from arching. //An eyewitness? Maybe I'm in luck…// "Tell me what you saw, then." This time his voice wasn't so chilly.
The young second nodded, taking a deep breath. "Well… the Colonel's team had arrived a few hours ago to refuel, and he'd gone for some coffee when Acht and his bunch arrived…" Apparently the second didn't care much for Acht or those who tagged along with the sly Inspector, according to his disgusted tone. "They didn't even look for the Gundam, Sir. Acht asked to be directly shown to the Colonel."
Treize frowned slightly at that news. //Then Acht knew… But how? Zechs is no fool…// Abruptly, his eyes widened, shifting to the young second's face.
Betrayal.
//Someone told on Zechs and the Gundam. That was all Acht would need!// A chill tickled the General's spine.
"Do you know who did it?" he asked quietly, keeping his fear out of his voice. //Traitors in our midst… Zechs didn't stand a chance!//
The young man simply looked bewildered. "Who did what, Sir?"
Treize shook his head dismissively. //I suppose expecting him to be more intelligent and observant than his superior is asking too much…// "Never mind. Continue."
"Well, Sir, when they came out, Acht was all flustered—"
"Do you know what they spoke of during that time?" the General interrupted, sharply curious.
Again, the young man could only shake his head.
//No wonder the Gundams can wreck such havoc. Military intelligence really /is/ an oxymoron!// "Continue, continue…"
"Erm… As I was saying, Sir, Acht was all flustered about something, but the Colonel surrendered peacefully to his men… Though I can't say they were very nice about it, Sir; I'm sorry…"
Shaking his head, Treize held up a dismissive hand. "It's all right. I have low expectations of Acht and his men… Continue, please." //Acht, your days are numbered… I intend to collect, as soon as I find Zechs…//
A long pause followed as the base's second collected his thoughts. "Ah… all I saw was that Acht's men took him to Acht's transporter plane, Sir. A few of them were joking about how glad they were it's only a short flight to the research base because if the Colonel woke up before they arrived, the planes would go up in a sprinkling of fiery parts. They seemed to think the Colonel would be… rather pissed when he woke up."
A faint growl escaped Treize's throat, despite his usual control. //Acht… You are /so/ dead!// "Where did they take him?"
It took a moment, during which Treize's eyes narrowed in growing anger, but his luck held. "Romefeller's Congo Research Facility, Sir, I think… They seemed to think it's a good joke. Something about obscurity, Sir…"
//Obscurity…?// Waving the man off dismissively, Treize pondered those last words, not watching the man salute and depart.
//Obscurity…? Zechs is rather hard to hide… A red herring in a pond of red herrings… Unless. Unless… They know? Then they know who he is? If they know that much… the rest falls into place too easily. They know /too/ much!// With a faint shudder, the General surged to his feet, calling sharply for his plane to be readied immediately. //I hope you're not too badly hurt, Zechs…//
//I hope you're still alive when we find you…//
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Milliardo dropped the mask onto his makeshift pack, leaning his back against a create, nibbling the product of hard labor.
Chocolate.
//I never knew the chocolate came in such massive bars! Good thing there's literally a box of hammers here, among other tools. Takes some work to shatter, all the same, being more then two inches thick. But good stuff…//
Licking fingers, he pulled the crate of grenades closer, and set about adhering a pair to either wing of one of the remote-control planes with the superglue. As the glue dried, he reached over to the mess he'd made—a pile of chocolate chunks lying beside a hammer on a concrete brick meant for building bunkers. He'd eaten most of it already, finding the sweet too hard to resist. The chocolate had nearly rivaled the brick in moving difficulty due to its weight.
Popping another piece into his mouth, Miri reached for the next plane, thinking over his plan—which wasn't much of one. Disabling a few of the mobile suits would be the best he could do, but at least he'd have fewer to deal with on the tarmac. Chasing off the personnel in the hangar would be no problem at all, though. Once he got on the plane, anyway.
//Ah, so I wing it. Oh well…// Shrugging, the boy reached across the grenades for another type of explosive, which he set to attaching to the remote-control cars. Eying the strongest, largest one—more truck than car—young Milliardo frowned. //You'd better be up to it, or we all go up in smoke.//
He licked his fingers again, and considered the rest of the chocolate. //Hmmm… I think I'll take some of this along. Pretty good creamy stuff!//
Eyes narrowing, Miri finished off his preparations, then repacked for the air ducts again, wrapping shards of chocolate into a rag, tucking a pair of pliers into his belt… and slinging the smallest missile-launcher he could find over his back. The last nearly dragged along the floor when he was standing.
//Time's up… Let's get this show on the road, Miri. Or better yet, in the air!//
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The chaos all began with the pressing of a single button…
Of a machine model-cemented tightly to one of the basewide communication speakers whose "on" button had been likewise adhered down. The tape had been set at "repeat" permanently.
Barney began to serenade the entire base on families and love.
Sheer horror erupted all over instantaneously.
"What the Hell?!?"
"Who the heck put /that/ on?"
"Turn it off! Turn it OFF!"
"Who on Earth is /that/ insane…?!?"
"Where the heck is that /coming/ from?!? Find it, damn it!"
People in the hangar peeked out of mobile suits and various base vehicles, confused, disgusted, a few very upset at how their ears were under assault by a purple dinosaur. A fair number left their work to find superiors and complain to about work conditions.
It's amazing how few people watch the ground when they walk. Had they, they may have caught sight of the remote-control convertible car with a couple armed grenades in the seats a lot sooner. Then again, it whirred across the floor of the hangar at full speed, so they hadn't much time to notice it, either. So they didn't…
Until it slammed into a mobile suit's foot at full speed, nose first, literally throwing itself into the air with the rebound—and shaking out the contents. Grenades scattered across the floor at the feet of astonished personnel.
Then they screamed, panicked, and fled for their lives. Just in time for the explosions to help them depart, flinging them around in a succession of BOOMs like rag dolls sent airborne by an upset child.
Across the hangar, hidden behind some mechanical equipment, a pale-haired boy with a makeshift blanket backpack (and a small missile launcher over that) and wearing a cracked silvery mask smiled slowly as the toy car sped backwards from the expanding inferno towards the command observation deck's base…
//Next stop, bye-bye communications with the commander…// An evil grin touched the edges of his lips. //Phase Two, begin!//
He'd always been ambidextrous. A good thing, too, because otherwise controlling the other remote-control car would have been awkward and ruined his plans. But the control-boxes hung from his belt, and he had memorized where the buttons were and how the sticks moved. And the second car, armed with contact-explosives, was chasing the feet of a number of engineers who were too close to /his/ plane.
Zechs had checked the records to be sure the Gundam and Tallgeese were loaded on Transport Plane number 2576. But now he wanted those who had loaded them long gone. //I have nothing against you doing your jobs, but I want you to go /elsewhere/… I need to get over there!//
But from the corner of his eyes, he could see that after the grenades, people were beginning to gather in groups and regain their courage—and draw guns.
The rocking explosion caused by the first car crashing against the wall beneath the observation deck dampened that renewed courage a bit, though.
//One down. Time to run!// Wrenching the useless control-box off his belt, he flung it aside, knelt quickly to plant something on a stick carefully amid the floor wiring of the machine he was positioned by. Pulling a lighter from the wrappings of leather about his legs, Zechs lit the end of the paper contraption, tucked the lighter back into hiding, and sprinted down its target-path towards the open tail-ramp of number 2576, expertly making the deadly toy car chase a few engineers out of his path with one hand as he pulled the BB-gun from the back of his belt. A couple passing shots of stinging BBs sent others scurrying out of the way with surprised yelps, not even bothering to look where this strange gunfire was coming from. Not everyone got out of the way, though—two soldiers on the ramp saw Zechs coming and charged to intercept, and another pair forgot the threat of the explosive toy car when they spotted him coming, halting in their flight to grab at his passing form.
The firecracker whistled as sharply as a furious referee. Faces turned towards the sound, but Zechs's wasn't one of them.
He dove face-first at the metal floor, sliding past the closer pair.
Just in time. The firecracker rocketed wildly in his wake like a missile gone wild. Which it now was. Men scattered, singed by the passing explosive, before it smashed into the ramp with a brilliant display of blue and scarlet sparkles.
Zechs struggled for traction as he scrambled back to his feet, and despite his fast reflexes, barely evaded a grasping hand reaching for his pack of "toys". Firing BB-shots at close range was a good deterrent of further attempts by that particular soldier, however—the man screamed and fell, clutching a leg and shoulder.
//Get out of my way!!!// Zechs growled as he flung aside the empty weapon, continuing his dash for the plane—and sending explosive car #2 towards the fuel cache between the hangar doors and his target plane.
This time people realized the car's target and ran for cover like terrified rabbits at the shadow of a hawk.
Sensing footsteps behind him—and feeling a bullet whistle past his shoulder—Zechs glanced back… to find a handful of soldiers pounding behind him. He whipped out the paintball gun, firing, hoping the car would get to those damn fuel cans and free up his other hand in time, even as a couple of his chasers fell down with blue splotches on their chests…
His feet clattered on the tail-ramp just as the fuel cans combusted in a hangar-shaking roar of fire, the ramp protecting him from the resulting wave of fire and sheer force. His pursuers hit the ground, either on purpose to protect themselves from flying debris, or sent there by the blast. That gave him the time he needed.
Zechs whipped out another firecracker, shoving his gun in his belt long enough to light it, and held it in line with the floor in the middle of his pack of pursuers.
They paled.
Ignoring the pain and fizzling of the tail of the firecracker, which singed his wrist and forearm, he waited just long enough for the legal missile to reach full thrusting power—a mere instant—before releasing it. It sailed true, giving the targets little time to react, though a couple /were/ wise enough to flee immediately when they saw it in his hand. There were more cries when the rest scattered involuntarily, though.
Then Zechs was in, and slammed his hand against the hatch-control, closing the ramp and tail doors.
//YES! I made it!// But all was not over—he knew he wasn't in the clear /yet/. Dashing to the cockpit, he slammed on the engines, flicked open the fuel lines, and pushed everything on "full" power. The plane groaned and whistled, preparing to move, starting to struggle against her wheel-blocks. //Come on, baby, get worked up—we need to move /fast/!//
No go. The blocks wouldn't let the wheels move. But he had expected as much.
//Contingency plan, don't fail me now…//
The third remote-control car—the truck—roared to life from behind a floor station, speeding for the wheel-blocks like a machine possessed. People started to move to intercept—until they realized it carried explosives in the bed. More grenades. Most left it alone after that. It charged the wheel-blocks, using sheer speed and momentum to slam first one set, then another, out of the way and set the wheels free.
The plane began to move, with increasing speed, towards the freedom of the open sky.
The truck, however, wheeled about and charged full-speed towards the feet of the last of a carefully-arranged line of Leos, to smack with full-force. Grenades flew from the bed wildly, only to get scattered about by the machine as soon as it hit the ground again. The pins had been adhered to the truck… The truck itself crashed backwards into the legs of another Leo, setting off another small set of contact-explosives. Leos groaned, creaked, swaying… leaning… One fell against another, starting a chain reaction.
//I love the Domino Effect,// Zechs mused, pulling his head in through the pilot's window as a bullet clinked off the plane a bit too close.
Something akin to a small earthquake announced the collapse of a whole line of heavy Leos. He could feel it even through the plane's shock-absorbers.
//They'll have fun sorting that out…// A sly grin traced Zechs's lips as he flung himself into the oversized pilot's seat, tossing the mask and pack off and aside. Grabbing the steering controls, he quickly navigated the turn towards the runway.
The radio crackled. "Transport plane #2576RF, you are not authorized for takeoff."
For a minute, he debated actually answering the control tower. Then, with a shrug and evil smile, shoved the throttle as far as it could go instead, making sure the wings were at full extension.
The plane sped up, engines roaring to full strength.
"Number 2576RF, you are not authorized for takeoff! Abort immediately!"
//Ahhh… why not?// Zechs flicked the radio on. "Number 2576 here. You'd better clear the air, or I'll do it on my way out."
Someone was muttering on the other end, confused, to someone else. Meanwhile, the plane neared the end of the runway, and Zechs took a firm grip on the controls, taking a deep breath.
//I'm going to have to wrestle with this half-redundant tub of lard. Hey, look on the bright side, Miri—could be worse. You could be trying to do this in the Tallgeese! If /this/ is hard when the controls aren't set for you, /that/ will be worse!//
"Return to the hangar, sir! You are under court marshal! Abort takeoff /now/!"
Zechs laughed. "Too late!" And he hauled with all his strength back on the controls.
Airborne! The heavy transport plane's nose lifted, and the wheels lost touch with the ground—at least it had good engines.
Milliardo tabbed the button for retracting the landing-gear. //It flies like a loaded brick but still, it's better than I expected… Not like the Raven Transporter, my lovely blue-metal wonder, but still… could be much worse.//
Transport plane #2576 roared off into the desert sky as if aiming for the moon, leaving the Romefeller Congo Research Base behind.
//Okay, Tuff Bear—I bet you five pieces of chocolate that they can't muster pursuit for a good ten minutes… Let's see how far we can get with this brick until then, hmm?//
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -
To be continued.
"So ask yourself now: can you forgive her
Like she asked you to?
Ask yourself: can you even deliver
What she demands of you?
Or do you want revenge?
That's childish, so childish…" -------"Can You Forgive Her" by Petshop Boys