Author's Note: This story takes place two years after Endless Waltz. I'd thought it was going to be a Lady Une story, but everyone's getting involved now. I figure, in a couple more chapters, we'll have all the pilots, and a host of supporting characters. Hope this entertains so far J
Disclaimer: Don't own GW. Don't own much. So suing me is a bad financial decision, that it is.
Chapter 3:
The village stank of charred homes, burnt flesh, and fear. Even here, where antiseptic should have ruled, Quatre smelled it. He refused to cry, not for the dead, not for the living, and certainly not for the man he considered a father, who seemed trapped between the two, mummified, medical bandages covering his entire body. An IV dripped into his left arm; a mask breathed for him.
"He refused to let this go until you came, Master Quatre." The woman, he assumed doctor by the deference shown her from the others who bustled beneath the hastily assembled medical tent, gestured towards Rashid's right hand. She was petite, hair tied back and covered by a black drape, her pants and shirt loose and sensible for the relentless desert heat. Her voice held awe and gratitude.
"Rashid?" Quatre whispered.
The man stirred. His eyelids flickered, but didn't open.
"Will he live?" Quatre looked into her eyes, afraid to open his mind for fear of what her answer would hold.
"He shouldn't have. None of us should. But medicine cannot determine all things. Master Rashid and his men saved us, my husband, my daughter, all of us. He put his mobile suit between the school and the ones who attacked our homes. We should have died, but we didn't; he should have died, but he hasn't and he won't if I can help it." She took a breath, squared her shoulders, and blinked back tears. Tears Quatre refused to shed. She said. "I'm sorry."
Quatre took her hand. "Thank you, doctor..?"
"Imani Mohammad. I wish I could give you more. They'll be airlifting us out soon. To the city. But he wanted you to have this first." She walked to the side of the bed and touched the bandage on Rashid's hand. "Master Quatre is here."
The hand opened. Rashid's breathing seemed to come easier, still shallow, but slower somehow, as though he felt less pain. She held a box out to him, a mini-flight recorder. Quatre took it, the fear which scattered his thoughts turned to focus, the focus he remembered from the war.
"Thank you." His eyes burned. "I'll find them for you. Bring them justice."
Imani placed a hand on his arm, lightly. "He hears you."
"I hope so. Whoever is responsible, they will pay."
*****
Une didn't trust him. Not that the good doctor wasn't cooperative. Doctor Andrew Keton handed over all the information he knew he had with a gratitude that was almost pathetic. His vital signs checked out; when he spoke, he showed signs of stress, but not the kind that indicated lying. His picture and prints matched the ID. Neither matched any known criminals in the Preventor database.
Still, Une didn't trust him. He had blank spots in his mind. She knew too well what those blank spots could hold.
Une stood before the window behind her desk and stared across the skyline of New Sank. Her hand raised automatically to touch the pane of glass. Once, she would have asked Treize for guidance; once, she imagined he might hear her and respond. But that was long ago. She'd started the Preventors for his memory. To feel close to him. She stayed because the work formed a necessary cornerstone to her life.
The door to her office swung open. She turned to see Heero walk to stand in front of her desk. He said, "Dr. Keton is a fraud."
Heero never minced words and he never knocked. The only former Gundam pilot who did knock was Quatre, which of course made him one of two who refused to join the Preventors after the Eve wars.
"Report." Une said.
"Dr. Keton's ID states that he's currently serving as a consultant for NewSpace LTD. His employment record at NewSpace states he graduated from L3 University in AC 195 with a doctorate in theoretical physics. The last Dr. Keton to graduate from L3 was in AC 189. He's currently working in Vienna Austria, as a Veterinarian." Heero folded his arms.
"I see." Une nodded. "And NewSpace?"
"Dirty." Heero said.
"How so?"
"Their numbers are too precise. I don't…Quatre could tell you more."
"I'm sure." Une pursed her lips.
The end of war, his on again off again relationship with Relena, both had given Heero a greater tendency to follow his instincts. Une considered it an asset. If Heero said NewSpace was dirty, NewSpace was dirty. The question was, how dirty?
They still hadn't worked out what the device Dr. Keton, or whoever he was, actually did. More disturbing though, was the data stored in the crystal he'd worn around his neck. If it held any shred of truth, she needed to call a meeting of the world council. Storm the station. Crack Dr. Keton. Do something. Yesterday.
Because if the data-crystal held a shred of truth, then somewhere in the NewSpace LTD Station 8734029 sat a weapon that could shrug off Gundanium. A weapon that would change the world.
****
It took ten minutes for Desperiox to assemble his team, nine hours to reach Earth's orbit, and another twenty minutes to get routine clearance to land in New Sank. His orders were simple. Their benefactors had a person in place on the surface. They were to rendezvous with the woman, Taneisha, share information, then find and retrieve the doctor.
Desperiox's team currently consisted of eleven people. Most, like him, were former alliance soldiers, some ex-Barton, all with reasons to hate the new regime. Desperiox wondered that nobody spotted them, old soldiers moving like soldiers under orders, in small groups through the Sank spaceport.
Then again, the spaceport was crowded today. Children screamed for their parents; lovers reunited; lovers parted, the old, young, and most in between, all caught in their own private conflicts and victories. Desperiox saw them as sheep. Those who would sacrifice truth for the veneer of peace. At least, Treize, the bastard, had possessed the courage to die for his ideals.
But what did that say of Desperiox?
The flight had given him too much time to think.
"Stay with the bags. I'll get the car." Yolande Timmons, short, lithe, and expert sniper, said with a smile. Her blond hair was pulled back in a rough ponytail; her clothing sweats and running shoes.
Desperoix nodded. Two duffels and a suitcase lay at his feet. He leaned back against a post that read 'Gate A10', folded his arms across his chest and pretended to stare blankly into the crowd.
He was supposed to meet his contact here, at 14:00 hours. Now. He didn't like it. Only through chance had he caught the intercolony news report that showed the pieces of his missing docking bay scattered around the suburbs of New Sank. But somehow his contact – one name, Taniesha – had been in place for over twelve hours. She made the twelfth member of their team. The only member of his team Desperiox hadn't worked with, had never met, and didn't trust.
Still, he was willing to deal with his feelings of uncertainty if this Taniesha gave them the key to retrieve Dr. Keton and his data without loss of life.
The dull roar of a launching shuttle vibrated through the floor. It was all so civilized. Shuttles landed and took off. Still safer than driving. Even so, accidents happened. But for every pilot that died – however rare it was in these days of peace – ten waited to take his place.
It was no different in the wars. Shaniel Yamato. She had volunteered. An easy mission. Take a group of diplomats to the site of a peace conference. She had volunteered, and died for her folly. Desperiox closed his eyes, a blink that lasted five seconds too long.
He'd wondered then, how he could live without her. Now, three years after AC 195, he knew. Desperiox opened his eyes, opened his hands which had closed to tight fists.
The damn shuttle ride had left him too much time to think.
"Is this the gate for the L3 shuttle?" The voice was female, but her tone so flat, even if she hadn't stated the first sentence of the code, he would have doubted she asked a question.
"Only one shuttle to L3. Just left. You'd best be seeing to a hotel room." He lied. Shuttles left for L3 every three hours, give or take.
"I see." She nodded. Her hair was short, almost buzzed against her head and bright red. Her skin was pale, her eyes blue. Not beautiful, not even striking, another face in a crowd of faces. She said. "I am Taniesha."
"Desperoix."
Her gaze flicked past his eyes, across his face, down to his toes and back up. "I know." It would have been sexual, but nothing about her spoke of sex. She reached down, grabbed the suitcase, and said. "Time is short."
Desperiox raised an eyebrow, then took the two duffels and started towards the rental agency. The suitcase weighed at least 65 kilos, maybe more. Taniesha didn't look that strong, then again, her clothes were loose, baggy pants and a flowing, crème blouse. She moved like a martial artist, but with no art. She didn't talk, didn't fidget, didn't sweat, did none of the things that would have identified her as human. Each step she took seemed calculated. Desperiox should have admired it. Would have admired it. But he didn't.
The last person he'd seen who moved so well was the EarthSphere 'hero' of the Eve Wars, Heero Yuy.
There were some things he couldn't forgive. Wouldn't forgive. And didn't. But he didn't have to like her to work with her.
End Chapter 3
Hope this is beginning to come together for everyone. If not, keep reading. More it come J