Demi 2: Samui Yoru Dakara (part 3)
"More coffee, Duo?" said Quatre.
"Thanks." Duo smiled wearily and extended his porcelain thimble of a cup for the proffered refill. It was a minor peculiarity of Quatre's that - although he took tea and scones in a manner that would not have been frowned upon by a Victorian matron - in matters of coffee he reverted to the Maganac's black sludge cut with sugar syrup. Duo considered the stuff barbaric, in the same way as a brickbat to the back of the head was barbaric, but it was just as effective. Right now he wished the cups were bigger.
When the ex-pilot of Gundam Sandrock had appeared five hours ago in the control room (followed shortly by Trowa, a small contigent of Maganac and a man in a starched collar wheeling coffee so strong it had transcended liquidity two distillations ago and wouldn't have fallen out if you'd turned the pot upside down), Duo had asked in astonishment, "What the hell are you doing here?"
To which Quatre had responded imperturbably, "I live here. I own this house."
And Duo, finding no quibble with that statement, had drunk the coffee - several cups of it - as they'd gone through the sorry business of briefing Wufei about Demi's existence. It had served to defer the debt of jet lag worsened by lack of sleep, but Duo sensed interest compounding. Heero didn't even look tired. But since when did Heero ever look tired?
There was a quibble, of course. The house was no house. Duo hadn't gotten a good look at it from the outside, what with night and helipads and all, but he thought "palazzo" was more descriptive. He'd left Demi floating in a four-poster that was a veritable sea of duvet, and only Liesl Schopenhauer hovering by the door had prevented him from kicking off his shoes and joining the kid. He was still looking forward to it.
But at this rate-
"Listen," he said, taking a sip. "Scout's honor that's all we know. You wanna get in touch with ol' Jekyll and Frankenstein, you're real welcome to it. I mean, I called G myself before we hopped your chopper, but when it comes to changing his cel number the dude thinks the war's still on. I wouldn't mind some answers myself."
"Maybe it's to be expected of Demi," Quatre pointed out. "Considering your and Heero's talents. There are musical prodigies."
"Musical prodigies don't disable government servers," Wufei said flatly.
"Shit, Wu-man-"
"He's not being accusing," Zechs said, giving Wufei a look. "Maxwell. Heero I'm going to ask you to remain with the team for a couple of days, at least until we take appropriate measures to obtain more complete information and make an assessment. If you wish, I'll have your amenities sent for."
Duo stared at him, then sighed. "Appropriate measures, huh?"
Zechs nodded. "Here until the day after tomorrow, and then Shanghai."
"Shanghai? What the hell are you people gonna do in Shanghai?"
"The United Veterans' Conference," Heero said. "The next most likely target. We can take care of ourselves, Zechs."
"I don't doubt it. But I need to know if this should be considered an isolated incident." Duo spluttered.
"Dude, it won't happen again! We're gonna monitor his online activity, okay? What do you want me to say, that we'll keep our son away from computers for the remainder of his minority?"
"If it were only your son," Wufei muttered.
"What?"
"Maybe they're in Rio," Trowa said from Quatre's other side. Duo gaped at him: he hadn't spoken in three hours.
"Rio," Quatre echoed in a tone of dawning realization. "They might be, Trowa. I didn't think of it."
"I'll get a line in," Trowa said, and the 3D display unfolded over the table at his touch on the sensorpad. Duo took a measured gulp of coffee and spoke evenly.
"Who might be in Rio?"
"Dr. J and Professor G," Quatre elucidated. "I lent S my house there a couple of months back, for a conference on computational biometrics. It's supposed to be held this week."
"Oh." Duo considered. "Well, that could be why he had his voice mail playing 'Girl From Ipanema.' How many houses do you own again, Quatre?"
Quatre smiled serenely and refilled their cups.
A few seconds later
"Whozzat boy? Jay, ye wants, is it? Jay?"
"Yes, sir, Dr. J." Quatre reiterated, raising his voice for the benefit of the handlebar-mustached (and apparently hard-of-hearing) conference attendee whose hologrammed bust was presently floating above the table, caught in flickering display lasers. Also to drown out the hollow din echoing from the other end of the line. "I'd like to speak to him, it's a matter of national security. Or perhaps if S is there, I could ask him if he's atten-"
"Hold on, boy, hold on. Give me a second here." The presumed scientist put a hand over the mike and turned to yell into the dimly-represented space behind him. "Jay! Jay there? It's one o' ye boys on the line! Says it's a security issue!" There was a spate of loud, cackling laughter, and some hooting. Glass clinked.
"Se-cur'ty? Tell'em to shove it! I got the joint set up better n' new, they won't even be able to FIND the hidden cameras!"
"Yeah, like in Penelope Albinotti's water closet, ya old letch!"
"Are you blaming me for her setting up her hydropones in her shower? Lemme get a piece o' that formula, and-"
"No, doc, no! Na-tional security! Did ye build a Gundam or didn't ye? Excuse me a moment, me boy." The mustache disappeared off the edge of display range. There was more raucous laughter in the background, and someone put on a scratchy version of "Chattanooga Choo-Choo." Zechs winced visibly; Wufei scowled.
"I thought you said scientific conference."
Quatre shrugged and forbore from answering.
"Well, now, well. Whazzis?" The familiar claw skittered its way into the picture, fiddling with unseen buttons on the console. The background noise died down, replaced by static fuzz and the sudden, amplified echo of J's rasp. "If it isn't the Meteor Boys. What truck have you with these ol'bones?"
Heero stood, stepping to Quatre's side. "Dr. J," he said quietly.
"The same." J pushed at the shades over his eyes with one stainless-alloy spoke, and his smile showed teeth. "How's the child, Heero? Haven't misplaced him, have you?"
"He's safe," said Heero. "We'll like to keep it that way. It would be easier, however, if we knew what to expect."
"What to expect? You expect a small boy, Genetic-Provenance. They sleep a lot and feed easy, and you keep them from playing in the street. There's not much to it, cast your mind back. Or?" J waggled his head from side to side. "Ara, such a serious meeting. Preventers and the whole nine yards. What's wrong, he hacked your firewall and made you botch a mission?" His cackle filled the conference room.
"He's System Second Level," Heero said. "The old System. I want to know what you did to him. What you tampered with." Duo, more attentive than he himself realized, saw that Heero's hands were clenched on the edge of the table, the knuckles white. But J only snorted.
"What I tampered with? Try 'everything', bo-yu. I'll like to see you and that Braided Wonder of yours come up with him through Lamaze." Zechs gave a sudden, convulsive cough, but J didn't falter. "Developmental neurology, Heero. Infancy and early childhood. Don't think I run a daycare; I take my test subjects as I find them. Who are you to complain? Your contribution to the scientific process limited itself-"
"If you put him through that" Heero took a deep breath. "That thing no child should have to-" J waved his claw impatiently.
"Think, bo-yu, think. Think! You can't even strap anything under the age of four into the System. I designed it for you, you know. Do you realize how long I'd have to hear from that senile prattler G if I'd broken anything? Not to say the basics aren't much like the programs you're familiar with, but I modified them. Much less rigorous. The child didn't even perceive it as training. Quite fascinating, actually. The neural-synaptic building process at that age" J shook his head, clucking.
"Did you try it on any other children?" Heero asked evenly. Duo's eyes widened.
Other children?
J regarded him, and grinned. Not a nice grin; it produced silence around the conference table. In the background the stereo warbled, "When the moon hits yer eyes like a big pizza pie"
"Now we're touching on trade secrets," J said finally. The grin hadn't left his face. "I wouldn't worry on't too much, Heero. I never pushed his limits, and he's too old for it now. He'll never be able to do anything you can't. Nor could any other child through the new method."
Wufei said something in Chinese that sounded like a soft snarl.
After Trowa closed the connection, they sat for a while in silence. Wufei had broken into the conversation then, demanding details - but he'd only been angry in the impossibly polite manner Duo knew he tended to reserve for the scientists, and so had gotten nowhere. The Gundam Group had refused to make their files available under far greater duress, and Duo wasn't sure that they didn't keep half of it in their heads anyway.
"Hell," he said finally, rubbing at his temple. He looked up at the Preventers. "Don't tell me. Not your best-case scenario?"
"It's a time bomb," Wufei gritted. "There's potentially any number of these children out there."
"We don't really know that," Quatre said. "I'm sure Dr. J took care to have proper controls in place."
"Are you going to leave it up to them?"
Quatre smiled faintly. "I thought we did that for years during the war, actually. I don't know about you, but I didn't understand every detail of how Sandrock ran."
Zechs sighed. "Nevertheless Heero, Maxwell, this has become a security issue for both you and the Preventers. Perhaps more so for you, in fact. If intelligence of such technology leaks out to the breakaway groups we're dealing with, they'll think nothing of trying to co-opt it."
"What? By stealing Madhouse J's proprietary Hooked On Hacking method?"
"Yes. If their timetable presses, by going after Demi. Children of that age are malleable to any given goal."
"They won't get far."
Heero's tone was as definitive as any nimu ryoukai. Zechs gave him a careful look, and Duo was sinkingly certain he knew what the blond commander was trying to gauge. "The best time to quell disharmony is before it appears-"
Duo groaned. "Oh, no. No, no, no. No Art of War before breakfast, Marquise, I can't deal with it."
"Maxwell-"
"Marquise. Amigo. Listen. By tomorrow morning we are going to be gone. You know where to direct your inquiries; we're taking our kid home. I have a lease and standing arrangement to get my groceries delivered. I mean, I'm sorry for the crap that happened and I apologize, but just because J pulled this hat trick instead of O or somebody doesn't mean Heero or I have to help you clean up after him." Duo shook his head. "Shit, dude, look at your set-up. Do you even need our help?"
"What if we do?" Zechs folded his hands on the table. "What if I told you that we need all the help that we can get."
Heero shifted. "What?"
"We've been having the media play it down," Wufei said. "Down, Yuy - so if you read the coverage you can multiply it in your head. Barton and Winner aren't here just because we're borrowing real estate."
"The Aeonists have backing, we're sure of it. Their team is too well-prepared." Zechs glanced at Duo, and back at Heero. "This room contains - what? - two individuals with the second-highest electronic B&E proficiency in the solar system. Counting Demi, three. Three more at the third-highest level. The projections that came in tonight indicate that the Aeonists have either five fourth-levels or two third-levels." Duo raised his eyebrows.
"Who's first?"
Wufei jerked a thumb at Heero. "We modeled his reaction time after the war and used it as absolute zero."
"Oh."
"Unfortunately, Wufei and I have to coordinate, which means we don't work frontline," Zechs said. "And pulling in Noin and Sally constitutes its own danger when we can't predict the opponent's strikes. We still have the advantage of manpower, but not communications - and they know far more about us than we do about them. All we have at this point are educated guesses."
"Fourth-level training means at least Colony Resistance," Trowa added in his soft, precise voice. "Third-level means ranking former OZ, White Fang, or possible breakaways from Mariemaia."
"Cue political sensitivity," Wufei said sourly. Duo cursed under his breath.
"Listen, guys, will you get this through your head? This isn't my job or Heero's anymore. It's your job. Our job, part of it, is to raise Demi to be an upstanding peacetime citizen, and chasing after terrorists is not going to achieve that. In fact-" Duo felt stirrings of the obscure anger that had threatened him the night before, and put a name to it- "it's going to hinder it. After what all of us have been through, you want me to bring my son into proximity with this kind of work? Would you if you were in my shoes?"
There was a long pause. Then Zechs said quietly, "my sister is one of the organizers of the conference."
For a fleeting moment Duo thought Zechs was merely admitting that he had a personal basis for his worry - then he glanced at Heero and realized that he was wrong.
Zechs was hauling out the big guns.
Silence descended again. Duo wanted to yell in frustration - what happened to honor in battle, Marquise!
but he couldn't.
Because he knew, looking into Heero's eyes, that he'd been defeated decisively at the first pass.
Heero stared at the tabletop. Finally he said, "In essence, you want someone second-level or higher on communications. To break their cell."
"Neither more or less, yes."
"You're not using Demi," Duo stated flatly.
"No." That response was at least immediate. "The question is ethical: the child's a child. To have your expertise on hand would be a great help, of course."
Heero was quiet. Then, "Did you inform Relena?"
"She refused to reschedule."
Heero nodded as if he'd expected such an answer. "All right," he said. "Shanghai. I'm going to go check on Demi."
Duo stared after his back as he left the room.
--Montreal, November 2000
