Chapter Six
1/
"You're going to be put on trial if you confess. You'll be left here until you rot if you don't confess. What will it be?"
Trowa stared at the man standing at the now securely closed entrance to his cell. The man was business-like in his three-piece suit, a self-confident smirk plastered on his round face. He claimed to be a lawyer--had even given Trowa his business card--and he said he could help Trowa get out of this place if he would only cooperate.
Trowa sat in stony silence. He didn't believe this man was here to help him. Probably employed by whoever his captors were--he assumed they worked for the government of whatever colony he was on. Or maybe they were private investigators. He couldn't be sure, and he never really saw them except for when someone of low-rank brought in his modest meals.
His existence was one long day now, unmarked by the passage of moon or sun. Mostly he thought of freedom, and of what he would do with it when he finally got out of here. Usually this included taking a bath (as he hadn't had one in quite a while) and getting a cheeseburger (the food they gave him here wasn't fit for a hamster).
Always he thought of Cathrine, and how much he regretted taking that damned job in the first place. Everyday the questions bombarded him: who were you working for, what was the purpose of the blue prints, how does the laptop work, give us answers we'll give you mercy.
But Trowa had only ever surrendered to two people (Quatre on the battlefield and Cathrine in nearly everything else), and they were exceptions to the rule.
Eventually the lawyer left, having accomplished nothing.
2/
On the day he was to be taken in for more questioning, Trowa strangled a young dreamy-eyed guard who hadn't been paying attention and managed to unlock the cuffs that bound him and to escape his prison before anyone was really aware that anything was the matter. He sincerely hoped that he hadn't outright killed the guard--unconsciousness had been his goal--but didn't stop to mull over the implications.
3/
Days later, Trowa kindly offered an elderly man a glass of water, and asked him to fasten his safety belt because the shuttle would be taking off soon. When the man complied, Trowa absent-mindedly adjusted his steward's uniform and disappeared into the hustle of passengers preparing to set off for L3.
4/
He found out he had been on a small L4 colony, and it only took a few hours for the shuttle to arrive at its destination, in L3. Trowa quickly ducked into a restroom at the terminal and shed his uniform--he'd acquired it from a steward at the L4 air base who hadn't been in need of it once Trowa's fist had slammed into his gut.
Beneath the uniform he was wearing a civilian t-shirt (stolen from an outdoor clothes rack near the L4 air base) and the same jeans he'd been wearing for weeks. They reeked of sweat, but he hadn't had time to hunt for a fresh pair of pants.
As he balled up the uniform and buried it deep within the contents of a garbage can, an overwhelming sense of relief welled up within him, and he had the urge to laugh or cry or simply run out into the open air and bask in his own freedom. It had been many years it seemed since he had been in complete control of where he was going and what he was doing--even space had not been as hellish as his time with first his employers and then his captors.
Gradually his mind cleared, and he began to formulate a plan, even as he feigned washing his hands when a group of men entered the restroom, talking among themselves excitedly.
The air of the terminal was rancid with gas and human sweat, but it was like a breath of heaven to Trowa, who was so accustomed to confinement that even the cramped lobby seemed spacious and bright. He discovered from an overheard conversation that this colony was only used as an air base--it had no inhabitants and only functioned as a switching point, from shuttle to shuttle. The military apparently had its own base on the other side of the colony, but no civilians ever went there.
Trowa thought he knew vaguely how far he was from his colony (as he had come to think of it) and he wandered through the growing crowd, clever hands darting in and out of back pockets and unattended pocket books. When he felt like he had enough cash, he purchased a ticket for the next shuttle out, and was gone before anyone realized they were missing anything.
1/
"You're going to be put on trial if you confess. You'll be left here until you rot if you don't confess. What will it be?"
Trowa stared at the man standing at the now securely closed entrance to his cell. The man was business-like in his three-piece suit, a self-confident smirk plastered on his round face. He claimed to be a lawyer--had even given Trowa his business card--and he said he could help Trowa get out of this place if he would only cooperate.
Trowa sat in stony silence. He didn't believe this man was here to help him. Probably employed by whoever his captors were--he assumed they worked for the government of whatever colony he was on. Or maybe they were private investigators. He couldn't be sure, and he never really saw them except for when someone of low-rank brought in his modest meals.
His existence was one long day now, unmarked by the passage of moon or sun. Mostly he thought of freedom, and of what he would do with it when he finally got out of here. Usually this included taking a bath (as he hadn't had one in quite a while) and getting a cheeseburger (the food they gave him here wasn't fit for a hamster).
Always he thought of Cathrine, and how much he regretted taking that damned job in the first place. Everyday the questions bombarded him: who were you working for, what was the purpose of the blue prints, how does the laptop work, give us answers we'll give you mercy.
But Trowa had only ever surrendered to two people (Quatre on the battlefield and Cathrine in nearly everything else), and they were exceptions to the rule.
Eventually the lawyer left, having accomplished nothing.
2/
On the day he was to be taken in for more questioning, Trowa strangled a young dreamy-eyed guard who hadn't been paying attention and managed to unlock the cuffs that bound him and to escape his prison before anyone was really aware that anything was the matter. He sincerely hoped that he hadn't outright killed the guard--unconsciousness had been his goal--but didn't stop to mull over the implications.
3/
Days later, Trowa kindly offered an elderly man a glass of water, and asked him to fasten his safety belt because the shuttle would be taking off soon. When the man complied, Trowa absent-mindedly adjusted his steward's uniform and disappeared into the hustle of passengers preparing to set off for L3.
4/
He found out he had been on a small L4 colony, and it only took a few hours for the shuttle to arrive at its destination, in L3. Trowa quickly ducked into a restroom at the terminal and shed his uniform--he'd acquired it from a steward at the L4 air base who hadn't been in need of it once Trowa's fist had slammed into his gut.
Beneath the uniform he was wearing a civilian t-shirt (stolen from an outdoor clothes rack near the L4 air base) and the same jeans he'd been wearing for weeks. They reeked of sweat, but he hadn't had time to hunt for a fresh pair of pants.
As he balled up the uniform and buried it deep within the contents of a garbage can, an overwhelming sense of relief welled up within him, and he had the urge to laugh or cry or simply run out into the open air and bask in his own freedom. It had been many years it seemed since he had been in complete control of where he was going and what he was doing--even space had not been as hellish as his time with first his employers and then his captors.
Gradually his mind cleared, and he began to formulate a plan, even as he feigned washing his hands when a group of men entered the restroom, talking among themselves excitedly.
The air of the terminal was rancid with gas and human sweat, but it was like a breath of heaven to Trowa, who was so accustomed to confinement that even the cramped lobby seemed spacious and bright. He discovered from an overheard conversation that this colony was only used as an air base--it had no inhabitants and only functioned as a switching point, from shuttle to shuttle. The military apparently had its own base on the other side of the colony, but no civilians ever went there.
Trowa thought he knew vaguely how far he was from his colony (as he had come to think of it) and he wandered through the growing crowd, clever hands darting in and out of back pockets and unattended pocket books. When he felt like he had enough cash, he purchased a ticket for the next shuttle out, and was gone before anyone realized they were missing anything.