The Raven 2

Mission

by Spencer

x x x

' I touch the fire and it freezes me. '

He spun silently through the blackness of space, his tiny shuttle slipping undetected past the forge's expansive security net.

' I look into it and its black. '

He drifted among tiny asteroids, faulty machine parts, ruined bits of shuttles and computers, dense clouds of slag, and anything else the great factory had seen fit to dump in their backyard.

' Why can't I feel? '

All these things could easily have been reused, but it was faster and cheaper to just dump them in space and let somebody else worry about the cleanup.

' My skin should crack and peel. '

Their laziness would be their undoing, as the constantly moving cloud of debris gave Quatre perfect cover, easy access to their facility completely undetected.

' I want the fire back. '

The cockpit was utterly dark, everything electrical turned off to blend in among the garbage, but the tiny crystal powered watch on his wrist still functioned, and he began to count down as another phrase echoed through his head.

' Now through the smoke she calls to me, . . . '

Why couldn't silence just be silence anymore?

' . . . to make my way across the flame, . . . '

Every time he tried to have a moment of peace his conscious or subconscious or whatever the hell it was would fill his mind with words. He couldn't sleep, or meditate, or even just space out and let his mind rest for a while. He felt edgy, fidgety, like he needed to do something important, but he had no idea what it was. He'd been like this for years now, maybe even a decade or two, but the longer it went on the more restless he became.

' . . . to save the day, . . . '

Joining the rebels had helped at first, it was nice to have a cause, even if it was not his own, and the emptiness had been filled for a time, but now that was fading again.

' . . . or maybe melt away. '

The only times he was at peace were during his missions, blindly throwing his life away again and again. He knew it was reckless, foolish, that he was putting himself and others at undue risk, but he really didn't care. That danger simply compounded the others, blocking the restless stream of words for a short while.

' I guess it's all the same. '

A very short while.

Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . He engaged the docking pads just as his pod drifted into the hull of the factory, striking with a barely audible thump and attaching solidly. Right on target. The tiny shuttle was only six feet by four, and was entirely mechanical to avoid detection of any electronics. Its sole mode of propulsion was the same as its navigation, momentum from launch. If the initial calculations were off, or an unknown force entered the scenario, there was nothing to do but wait and see where it landed, if it landed at all.

Luckily, Trowa's information had been flawless, placing Quatre exactly where he had intended. Space suit sealed, he hit the hatch release and floated to the hull. Small magnets held his hands and feet to the factory's smooth metal skin as he shuffled toward the garbage chute. He pulled himself quickly up the shaft, feeling his way in the darkness, as artificial gravity slowly began to take hold. Every air lock on a station like this was required to have an outside release catch in case of accidents. Quatre felt around until he found the catch, then pulled a small radio from his belt. He clicked it on, checked the frequency, touched it against the vibrations of his mask, and spoke quietly.

"Raven to Yuy."

Static crunched through the silence before Heero's flat response, "Yuy here."

"Is the flock in place?"

"Affirmative."

"Then begin the approach."

"Done."

As he put up his radio, a smile began to spread across Quatre's face. This was the fun part. He took firm hold of the release catch a split second before the entire factory rocked and he was thrown bodily across the chute, tearing the catch open as he went. He slammed into the wall as the factory began to shudder and fiery lights flashed from the path he'd followed. The battle had started.

Once his head stopped spinning, Quatre pulled himself into the open air lock, hit the compressor, and waited as air slowly flooded the chamber. He grinned as adrenaline began to pump through his system. This was it.

' To save the day, . . . '

Stop, stop, stop! Why couldn't he get rid of this? Every quiet moment was filled, and this moment wasn't even quiet!

' . . . or maybe melt away. '

The lock opened, revealing an empty corridor, but echoes of running feet jolted the air. Emergency lights swung brilliant arcs of red fire across the walls, beating like a rhythmic heart within the factory. Quatre drew his weapons and paced into the hall, a dark shadow moving in. A few people ran along nearby corridors, but Quatre ignored them, moving steadily toward his targets. Every so often he would stoop to drop a small black object before continuing on his way, twisting through the maze of passages with the speed of a man with a goal. He zigzagged through the compound, often going in near circles to make sure each small box was placed in exactly the right location.

Before long he'd come to the engine room and his last package. He had met with a few guards along the way, but had dealt with them as swiftly as he was silent and moved on. He felt no remorse; they would die soon anyway. Now he raised his weapon, expecting any manner of attack as he slipped through the door, but the sight that greeted him was quite welcome. Three soldiers lay dead across the floor while a fourth worked quickly at a computer terminal.

"Hey, Barton. How much longer?"

"Nearly done."

"Good." He walked to one of the bodies and gazed down on the first effects of death. A clean shot through the heart had brought this man's end, and judging from the less precise wounds on the other two, he had been the first to die. The soldier was young; though Quatre had never been good at guessing age he could at least tell that. A face little scarred by time, free of wrinkles, devoid of smiling lines, was just beginning to pale past the natural hue of those who had never walked under Earth's sun. His expression was calm, even serene, though he must have felt something at his death. Mortals always fought so hard against death, struggling with all their feeble strength against the inevitable, yet this man seemed content. He'd barely begun to taste life, yet he seemed not to mind leaving it.

' I guess it's all the same. '

Quatre looked on the boy's body as the empty place inside him gushed forth an agonized screech. That's what he wanted. More than anything else he had ever desired, he longed for that serenity, that silence, that peace . . . but it would never be his. No matter how long he lived, or how many times he tried, it would never remain within his grasp. Mortals were so fragile. They could die any one of a million ways, yet no matter how violent his end, he couldn't follow. He would never rest, never find peace, never end. He would watch everyone he knew or had ever known age and die without him, leaving him with nothing but loneliness and pain. The human heart is made for a lifetime of goodbyes, not an eternity of them. These men he fought with would soon disappear, too. He knew he should not get too close, protect himself and shield what remained of his sanity, but he had already begun to care for these men. He admired their strength, their courage, their passion, and their determination to improve life for those around them, regardless of the personal cost. They were truly remarkable men, but Quatre knew he was growing too close.

'Maybe I'll leave tomorrow, when this battle is over I'll head out on my own again. It would be safest.'

"Raven." Quatre spun and drew, leveling the muzzle of his gun between Trowa's eyes. The blonde looked haunted, and for a moment the green eyed boy thought he might get a bullet in the brain. Then blue eyes shifted, calmed and froze over like ice over a deep pool. Quatre holstered his weapon, stepping away from the soldier's body without another glance. "Are we ready?"

"Yes. Now we just have to get back to the ship and-" The sentence was cut off as a powerful explosion rocked the factory, sending a screeching shudder through the heavy metal frame.

"Damn them." Quatre's eyes widened as he realized the danger. "They've played with one of my bombs. It's a chain reaction now, the place'll be gone in under five minutes."

Trowa didn't need another warning as they set off at a dead sprint toward the nearest escape pods. Another massive explosion tossed them to the ground, but it was only a second before they were back on their feet and moving. Others had apparently realized the danger, because when they got to the airlock all but one of the tiny pods had been taken. Quatre shoved Trowa toward it and turned back to the halls when Trowa grabbed him from behind.

"Wait, I won't leave without you." Quatre shoved him off and in a millisecond the gun was poised back against his forehead.

"There's no time to argue. Get in the pod or I'll shoot you here. I've got the shuttle I came in. Get the ship far enough away to ride out the explosion then look for me afterward. Just don't," he paused, as a tiny spark of fear cracked the blue ice of his eyes. "Just don't leave me." With that he turned and ran headlong the way he had come. He trusted Trowa's good sense enough to leave him without actually seeing his escape, but there was a problem with the scenario he had told the other rebel. The first bomb to go off had been near the beginning of the chain, thus the area of the factory through which he'd entered was already in smoldering pieces, as was his shuttle.

The next explosion was much nearer, and much more powerful. Quatre was running along a high catwalk in one of the hangars, looking for a ship to get him at least as far away as possible before the final explosion hit. The blast knocked the entire factory to its side, but unfortunately wasn't enough to disable the artificial gravity. Quatre was thrown through the flimsy railing, and had the time to think, 'this is going to hurt,' before a sudden hard impact with the hangar floor.

x x x