Prelude of Sandrock by Michaela Wills

The pilot released his breath, taking a moment to calm himself, despite his shaking. His hand unconsciously loosened and clasped the throttle alternately. Eyes once again scanned the radar. He was safe.

For now.

Opening up one private line of communication, Quatre waited for the incoming message from Professor H. There would undoubtedly be one. And depending on the state of his family, there could very well be one from his father too. Nothing happened, and he redirected his attention to all the gauges and radar before him. Getting to Earth was not the kind of thing that Quatre trusted the autopilot to manage.

The speakers began to crackle. "Q. R. Winner, come in, Q. R. Winner. This is Instructor H." Deft fingers flipped the intercom switch, a red light blinking and static coming through.

"Hello Instructor! How's the colony? Did anyone notice my launch?" Quatre asked, first cheerily, then with concern. Anything could be happening. His father could be disowning him that very minute, yelling for lawyers to be brought in immediately. He could be planning to throw out Instructor H, or sending a squad of fighters to find the shuttle and bring it back.

"No, Quatre. Everything here is in order. Not a soul noticed your departure. I'm making arrangements to contact the Maganuac Corps. and pinpoint coordinates so you can meet them upon arrival. You do want to meet them upon arrival, correct?" Professor H intoned quietly.

Quatre smiled. "Yes I do. It would be great if you can locate them, please try." The professor made a noise equivalent to an affirmative. The blonde allowed his eyes to scan the metal in front of him, looking for anything out of place in the data he was receiving. No, everything was as it should be. "Instructor?" His voice came through timidly, even to his own ears.

"Yes, Quatre?"

"Did they find it yet? Do they know?"

The professor paused a moment, inadvertently letting Quatre's worries settle. His fingers hovered over the standard communication lines he had chose not to open before. "No. I've heard nothing. I believe they don't know yet." Quatre let loose a sigh. The note hadn't said much, but it would be enough to throw the Winner family into chaos for quite a while. There would be hell to pay when he next met with his father, there always was.

Am I doing the right thing? Is my fighting for my beliefs enough? Can I really make a difference and protect them from the pain?

The sounds of the shuttle drifted away.

A small boy, no older than five, pattered back and forth before the pair of white-wash doors. His bare feet sunk into the dark maroon carpeting, the edges of his navy trousers brushing the floor. A small cry of pain was heard from inside the room. The blond head whirled to face the door, body transfixed for the longest of seconds. He darted to the crease between the doors, aquamarine eyes peering inside.

The bedroom was large and spacious, a standard bedroom of the Winner home. The darker hues of the bed sheets and curtains contrasted the pale honey woodwork well and gave the room a warm aura. Quatre's eyes searched the room's occupants carefully. His father and two of his oldest sisters stood over the bed where Lorene sat, head propped up by large pillows, eyes sunk with fatigue. The doctor was standing up as he murmured something to the others. Quatre strained to hear, but the words escaped him. The doctor bowed slightly before taking his hat and walking towards the doors.

His aqua eyes widened as he scrambled away from the opening, hiding behind the open doors while the doctor turned the other way and left with preamble. The small blond head peaked from the doorframe, watching the retreat. Mouth drawn tightly, the serious little face turned back to the bedroom. Lorene was coughing.

Quatre flew inside and to the bed without hesitation. "Are you all right, Lorene?" Large blue-green eyes implored her from under sandy bangs. A soft smile escaped the ailing teen.

"I'll be fine, Catty, I promise. I'm just a little under the weather right now." Hazel-brown eyes gazed down on him lovingly, patting his soft head with the term of endearment. Quatre's mouth remained a rigid, worried mar to his face.

"Can I help? It hurts here, right?" The small boy asked, running a graceful finger along the front of his neck and to his chest. One of the older sisters started in surprise and the other narrowed her eyes. Lorene opened her mouth to answer, but was not fast enough to keep their father from raising his voice.

"Yes, Quatre. Her throat ails her. Now go and play, Boy. There is nothing you can do to help, but let her be." Quatre meekly nodded his head and walked slowly out of the room, blond head bowed.

Quatre felt the parch of the throat grow stronger as he walked down the hallway. He took the steps to the lower floor one at a time: one foot down, bring the other to meet it. One foot down, bring the other to meet it. A hand grasped the banister tightly and the other hung loosely. Stopping on the landing, Quatre swallowed, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Scampering down the rest of the stairs, Quatre headed for the kitchen.

The pale colors of the kitchen made the large room even larger, sunlight streaming in from the windows. Quatre stroked the calico cat sitting in patch of sun before dragging a stool across the room. Clambering on the beige counter, the small boy opened the cabinets and removed a glass pitcher and cup one at a time, setting each on the counter. The blond then carefully transferred the two items to the floor before pushing the stool to the sink.

His small pink tongue escaped his lips as Quatre leaned over the sink, fingers pushing at the faucet in vain. Pulling his stomach onto the counter, the boy managed to force the tap up and get a stream of water flowing. Added effort rewarded him with the tap turned all the way to 'cold' side. Quatre stood there for just a moment: small, but elegant fingers lingering under the thread of water. Darting away quickly, Quatre grasped the pitcher once more and held it two-handed under the spray of water, filling it about halfway.

Sitting on the stool, Quatre carefully poured a small amount of water into the glass and sipped a bit. The cool water washed down his throat, but the parched, heated feeling remained untouched. His mouth set in a determined line as Quatre stood on the stool once more, tipping the rest of the water in the glass down the sink. He balanced the cup over the narrow rim of the pitcher and picked it up with both hands again.

With unflappable determination, Quatre journeyed up the stairs once more, taking his time with each and every step. It seemed an eternity later that he turned the last corner to Lorene's room. His eyes were fixed between the glass pitcher in his grasp and the floor, every bit as cautious as before. His eyes caught the change in the color of the floor, from carpet to honey hardwood, and he lifted his eyes to Lorene's bed.

"QUATRE!" The hash cry assaulted his ears, starling the blond, his aqua eyes growing wide with a form of fright. His entire body jilted at the sound, loosening his grasp on the pitcher. It crashed into the floor, shattering with a resounding clatter. Droplets of water sprayed Quatre, creating midnight spots of color on navy pants. The glass didn't touch him, his small feet drew back of their own accord to avoid them.

"Weren't you told not to be here!" The voice continued. Quatre's eyes were unfocused, the voice came through harsh, without gender, without any care. "You need to learn to do as you're told, Quatre! Now get!" A firm hand turned his shoulders and shoved him out of the room. He bit on the inside of his lower lip. He'd just wanted to help.

The blond head shook harshly to end his thoughts. Quatre emitted a slight sound of discomfort at the memory, at all the memories. All the pain he had felt before he knew how to control it. And even the intense feelings that overwhelmed him despite his careful work; his family had never understood. They simply didn't know what it was like. They never tried to understand and never could.

The small boy sat on the dark colored wood of the chair quietly. He was seated before a large desk that he leaned over ever so slightly, aquamarine eyes intently fixed on the work sitting in front of him. His small fingers moved slowly over the feathers, carefully so not the jar the fragile bones inside. Breaking off the end of the bandage tape, Quatre rubbed the sticky end on the wooden post set against the bird's wing. His eyes filtered from the immobile, but inquisitive bird to the open book next to him, studying the page carefully before moving again.

The door to his room blasted open with a loud crack.

Quatre's fingers froze over the robin, held stiff and rigid in a cup shape around the small creature. His wide eyes turned to the door, waiting for the inevitable. His father stood stolidly in the doorway, gazing down on his blond son with a critical eye. An eye that fell on the robin nestled beneath Quatre's hands.

"Quatre! What are you doing?" the elder Winner exclaimed, marching over to the desk and extracting the bird from his son's hold. "You cannot take care of an injured animal! You're too young, Quatre! You could hurt the bird worse; you have no idea what you're doing! You shouldn't mess around with things you're not capable of, Quatre. Haven't I told you this before?" His father ranted, calling in a servant to take the small bird away between breaths.

Each word stung harshly, no matter they had all been said before. The tiny pain within him blossomed into a dull ache with each uttered phrase. All Quatre could do was hang his little blond head meekly and murmur.
"Yes, Father. I'll do as you say." All the while the green-blue eye hiding their tears and anger behind sand colored hair. His lips concealing his tongue held tight between his teeth for fear of what else he might say.

"Good. Now see that you don't disobey me again Quatre. There are just some things that a boy of your age should not be involved with. You need to listen when I tell you that can't do such things." The elder strode out of the room, shutting the door securely behind him. All Quatre could do was stare at the smiling, happy directions in the book open before him. His small hands gripped the desk tightly in frustration. His voice reached the air, a tight, struggling whisper.

"You don't understand, Father. I have to. I need to. I can't take the feelings, and they're always there. I have to help, for me and for them. I can't help it! Why can't you understand? Don't you feel it too? How can you be so heartless, Father? When you feel pain, how can you let others alone like that? I don't understand you and you don't understand me."

Quatre's eyes glanced over the music staff again, the fingers of his left hand moving slowly on the strings, his right holding the bow limply at his side. He repeated the bars a few times with only his left hand and finally raised his right to join it. Both hands flickered over the wood and strings, drawing magic out of the violin slowly. The sound played over Quatre's ears, soothing them. Words melting away, eroding to the hums and echoes of his soul played out in melody. The world released its hold. Only Quatre, the violin and the music remained.

In the middle of the phrase, a feeling crawled over Quatre's senses, invading his sublime world. His hand tightened over the strings in response to the urge. He was extracted from the music forcefully. Slowly, Quatre was compelled to let his eyes to scan the garden where he'd set up his stand to practice. It was such a nice day that one could not help but feel joy of the sunshine, no matter if it was generated or not. He could hear chipper birds and the ventilation systems were turned down for the day, making a sunny, summery atmosphere. There was no one around, but the lurking feeling of discomfort settled over Quatre anyway. Something, somewhere was certainly out of place. The emotions swarming within were unmistakable.

"I may not be able to understand it or control it," the blond spoke softly aloud, "But I do know what that feeling is." Aqua eyes filled with concern and confusion, curiosity about to take over. The harsh memory of his father's voice pounded through his head. It had happened so many times. Shaking his head to clear it, the seven-year-old tried to return to the music, to that world of comfort and ease.

He began from the same spot, his fingers moving over the violin with care. The same notes and phrases, perfectly executed. The tempo unchanged. It all should have been the same, but the nagging of his heart refused to allow him refuge in the soul of the music. He couldn't return to that place.

The sandy-haired child took a few calming breaths, taking in the tranquillity of the summery afternoon once more. Relaxing his body, Quatre tried again to lose himself into this passion. And once again, failed. Frustrated, Quatre threw the bow to the ground, watching the wood snap in half on impact with the ground. He pursed his lips in a tight line, setting the violin in the lined case, shutting it with a determined snap. He didn't bother to pick up the bow, but snagged his music and stand on his way out of the garden. He tucked the stand under his small arm, shuffling the sheets of music one handed against his chest, his other fist clutching the handle of his case tightly.

"I need to know what's happening." He muttered quietly.

Following his senses, Quatre ended up outside of a large conference room. Leaning against the door, the boy tried to make sense of the sounds coming from within. He could pick out his father's voice easily, rising in volume slowly to ring above the rest. Quatre's emotions swarmed in response, becoming more and more turbulent.

The door flew open and Quatre stumbled back as his father marched out of the conference room, his sister Raisa flew outside a moment later. Quatre blinked at the sight before him. His father was . . . frustrated . . . with his associates? Raisa hovered near the Winner head, the soft tones of Raisa's soprano reaching Quatre's ears. Something was certainly, terribly wrong. Anger and frustration rang in Quatre's senses, an irking black mark that taunted him. Stepping forward a little, Quatre raised his voice.

"Father? Are you okay? Is something wrong?" The older pair turned to the small boy. The genuine, inquisitive eyes searching them.

"Go play, Quatre." His father sighed, "It doesn't concern you. Nothing is wrong. Go play." Quatre's eyes turned worried, settling on Raisa, almost hoping beyond hope that she'd disagree with their father. The twenty-two-year-old shook her head and shooed him away with a small hand motion.

The small blond just stood there. Watching the pair walk away, trying to ignore the nagging senses within him.

"Thanks for bringing me with you, Lorene. I really wanted to come into town today." Quatre chirped, swinging their clasped hands with childish abandon. Lorene smiled down on the younger Winner, grateful for the sweet moments like these with her brother.

"Well, Quatre, I'm glad you wanted to come. I was afraid you were getting too old to be seen in town with your sister." She grinned teasingly, despite the truth of the comment, mussing the blond tresses playfully. Quatre squeaked, letting go of her hand to self-consciously pat his hair back in place.

"Well," Quatre began, "I was afraid that you wouldn't want me along so you could spend time with that guy who came by last week." He smiled blissfully, only a hint of teasing in his voice, "What was his name? Oh, Namir I think." Quatre tilted his head, sending a knowing look towards his sister. Lorene blushed furiously.
"It's okay, Lorene. I know you like him. He was nice and felt all right, so it's okay that he likes you too." Quatre continued, grasping the teen's hand and heading towards the open market. Lorene looked over her brother with astonishment.

"Felt all right, Quatre? What do you mean by that?" His brunette sister asked, an inquisitive, unsure look in her eyes. The blond turned his head to her with a smile.

"You know, the feeling you just get about other people. Like how they are on the inside, if they're good or if they're not sincere. I just sense he's okay, plus I think he really likes you." Quatre explained, "Oh! Can we go in here, Lorene, please! I wanted to get some new music! Please!" The boy's train of thought was totally obliterated at the sight of the music store. He tugged on Lorene's jacket lightly, as if to pull her into the store. Lorene nodded, seeming a little distracted by the maturity her nine-year-old brother had exhibited.

The inside of the store was fairly cool and Quatre quickly disappeared into the section with sheet music, riffling through the Chopin and Mozart with a practiced eye. His hazel-eyed companion watched the small boy shuffle through the selections. He finally pulled a Bruch Violin Concerto and hummed a few bars. Smiling, he tucked the selection under his arm and dove back into the folds of paper. The blue-eyed boy emerged ten minutes later with the Bruch's Concerto, a Bach Sonata and a full orchestra piece by John Williams. Lorene had done a little searching of her own and came up with a techno music disc to purchase as well.

They paid for the supplies and once again entered the warm sunshine of the early afternoon. Quatre's smile encased not only his face, but every fiber of his body. "I picked out the John Williams piece because it looked really interesting. There's so much in it! I'll probably transfer a few parts to violin, but I was thinking about trying the trumpet part as is. It'll be fun, even if I have limited experience on trumpet. The whole thing together must be really marvelous to hear!" He prattled, Lorene looking down on him with a small laugh and a smile of her own.

"I can't wait to hear you play it. But right now, we need to go to the shoe store. I want to get some sandals, okay?"

"Sure! Can I help you pick out a pair?"

"Of course!"

"IIIEeee!" The pair snapped their heads around to a storefront on the other side of the street. A woman stood, fighting off a lithe young man. The man was struggling to grab hold of her bag as the woman backed up to the glass window of the bakery. She swung at him violently, but it did nothing to deter him. The man had caught the strap of her purse and had yanked it free of her grasp. He turned and ran in a direction picked randomly; a path that would take him past the brunette teen and blond child.

Quatre finally got a good sense of the event and snapping himself from half-awareness he tore into a sprit towards the man. He took in the man's momentum and his direction quickly, his mind calculating, his feet angling at just the right place. He couldn't stop the man from running, but . . .

A hand reached out and grasped him. His momentum was immediately ruined and the man flew by them. Lorene's grip was unrelenting and Quatre's heart and chest blossomed into pain.

"Let go! I need to help! Lorene!" Quatre cried out, struggling against his sister's grasp. Lorene dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms tightly around him, fingers digging into the cloth of his shirt, pressing against his skin, unyielding to his protests. Slowly her voice invaded his world, a soft whisper against his hair.

"Quatre, you can't. You'd just get hurt. I don't want you to get hurt, Catty. You just are too little. You wouldn't be able to help. It's best if we stay out of the way. It's the only thing we can do. Please understand, Catty. Nothing can happen to you, you're too important. I know you want to help, but you can't! You need to take care of yourself to help others! Please understand."

Lorene's litany continued, but Quatre's attention was on the stout man who had caught the thief. The stout man who was capable of doing what he wanted to, need to, so very desperately, but was never allowed.

"Quatre! Answer me!"

The voice forced the pilot out of his memories. "Wha, what? Instructor?" The blond stuttered, shaken by the panic in his instructor's tone. His fingers flew over the controls, adjusting the wayward settings that had frightened the elder man so thoroughly.
"Ev-everything is under control, Instructor. Sorry about that." Quatre gave the instructor a slight smile, trying to emit to him that he really was okay. Instructor H didn't seem completely convinced, but he relented with a sigh.

"It's fine, just pay attention, Quatre. I've got the communication frequency extended to its limit already. Once you're out of this sector, I won't be able to talk to you. You have to make it to Earth, because . . ."

"I know," Quatre cut him off, "We're breaking the perimeters of Operation Meteor with this flight. I'm likely to be the only person down there fighting the Federation and Oz." Quatre stopped, sinking into thought. A light beep to his right brought his eyes to a sector monitor. "Instructor H, I've reached the edge of the LaGrange 4 Sector. This is it."

"I'm sending you the likely coordinates where you should find the Maganuac Corps. If not, they will probably be in the surrounding area. Good luck, Quatre, over and out."

"Over and out." Quatre echoed softly, switching off all communications. He was on his own. He sat back in the pilot seat, looking out across the space before him. From his location the Earth was cut by an ellipse of darkness, sunlight streaming over half the planet. He ran his fingers across the controls, steadily checking his systems again. A light sigh escaped the blond's lips, the breathing of a word.

"Adri."

"Quatre! Quatre! Come out here!" The dark haired Winner called through the garden. He sighed, turning to a man standing beside him. "I apologize. Quatre is a good child, but he seems to constantly get himself into trouble." He paused, considering for a moment, "I trust you can handle that." The man nodded silently, taking this in.

The blond eleven-year-old allowed himself to be prodded out of his hiding place by one of his father's advisors. Even so, there was a reserve in his manner that was nearly palpable. He looked on the newcomer with eyes wide, taking in this person. He was young, perhaps in his twenties. Deep black hair with fly-away bangs and a short ponytail. His stance seemed to indicate confidence and self-assurance. He didn't look like Father's usual clients. There was more to this meeting. He allowed some of his reserve dropped away.

"Ah! There you are! Quatre, this is Adri Milap. Say hello, Quatre." The elder Winner instructed, in a tone that brooked little argument. Internally, Quatre sighed.

"Hello, sir. Pleasure to meet you." He said, stepping forward and offering his hand. Mr. Winner gave his son a look of smug pride. Quatre tried not to notice. This was what his father wanted. Did it matter if he didn't like this total formality?

Something in him clicked. Like someone was prodding him, looking for something. He narrowed his eyes, trying to locate the feeling, but it ended abruptly. "The pleasure's all mine. I'm certainly looking forward to teaching a student as bright as you, Quatre Winner." His hand was caught and Adri Milap shook it firmly. Quatre was totally unsettled now, his eyes everywhere, questioning.

"Teaching?" He asked, his brow wrinkling. He hadn't been told he would be taking any new lessons. Was his tutor being replaced?

"Yes Quatre. I've decided that you should learn the basics of mechanical operation. Mr. Milap is going to teach you to pilot, and perhaps some rudimentary skills in mechanical engineering. Although there should be no need for you to use the skills, living in space, one must be prepared, Quatre."

"Yes Father." Quatre tried to determine how he felt. Piloting? He'd never considered what piloting was like. He was just supposed to do as he was told, even if his feelings made him think he should do something else. Even if he knew there was a better way or a different road he wanted to take. If he followed instructions, he stayed out of trouble, and Quatre was tired of trouble. His father nodded to Milap and left, his advisors leaving Quatre and his new instructor alone.

He looked up to Adri Milap, noting the look of dissatisfaction on the man's face. "Mr. Milap?" He asked, questioning that odd look. His focus snapped from Mr. Winner's retreat to the blond before him. A quirk of a smile crossed his face.

"Adri, please. I'm not an old man yet. I see I have a lot to work on with you." He said gesturing with his hand toward the hangar. "And not just with the piloting." He added softly, meaning for the words to escape Quatre. They didn't.

Quatre followed, his curiosity piqued.

"QUATRE!" The simulation shut off abruptly. Quatre blinked in surprise as the door to the low lit cavity was thrown open. Adri hung his head inside, looking over the boy with an eagle eye.
"What the hell was that?" He demanded as Quatre eased the harness off him.

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again." The blond hair blocked his view, which was why he was so badly startled when Adri grasped his arm and dragged him bodily from the cockpit. His mouth fell open and untamed fury scorched his system. It was unlike any emotions he'd ever felt. His father's anger was nothing like this. Why was this man's anger affecting him so much?

Adri jerked Quatre to face him. "What was that? I don't want apologies, Quatre, I want the reason you did that! It was a simulation and you tried a maneuver that was far too advanced for your skill! You were this close to killing yourself and if it wasn't a simulation you would have scrambled your intestines from the pressure alone! Whatever possessed you? If you can't be sensible in a simulation, I can't expect you to be so for real!" He huffed, the sensations easing.

"I forgot it was a simulation: I reacted with my heart." Quatre's eyes were bright as he watched his feet, scuffling over the pavement. Adri stopped, fixing a curious look at the tow-haired child.

"Reacted . . . with your heart? Explain that." He looked up to the instructor's penetrating gaze, the sensation of being prodded crawled over him again.

"The objective was to keep the fighter away from the base. The base has people in it who are one my side, so I needed to protect them." Quatre answered, his voice hesitant as he explained the simulation. This was what Adri had told him moments before. "If I didn't, they would be hurt and I would feel it. I forgot it was a simulation and that there were no people to get hurt."

Adri's eyes grew wide. "You would feel it?" His eyes narrowed. Suddenly the sensation of being prodded increased. "What do you feel now?"

It was a demand not a question.

Aqua eyes met the dark brown. "Like I'm being looked in. Like a desk drawer someone is searching through." Their gazes held for a long moment after Quatre's timid statement. Adri collapsed to his knees before the child, then landed fully on the ground, one hand raised to his head.

"Good Lord! He's a newtype also!"

Quatre knelt down so he was at Adri's level. His brow was furrowed deeply. Newtype? What did that mean? "Sir? Are you okay?" Incredibly, Adri laughed.

"Quatre, I've never been better! Do you have any idea what abilities you have? I really do have more work here than teaching you to pilot! I have to train you with that uchuu no kokoro too!"

"My what?" The boy was now thoroughly confused.

Adri smiled, "You have the ability to feel what other people feel, right?" Quatre nodded, "That is called empathy. It's a special physic ability that some people have. Uchuu no kokoro is the name for it when the person is from outer space. It means 'Heart of the Universe' or 'Space Heart'."

"You mean, not everyone has it?"

"Yes, it's a special gift, Quatre, I have it too."

Quatre's eyes grew wider, he didn't know there were others like this. He never even realized he was special because of it.

"You do?"

Adri grinned at him, standing up and brushing off his slacks. "Yes. But my newtype ability, my physic gift, is different than yours. It's called telepathy, which means I can speak in other people's minds. I can sometimes understand what they are thinking too. That's what you felt before, I was trying to read your thoughts!"

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