-BEGIN FIC-
I lie to be real, and I'd die just to feel
why do the same old things keep on happening?
because beyond my hopes there are no feelings
Tales of a Scorched Earth
-- 17:14 --
It was one of the oddest establishments on the L4 colony, surviving beyond anyone's hopes or dreams in a land who's overwhelming religious stance prohibited the consumption of the goods they served.
However, with the conglomeration of colonial establishments located at the LaGrange 4 point being the business center it had become over the decades, people who did not claim the Muslim religion to be their own flocked to small hovels such as this, relishing in the rare opportunity to indulge in the one unique item they served that no other place within the cluster would dare to stock – alcohol.
The beat of country music poured over crackling, aged speakers and from the glistening yet dusty jukebox that dominated the corner farthest from the old pine doors, the twang of guitars accompanying laughably melancholic vocals that sang of lost loves stealing favored pickup trucks and running over the old reliable hunting dogs who were loved more than the women who wore their wedding rings on their way out. Barely audible above the laughter and conversations in the room, the music merrily played without stop, switching to yet another song once its original one had finished featuring a man singing about religious figures dropkicking him through the goalposts of life. The clank of dishes being tossed into the large sink that occupied the kitchen in the back of the establishment emerged from time to time from the swinging door beside the long, dark wooden counter that served as a bar and which had every brass stool with its cracked vinyl cushions occupied with the surliest of humanity's masses.
Ranging from the man sitting down in his business suit to enjoy a few beers with his friends after the long hours of work at the office were completed to the large pot-bellied truck driver who'd just pulled in for a rest stop on his way to his next destination, the gathering within the bar was diverse to say the least, leaving it the perfect establishment for any who wished to not be discovered or those who wanted naught but to enjoy a few good beers without interruption to station themselves. Friends were gathered with friends, strangers were chatting and recanting tales of what they'd seen on their extensive voyages through the colonial countryside with those who showed interest. Conversations flowed from loose lip and casually at-ease tongue over plates of greasy, fat-laden food that dripped as it was lifted from platter to mouth and mugs of frothy headed golden beer.
The hefty bartender slowly swiped his rag across his counter, wiping the condensation from the recently received drinks that had been stationed before him away before it could hope to penetrate the water sealant that protected the ancient wood behind which he worked. Glancing over as one of his waitresses approached, he arched a brow as she gave him the orders of the newest people to enter his establishment and nodded. Taking the slip of paper she offered he hung it upon the rotating clips between the front bar and the kitchen that functioned behind the scenes. Soon that rack was spun and the slip of paper retrieved. The smell of fatty hamburgers hitting the grill flooded through the room.
Grabbing one large pitcher, the barkeep turned to his fountain and grabbed the nozzle labeled 'Budweiser' and filled it, tilting the massive container to keep the foaming head that formed under control and reasonably sized. Setting it quickly on a corkboard-topped tray, he fetched a pair of clean glass steins and set them upon the carrying tray as well. Then lifting a hand, he let a sharp whistle loose from his lips.
The summoned waitress quickly lifted her tray with a nod and hauled it off to the ordering party. Making her way fluidly through the gathering, she eased to the table situated under one of the bar's faint bronzed lights and set the tray down. "Here you are, boys," the girl said with a wink, her pigtailed head nodding once. "Your dinner should be up in a few minutes."
"Thanks," one of the men, the one with chocolate brown eyes and shortly cropped brown hair wearing a loose white tee-shirt and faded acid-washed jeans that looked as if they'd seen better days said with a grin, slipping a bill into her apron's pocket and sending her on her way with a smack to her bottom.
His companion, his long brown hair tied behind his head at the nape of his neck with a black elastic tie and his hazel eyes glistening in the faint light of the bar, immediately reached for the nearly overflowing pitcher and set himself to the task of filling the two steins. Fancifully filling them both to their tops without once letting the pitcher's edge come within a foot of either stein's lip, thus leaving a huge roiling bubble of foam gracing their tops, he slid one to his short-haired companion with a grin. "Drink up, Xavier."
"Thank you much," the man called 'Xavier' said with a grin, gripping the foam-slicked handle of his mug and lifting it to his lips.
Lifting his stein, a smirk gracing his chiseled face, the hazel-eyed man softly laughed. "Cheers, then, old friend. Here's to our gloriously bright future."
"Our gloriously bright future, should we succeed of course," the man's companion chuckled, lifting his own stein, chocolate brown eyes glimmering in the faint light of the dingy bar they occupied.
"Of course, of course. But still, always best to be optimistic."
"Oh really?" Xavier chuckled, arching a brow as he set his elbows on the table before him. "That doesn't sound like the you I know, old friend."
"Things have changed for me over the years. Just as they've done for you, Xavier Johnson. If they'd not, you'd still be a fuck-head working for Kesslinger. Still the fuck-head, but not working for him anymore… at least something's changed, besides the width of your waist."
"Oye, oye! Watch your words there," Xavier said, frowning as he slurped his beer and shook his head. "Only reason I'm not working for Kesslinger anymore's 'cause Century Discover offered a much better paycheck. You know that. You switched for the same damned reason."
"Heh. I've got more reasons than that."
"Really? I always thought it was just because you're a greedy bastard."
Hazel eyes shining, the light flooding their depths similar to that of the glow of a predator's eyes, the man snickered. "Well, that plays a factor too."
Xavier laughed quietly. "You can't tell me that your feelings had anything to do with this. If they did, you'd still be bumming around with the polar bears drinking Coke or whatever it is you do in that snow-blanketed Eskimo land."
"Feelings? Ha. They play no part in this. It's just because this is a way to get everything back on the ball, get everything flowing in the direction it should've been going. Same old shit keeps throwing everything askew."
"You sound almost like you're still hoping Kesslinger's plans will work."
"They will, if you give them time." Slowly drawing a mouthful of beer from his stein and swirling it around his teeth, Xavier's companion shrugged. "That's the only hope I still cling to, and the only thing I'll strive to make certain becomes reality. Because those plans will give us the world we miss, the world we've longed for. They'll give us our place in life."
"Still ever the lost soldier, eh?"
"Shit, now we're waxing philosophically," the longhaired man laughed. "I'd think by now you'd be able to tell when I'm bullshitting you."
"Lying son of a bitch," Xavier snorted, a grin taking his lips. "That's just the thing – all you do is lie. How're we supposed to know when you're actually telling the truth?"
"Just the point. You're not. And that's exactly what always has given me the better paycheck."
"Fuck off."
"Will do, once I get back to Alaska."
"You know she'd lop off your nuts for suggesting that."
Grinning wickedly, hazel eyes sparkling, he laughed. "Hell yeah, I realize that."
Xavier shook his head before finishing his beer and holding his mug out for a refill. Nodding as his companion immediately started accomplishing the task, he arched a brow. "So, get your little field replacement out there?"
"Better believe it."
"How the hell'd you manage that? And I thought you were going to toss us together again to reveal the plan, or at least a version of the plan he would be able to swallow, to him."
"I will. I don't plan on doing everything at once. I pace myself, unlike you…. If you'd ever figured out how to take your time to allow things to come to fruition, I wouldn't have had to butcher Chad Lesley last year."
"Come on. You know you wanted to. Besides, not that it makes a difference. He was cannon fodder, if even that. Next to useless."
"Yeah, yeah."
"So, tell me what you did. And please, do tell me when I'm going to be meeting with the man you've got watching the kid."
"You'll be meeting him in three days, at Alpha One Niner like you wanted. And all I did was give him the conjecture that his pookie was in danger again."
Laughing, Xavier shook his head. "Pookie… you're killing me, man."
Sniggering, finishing his own stein and refilling it, the hazel-eyed man waved the waitress back over and gave her the emptied pitcher, requesting a refill before turning back to his apparent friend. "With that little suggestion, he's gonna be on the kid like glue. Told him not to reveal himself less he draw blondie's future assailant's attentions and put him into even further danger as they'd revise their plans, so he'll stay out of the kid's way. No problems there. And tracking him myself to keep an eye on them both shouldn't be a problem."
"Wait a second here, James. You're going to be tracking him anyway? Why the fuck did you throw in a field replacement!"
"Because once the bullets start flying, I don't want to be in the way."
"So you're using your supposed 'replacement' as a bullet sponge?"
"Got it."
-- 21:17, Yesterday --
The person on the other side of the doorway screamed as the gun was thrust into his face, and fell to his knees. "Please! Don't shoot!"
"Who are you?" Trowa calmly asked, looking down at the shivering man, his gun still cocked and laying easily in his hand.
"My name's Stephen. Stephen Williams. I just came here because I was told to… to offer someone named Trowa Barton a job."
Emerald eyes narrowing, Trowa frowned. "What kind of job?"
"He… he told me not to disclose details in the open."
"Who is he?"
"I don't know. He didn't give me his name."
"What did he look like?"
"I couldn't tell. He wore a face mask."
"And you trusted him enough to deliver his message?"
"He said he'd murder me if I didn't."
Trowa frowned. Putting his gun away, he sighed. "Stand up."
Stephen did as bade, rising to his feet and throwing his hands into the air, consenting without question or protest to being patted down.
Trowa led the man inside and closed the door.
Catherine arched a brow as the slim stranger was lead into the trailer, watching his every move as he made his way to the couch and sat down tiredly, his knees shaking as Trowa stalked silently around him. "What's the meaning of this, Trowa? Who is he?" the girl asked, pointing at the tee shirt and jean wearing man in her living room.
"A messenger, Cathy," Trowa replied, seating himself in the chair opposite of Stephen and crossing his legs. "A messenger who's going to tell me exactly why he's here."
"As I said," Stephen began, visibly calming ever since coming into the warmth of the trailer, "I was told to offer Trowa Barton a job. I take it that you are that man?"
Trowa nodded once, both to answer his question and to indicate that he should continue.
"He told me to have you meet him at the doughnut shop at the rest stop at Exit 171 so he could discuss the details with you."
"Do you have any information about this person? A description?" Catherine said, a frown turning her lipstick painted lips, her dark blue eyes narrowing.
"He wore a mask, so I couldn't see his face. And he was wearing all black. But he was a bit taller than him," he exclaimed, pointing to Trowa, "maybe putting him near six feet. And he had a long ponytail of dark hair. I couldn't tell the color – it's dark outside."
"His eyes?"
"Couldn't tell their color. Sorry."
Trowa simply nodded once before rising from his chair and walking to the hall closet.
"Trowa? What are you doing?"
Turning, Trowa lifted his gun from his waistband and quickly pulled the trigger. Catherine's scream echoed through the room, even as the explosion of the miniature Derringer's fire sounded.
As Stephen collapsed, the hole in the center of his forehead telling of the gun's fatal accuracy, Catherine turned tearing eyes to the boy she claimed as her brother. "Why!"
"Because he could be traced. He knew my identity, and he could be able to lead whoever's drawing me out to this trailer and you. I'll be back later; I've got to see what this is about."
Catherine stared, too stunned to move, as the turtleneck wearing youth pulled his denim jacket from the closet and shrugged it on, replacing his gun at his waistband before stepping out into the darkness of night once more to claim his motorcycle. The roar of the bike's engine sang in the night once again as he started the motor and soon faded as he urged the cycle out onto the road, driving towards the destination quoted to him.
The black Honda Civic followed him once more, its headlights off to hide its presence with the curtain provided by the dark atmosphere.
-- 12:33, 4 Days Ago --
Tanned fingers slowly lifted the queen from the chessboard.
'Still up to your old tricks, kid? What is it you're planning this time?'
Slowly sweeping the ivory piece across the board and setting it down upon a new square, the man frowned, scratching his chin before hiking up the sleeve of his gray blazer and scratching his arm. "How the hell he can stand these suits every day is another damned mystery."
Walking around the board, he glanced at the clock. 'Still around twenty minutes remaining before he and his secretary return from lunch. If I'm ever going to try to get into that system of his, now would be the time. Besides, he wouldn't be using this board. It's just a lobby toy to keep those awaiting their appointments entertained so they don't realize how many minutes are stretching by.' So, quickly adjusting the setup on the board, he nodded before pocketing the king and walking to the glass door that separated the executive office from the small lobby that rested outside of its expanse. Glancing at the secretary's desk and watching the multitude of blinking red lights dance about its panel, he smirked and shook his head. "And you're going to have a shit-load of calls waiting for you when you return from Lotus Garden, aren't you, Mr. Winner? Makes me wonder if you'll even notice my little adjustment to your lobby board before some bozo comes along, rearranges it, and whines to you about there being no onyx king."
Standing before the glass door, he slipped a leather glove over his hand and gave an experimental tug on the handle. Discovering that the office was predictably locked, the man nodded and knelt before it.
Soon a pair of paperclips were hard at work, trying desperately to unlatch the mechanics that held the door tightly closed.
After ten minutes had passed, the man shook his head as he rose to his feet. "Damn you. Electronic key as well as mechanical, isn't it? And a high quality one at that. Meaning I'll have to take a different route."
Sighing as he lifted his soda can from the book shelf and waved to the security camera within the false book he'd just uncovered, he walked to the elevator that would take him back down into the company building from the lofty suite that housed the office he'd been attempting to infiltrate.
As he walked out of the ground-floor lobby almost thirty minutes after leaving the office that occupied the top floor of the huge skyscraper, the man smiled slightly, listening to the conversation that rolled from the small ear-piece he had discretely sitting in his ear-cannel.
"Yes, Mr. Winner. An attempted security breech while you were at lunch. We can replay the tapes for you if you like, but the one that would have given us the best view of his activities was covered by a soda can at the time he was trying to break into your office," one voice, husky and deep, rumbled.
"Really. I see. Thank you, Mr. Shulman. You can give me those tapes in an hour, yes?" a second voice quickly said, its tenor light and almost uncaring as it sighed.
"As you wish, Mr. Winner," the first voice replied. With the sound of footprints walking away, the second voice sighed softly.
"I suspected as much. Interesting setup, too…"
'He found the board,' the man reflected, listening carefully to the sounds coming through his receiver.
"So that's what you're planning," the light voice muttered softly across the earpiece.
"What was that, Mr. Winner?" another voice piped in.
"Nothing, nothing. Just looking at something… seems a bit out of place, is all."
"I see. The chessboard?"
"Isn't at all like it was left. Meaning that… meaning that the person I suspected to be in my cabinet meeting was here. Also meaning this room is probably bugged as well. Carol, leave the office. I'm going to have security run a full sweep over this area. Do you have your computer backed up?"
"Yes," a female's voice growled irritably. "You mean they're going to blast this place, aren't they?"
"Yep. Disabling everything electrical. It's gonna be a fun week getting everything back into working order."
"Why do we have to take such drastic measures, Mr. Winner?" the female voice sighed.
"Because we don't know to what extent this place has been bugged," the male said, his voice still uncaring with its flippancy. "For example, if whoever it was who attempted to infiltrate my office had the time to install a microphone here in the underside of the phone, who knows how long he was here and how extensively he has this space wired."
The man quickly pulled the receiver from his ear, cringing as he heard the squeal and crunch of the microphone being destroyed, very likely by a dress shoe's heel grinding it to dust against the hard-wood floor, scream over the flimsy speaker. Slipping it back into his ear, he frowned as he listened to the now less audible conversation.
"That's one. Who knows how many could be here? Unless you want us to close down your station for a month while they sweep this place, we're just going to have to suffer the inconvenience. Gather your disks and get them downstairs. I'll set you up at a new terminal for the time being, and have the phone systems rerouted."
"That means we're going to lose everything that's on voicemail, aren't we, Mr. Winner?"
The male's voice laughed evilly. "Why yes, it does. Isn't that ever so convenient?"
"You're absolutely evil," the woman giggled.
"Thank you."
-- 22:52, Yesterday --
Trowa frowned as he pulled into the doughnut shop's empty parking lot. Turning off his bike, he threw the kickstand down and rocked back on it, slowly swinging off of the motorcycle's seat. Stuffing his hands into his jacket's pockets to warm them, he slowly approached the building, emerald eyes narrowed.
After circling the building and discerning that he was the only person there, he snorted softly. "I'm here as you asked, whoever you are. Why don't you show yourself?"
The black Honda Civic rolled into the lot, tinted windows revealing nothing as they reflected the light of the shop's sign and the street lamps.
Arching a brow, the youth walked to the car as it stopped and its engine turned off. Hands still stuffed in his pockets, his face a blank emotionless mask, he stood outside of the door, waiting for the vehicle's occupant to emerge from the dark interior of the car.
Instead the window rolled down and the bright dome-light of the vehicle was turned on.
Shielding his eyes with a thin hand, Trowa's lips formed the slightest bow of a frown. "You're the one who called me here."
The black figure silhouetted by the light's glare nodded once, before lifting a black hand to its black neck. "Yes," it said, its voice disguised by the voice box held to its throat, sounding like the emanations of an ancient science fiction movie's robot rather than a human vocalization.
"What do you want?"
"I have news concerning Mr. Quatre Raberba Winner."
That caught Trowa's attention. Hand still shielding his eyes, his lips formed a true scowl. "What sort of news?"
"He's in the utmost danger, Mr. Barton. His position in the newly arisen Earth Sphere United Nation has drawn him more enemies than he has imagined or counted on, and has placed him into harm's path."
"I don't see what this has to do with me," Trowa snorted. "He's got bodyguards."
"They are useless. Against the ones who plot against him now, they will provide no protection."
"Who are you?"
The disguised voice chuckled. "Someone who has no wish to be known. If you knew my identity, those enemies that both Winner and I claim would be able to find me through you. I'd rather that didn't happen."
"Sounds like a lame excuse."
"You're not buying this, are you?"
"No."
"Very well then. When Quatre Winner is dead, then you will know that my words are true."
"Even if your words are true, what could I possibly do?"
"Watch him from afar. Protect him from the distances his bodyguards do not cover. Figure out what he is planning and assist him as you can, as only you may."
"As said. Sounds lame."
"So be it. You shall see, Mr. Barton. You shall see how much danger he's in. I've already gotten a tip that he's going to be attacked in two days, when he's busy preparing for his business trip to check on the progress made in the mines at the system's ring."
"If you've such information, why don't you act on it?" Trowa huffed.
"You think I'm going to place myself in danger for Winner? You've got to be dreaming. I've got my own safety to be concerned about – his survival is important to the continued workings of the Nation, but it's second in my mind to my own survival. Such is why I wanted to recruit you, Mr. Barton; because you care, you would be willing to dedicate yourself to the task of watching him, of protecting him, no matter the danger. I don't give a rat's ass, to be frank. Also, I've made my interest in him too well known to Winner's assailants – that puts not only me in danger, but also heightens the danger presented to him. They've been adjusting their plans concerning him, knowing that he had me as a protector for awhile. That's why I need someone they don't know about, someone who can remain nothing but an enigma and remain unseen by even Winner himself, to protect him as I'm not willing to do, to protect him without letting them know that he's there so they don't readjust their plans concerning the kid and blow him away."
Trowa arched a brow, as the window rolled up and the car drove off.
"Nothing but a load of bullshit," Trowa snorted softly as he reclaimed his seat upon his motorcycle and took off back towards the trailer.
The occupant of the Honda Civic parked his car in the shadows off the freeway, watching the cycle proceed back towards the place the young boy called home.
"Heh. His curiosity should be getting the better of him soon enough."
"See you in two days at the L4 spaceport, kid."
-- 23:19 --
The black Honda silently sat, engine off, occupant lifting his binoculars to watch the trailer in the distance.
The man's wiry lips turned with a delighted sneer as he watched the lanky banged youth shove turtleneck after turtleneck into a beaten duffel bag.
"Gotcha."
And he watched, his fingers drumming on his dashboard in time with the hard-rock music that pumped through his car's speakers as the motorcycle tore down the road towards the spaceport.
-- 17:58 --
"No worries, Xavier. I'll have him. Especially with tomorrow's stunt. His position is going to be fucking guaranteed; there's gonna be nothing that'll be able to turn the little lusty boy away from his bed-mate interest."
"You're actually going to go through with it, then? The attempt on Quatre Winner's shuttle?"
"I don't have to, Xavier. I wasn't lying when I told you that such was already in the works. I have nothing to do with it."
"Who, then?"
"Not for me to say. Just convenient timing, is all. I stumbled upon that little bit of info just in the nick of time."
"You're not going to tell me shit, are you?"
"Of course not."
"Not even why you're REALLY going to be utilizing that kid instead of taking care of things yourself?"
"Told you. Bullet sponge."
"So, he's nothing but a bullet sponge. That's a rather harsh way to treat someone who you spoke with such reverence about, James."
Laughing lightly, the hazel-eyed man winked. "Shit, you know I'm foolin' with you."
"About using him as a bullet sponge? Or using him period?"
"Bullet sponge, Xavier. I'm using him to get closer to Quatre than I can. You know that kid's always held me under a fucking microscope. I can't let him know that I'm involved, or else…."
"Or else he'll gain your allegiance like he did last time? Is that what you're trying to say?"
"You know he had my allegiance to begin with, namely because he worked for the same guy who bought me. Don't try to pull the 'I'm bitter because you betrayed me' bullshit act."
Xavier snorted quietly. "You DID betray us all."
"Shit, just remaining loyal to the people that had me first. But now that he's dead, it's like 'What the hell, let's see who's gonna buy me off this time,' you know? And unless he gives me an offer that stands far superior to yours, you won't have anything to worry about."
"Only thing is, what do you consider to be a greater offer, James?"
Winking, the man called 'James' sniggered. "Now if I told you that, it'd take all the fun out of life, now, wouldn't it?"
tbc...