Chapter Eleven

SSDF Orbital Station 002
Mars orbit

Morning found General Anderson and the heads of Medical, Pilot/Anchor Support, and Mech Support gathered for a tense, emergency meeting in the main briefing room on A-ring.

"How soon can you get the Red-Eyes Black Dragon back online?" General Anderson's voice seemed to echo in the quiet of the briefing room. Around the table, the various heads of department shuffled their data pads and refused to meet his gaze. Anderson focused on one department head in particular and prompted impatiently, "Mr. Devlin?"

"The physical damage can be repaired within the week," Duke said, with barely a glance at the information on the datapad in his hand. He had practically memorized the information on it, already. "The rail gun is toast, but we have another one in stores. Some of the ablative armor plating will have to be replaced, as well as quite a lot of the internal electronics. Whatever happened fried most of the systems directly related to the pilot interface. I've had to requisition a new TEM unit. The old one was completely burned out."

"And the AI?"

"Gone." Duke sighed at the shocked looks on the faces around him. What did they expect? They all knew what had happened to Joey's Anchor, just from the backlash. Did they really expect the AI, in direct linkage with its pilot, to have fared any better? "We have the stored back-ups, of course. Once the chassis has been repaired, we'll upload the latest back-up into the mech's main computer and reboot."

He looked shrewdly at Anderson across the conference table. "You'll have your Black Dragon back in seven days… But what good is it without its pilot?"

All eyes turned to Dr. Churchill. His usual serene expression was absent; in its place, tension strained his handsome brown features. Anderson added to the tension when he barked, "And when will I have my pilot back, Doctor?"

"I wish I could tell you," Churchill said, wearily. He looked like a man reaching the end of his tether. "We've run every test I can think of, and we still don't know what's wrong with him. Aside from a few minor burns where the sensors shorted out, his body is perfectly healthy. It's just that there's no one home. It's as if… as if something sucked Captain Wheeler's soul right out of his body."

Duke's eyes widened. "Is that even possible?"

The doctor shrugged. "Scientifically speaking… who knows? Personally… Well." He shrugged again, not callously, but simply a reflection of how truly helpless he felt in the face of this crisis. "It's not just Wheeler. The people who were inside the escape pods struck by the energy weapon are in much the same condition."

"And what, exactly, is this 'condition,' Doctor?" Anderson demanded.

"It appears to be a deep coma," Churchill said. "Brain functions are severely depressed; we have all of the victims on life-support." He sighed before meeting the general's gaze. "They'll have to be transferred planet-side, sir. We simply do not have the facilities here on the station for the type of constant, long-term care they will require."

"Including Captain Wheeler?"

"Yes, sir."

After a long pause, the general nodded. "See to it, Doctor. I'll contact the hospital at Mars Base and let them know they'll be receiving critical care patients… I assume you'll want to transport them as soon as possible?"

"It would be best, sir."

Another nod. "This afternoon, then." Anderson made a notation on the datapad in front of him. "What is the status of Captain Wheeler's Anchor?"

"Sedated." The backlash from the attack -- and the abruptness with which she had lost all contact with her brother -- had left Serenity Wheeler devastated. "I'd like to transfer her, as well. Frankly, she'll be in no fit state to return to duty any time soon, and she'll want to be near her brother."

"With her pilot out of commission for the foreseeable future, there's not much she could do here, anyway." All heads turned toward the new speaker.

"Dr. Korone, have you examined Captain Wheeler?" Anderson asked, frowning at the brown haired man slouched in the chair at the end of the conference table.

Piotr Korone, head of Pilot/Anchor Support and a doctor of psychology, offered the general a pitying look. "Captain Wheeler is in a coma, General. It remains to be seen whether or not he'll regain consciousness, much less be in any shape to require my services."

"I see." Anderson's gray eyes were like shadowed ice. "And Lt. Wheeler?"

"I'll be talking to her as soon as she wakes up," Korone assured him. "In the meantime, I concur with Dr. Churchill's recommendation. She'll be best served planet-side. The psych staff at the base hospital is a good one."

Anderson nodded and made another notation on the data pad in front of him. "I want you all to prepare detailed reports on every test you run, every procedure you perform on Wheeler and the others, and on the mecha. I don't doubt your competence, gentlemen, but I want all our best minds working on this one. We have to find out what those alien bastards did to our pilot."

He looked sternly at Duke. "Mech Support is under the gun on this one, Devlin. Find a way to shield against that energy weapon."

"There may not be a way to --" Duke broke off abruptly as he was treated to a full-fledged Anderson Glower. He gulped. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Anderson glanced around the table, eying them each in turn. "I'll expect preliminary reports by the end of the day, gentlemen. Dismissed."

Turning his chair to face the open viewing port in the wall behind him, Anderson didn't watch them as the department heads filed somberly from the briefing room. In the silence that followed, his sigh was as loud as a shout.

"There's another pilot we need to talk about, General."

The quiet voice startled the general into jerking half out of his seat before recovering his usual poise. With a scowl firmly in place, Anderson swiveled the chair back to face the table and fixed a gimlet eye on the man still lounging at the other end of it. "I've asked you not to do that, Doctor. Once more, and I really will have to insist upon your wearing a bell."

Korone grinned unrepentantly, a brief flicker of humor in his green eyes, before sobering. "Sorry. Now, about Captain Kaiba..."

Anderson sighed, again. "You've seen his test results."

Korone nodded. "I've also seen the complaint filed against him by Captain Von Schroeder. Things are getting serious if Captain Kaiba is brawling in bars."

A snort. "That wasn't a brawl. I've seen Seto Kaiba in hand-to-hand. If he'd wanted to, he could've wiped the floor with Siegfried, and not broken a sweat." The amusement faded from his stern features as he considered what he had just said and shook his head. "I see your point, though, Doctor. Such behavior isn't like Kaiba. The stress is getting to him."

"Separation from his dragon is 'getting to him,'" Korone corrected, straightening in his chair and fussing with the data pad on the table before him. "You've got him using that new device? The one that allows remote contact with the AI?"

"Yes, for all the good it seems to be doing." The frustration in Anderson's voice was unmistakable. "Dammit, I need that boy back in his own mech, not upstaging Von Schroeder and his Valkyries. But I can't reassign him until he clears the gestalt test."

"So, the problem is getting him back in sync with his mech so he can ace the test."

Korone favored him with a thoughtful look. "You'll have to sentence him to some disciplinary action for that bar fight, right?"

When Anderson nodded, Korone continued, "All right. Here's what I think you should do..."

---------------------

Hell, Seto decided, was pink.

As soon as he walked into the Valkyrie hangar, he was assaulted on all sides by that most insipid of colors. The towering Valkyries themselves were painted a deep rose pink. The technicians' jumpsuits were the pale pink of cotton candy, and made his teeth hurt just to look at them. The pilots stood out against the gray metal walls like hot pink, tropical flowers sprouting from the non-skid flooring -- which bore wide, pink guide stripes leading from the bank of elevators and curving out of sight toward the far side of the hangar, as if anyone could've mistaken this paean to pink as anything but Von Schroeder's domain.

Seto's jaw clenched, and one hand crept of its own accord to lightly brush the RID pinned to the front of his hated (pink) flightsuit. The silvery metal felt warm beneath his touch as his fingertips absently traced the familiar lines of his Dragon's face in miniature. I'll get you back, he vowed silently. Nothing is going to keep me away from where I belong.

Which was certainly not this pastel hell.

"Ah, so good of you to finally join us, Captain Kaiba," said the snide, heavily-accented voice of Kaiba's personal devil.

Seto didn't bother trying to hide the contempt in his expression as he turned to face Siegfried. "I thought you were on report."

"As, no doubt, are you," Siegfried retorted, his supercilious little sneer firmly in place. "However, with our enhanced mecha forces dwindling by the moment, Valkyrie pilots have become far too valuable to ground over such a trivial incident. And I do not find a twenty-four hour loss of off-duty freedom overly taxing, though I do thank you for your... concern."

"Whatever."

So Siggy was confined to quarters during his off-duty hours, eh? No doubt Mai had received a similar sentence for her part in the altercation. Seto's own punishment had surprised him: he had been ordered to spend at least two of his off-duty hours, every day for the next week (or until he passed his gestalt test, whichever came first) performing routine maintenance on his mech, under the supervision of the crew chief. He had felt a strange sort of guilt, as if he should inform the general such a task was hardly what Seto considered "punishment." But in the end, he had kept his mouth shut. Let the general throw him in the briar patch. It beat the brig any day.

Once more, Seto's hand reached toward his Blue-Eyes pin. Siegfried's eyes followed the involuntary gesture, widening when he saw the non-regulation item adorning Seto's flightsuit. "Captain Kaiba! I am sure you are aware that jewelry of that sort is not considered an appropriate addition to your duty uniform. I will have to ask you to remove that pin, at once."

"And I will have to refuse," Seto said, inwardly enjoying the anger which instantly sparked in Siegfried's eyes at his defiance.

"Perhaps you did not understand me," Siegfried said, his mouth tightening until the corners were white with strain. "That was a direct order, Captain. You will remove the pin."

"No," Seto said, almost cheerfully. "I won't."

Siegfried stared at him for a moment, as if calculating his chances of enforcing the order. Then his eyes narrowed, and his hand darted toward Seto's chest with the obvious intent of grabbing the pin and removing it himself. Seto's fingers closed around the other man's wrist like a steel vise, stopping him just short of closing on the RID.

The arm beneath Seto's grip was practically vibrating with the force of Siegfried's anger. "I am your commanding officer, Captain Kaiba. And, as such, I am giving you a direct order to remove that bit of frippery, or I will remove it for you. Am I understood?"

"This isn't a simple lapel pin," Seto said flatly. "It's a remote interface device for my Blue-Eyes White Dragon, and one that General Anderson himself has ordered me to wear at all times. I will not remove it, and you will not defile it with your touch. Am I understood?"

"What if I do not believe you?"

"You know where the intercom is," Seto growled, shoving Siegfried's hand -- and, with it, Siegfried himself -- away. He turned his back on the other man. "Use it to call General Anderson and ask him, yourself."

"Do not think that I will not!" Siegfried called after him, equal parts anger and frustration in his voice. "You are not privileged here, Herr Kaiba. Here, you are just another pilot!"

"Tell me about it," Seto grumbled under his breath, striding across the hangar toward his waiting (pink) Valkyrie. "Just another fucking pink pilot."

------------------

Kaiba Corp Enhanced-Mecha Production Facility
Amazonis Planitia
Kaiba Corporation Colony, Mars

Rank had its privileges. So did wealth; although, right now, Yami would have gladly traded the VIP treatment he was receiving for a few moments alone with the workers on the factory floor. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to shake his escorts since arriving on Mars. A Kaiba Corp limo had picked him up at the spaceport and delivered him directly to the factory complex situated on the vast, red plain at the foot of Olympus Mons.

The facility was huge, a sprawling miniature city composed of factories, warehouses, massive vehicle assembly buildings, testing grounds, support buildings, office towers, and even rows of identical concrete apartment blocks for the workers. Yami had seen pictures of the complex, but he had never been here before. It was, he had to admit, quite an impressive sight. This room in the building he was currently touring, a factory where components for the giant mecha were manufactured, was easily as big as the enhanced-mecha hangar back on the station. The echoing space was filled with the busy bustle of assembly lines, robotic welding and sorting arms, forklifts, loaders, and coverall clad workers. The air was thick with the perfume of industry: machine oil, overheated plastics, and the electric tang of ozone. From his place on the steel catwalk high above the work floor, he had a bird's-eye view, but what he needed to see was still hidden away, somewhere. The fact that he had been so far unable to ditch his official escort was not making his day any brighter.

Beside him, the man in charge of this facility, whose first name Yami had already forgotten, was prating on in an obsequious fashion that made Yami grind his teeth in irritation. Yami shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his slate gray trousers, and pretended to be utterly fascinated with the hypnotic rhythm of the machinery below.

It took him several seconds to realize that his escort was calling his name. "Kaiba-san?"

"Yes, Mr. Nesbitt?" Yami said, turning to look at the other man. It wasn't helping his mood that he had taken an immediate, instinctive dislike to Nesbitt. The man's obsequious manner did nothing to hide the obvious contempt he felt toward Yami, a contempt made all-too-plain by Nesbitt blithely ignoring Yami's request that he not use honorifics when addressing him. Kaiba Corporation was not only a multinational company, it was an interplanetary one; while corporate culture at the company's headquarters on Earth was mostly traditional Japanese, Yami neither expected nor wanted to be reminded of that here. This was Mars, not Japan, and Yami had never cared for formal titles or honorifics. After all, he had inherited a part of his personality from his distinctly non-traditional, American mother and, like her, he chafed under the restrictions of such regimented behavior.

Yami hid a grimace as he tuned back in to find Nesbitt still droning on about the production line they were currently inspecting, and found himself wondering if the man was actually trying to bore him to death. At the rate things were going, he might succeed.

"Perhaps we could move on, now?" Yami suggested, not bothering to hide the boredom in his voice. "I would like to inspect the mecha under construction."

"Oh. Yes, of course."

Nesbitt led the way back to their waiting cart, apparently unaware that he had committed yet another faux pas by not allowing Yami to precede him. At Yami's side, Rafael made a low, quickly-stifled noise of displeasure. Yami shot him a quelling glance. Rafael's mouth tightened into a thin, white line, but he remained silent. Apparently, Rafael was taking Nesbitt's rude treatment of Yami personally. Without another word, they all climbed aboard the motorized cart where Nesbitt's assistant, a slightly-built man who had been introduced only as "Tanaka-san," waited to chauffeur them to their next stop on the inspection tour.

They left the fabrication plant through a connecting tunnel that allowed easy access between buildings even during inclement weather. A short drive later and they had arrived at the massive vehicle assembly building Yami had spotted earlier. Nesbitt immediately went back into tour-drone mode.

"Kaiba-san, if I could direct your attention over this way--"

Once again, Yami tuned him out. His gaze was immediately drawn to the towering gantries which held skeletal mecha under construction. Clean-suited technicians in hard hats and hairnets swarmed the partially constructed robots. Even at this stage of production, with much of the inner workings exposed and the outer shells still the dull gray of unpainted metal, the machines were unmistakably Duel Mecha. Yami's eyes traced the familiar contours of the main cockpit within the closest machine's cranium, wide-open without the metal "face" to conceal it.

"Here are the docking stations for the mecha once they are at seventy-five percent completion and are beginning the final testing phase," Nesbitt said, raising his voice to be heard over the background noise of heavy machinery at work, as their VIP cart rolled smoothly around a bulwark, bringing the docking ports into view.

Yami found his breath catching in his throat at the sight. A solitary mech, unpainted but wearing most of its armor, nestled in the nearest docking station. Flood lights lit up its chassis and reflected off the polished surface of its serene metal mask. Clean-suited technicians moved around and even over it like ants, each focused on his job. Feet thudding loudly against the concrete floor and yellow caution light flashing to warn of its approach, a construction loader approached with a crate in its pincer-like hands. Inside the open body of the loader, the driver worked his hands and feet in the waldos that controlled his machine, steering around the VIP cart without appearing to notice them as anything more than a minor obstacle in his path.

Being here, seeing the techs scurrying about partially built mecha, tore at Yami's soul in a way he hadn't anticipated. The sounds, the smells, the kindly regard of the mech's face -- it all reminded him why he had been unable to bear spending time in the mech bay on the station. Even brief visits had hurt entirely too much. Being here now brought up those memories of pain and loss... and guilt. A shiver traced its way along his spine as his treacherous imagination substituted Dark Magician's face for that of the unfinished mech. The Magician's eyes watched him with silent accusation, and Yami flinched.

"Mr. Kaiba? Are you all right, sir?"

Schooling his features to give nothing away, Yami glanced to the side to find Rafael leaning forward, regarding him with concern in his narrowed eyes. Yami nodded reassuringly. The bodyguard sat back, but seemed far from convinced. Yami could feel the man's gaze on him, even as he gave himself a mental shake and focused his attention on Nesbitt's unnecessary explanation of how each mech was customized to fit its pilot's needs.

"Mr. Nesbitt... You are aware that I piloted an enhanced mech for almost two years, one of them in active combat?" Yami said finally, interrupting Nesbitt's latest spiel.

Nesbitt looked at him blankly.

"Kaiba-sama is the Dark Magician," Nesbitt's assistant reminded him gently, speaking up for the first time since greeting Yami upon his arrival at the spaceport.

"Oh, yes. The Defense Force." The tone of Nesbitt's voice made it clear what he thought of the SSDF and its members. A sly smile crinkling the skin around his close-set eyes, he said, "I had forgotten, Kaiba-kun. Please forgive my lapse."

This time, Yami felt his jaw tighten. It was one thing to offer insult by pretending ignorance of Japanese culture; Yami had been trained under his father's strict tutelage to ignore such petty slights. But to denigrate his service in the SSDF, when he had lost so much in pursuit of his duty... He sensed more than saw Rafael tense on the seat behind him, and knew that his bodyguard was equally offended by Nesbitt's behavior.

Yami would have liked to knock the supercilious expression off Nesbitt's face. Instead, he schooled his features into a copy of his father's sphinx-like businessman's stare, and settled for looking right through Nesbitt as if the man were of no consequence. Nesbitt's assistant, Tanaka, was darting his gaze rapidly from one man to the other, his eyes wide and his mouth pursed, obviously stunned by his employer's rudeness toward the man who was not only the vice-president in charge of their division, but also the CEO's son and heir. Tanaka's hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel of the cart, and he looked as if he might hyperventilate at any moment. Light trembled off the green stone set in his tie-tack.

Taking pity on him, Yami said, "Let us move on, shall we?"

"Yes, Kaiba-sama!" Tanaka didn't even wait for confirmation from Nesbitt, but put the cart into gear at once. He glanced briefly back at Yami. "What would you like to see next, Kaiba-sama?"

As much as the repeated honorifics were annoying him, Yami could see that they irritated Nesbitt even more. Allowing the tiniest of smiles to touch the corners of his mouth, Yami said, "Surprise me, Tanaka-san."

"Y-yes, Kaiba-sama." Tanaka gulped, Nesbitt frowned... and Yami settled back in his seat and wondered if he would get through the day without actually killing someone.

---------------------

Yami breathed a silent sigh of relief as the tour came to its inevitable conclusion in the complex's main office tower. As they stood in a little group by the executive elevators, Nesbitt looked rather smug, as if he were already mentally celebrating the successful wrap-up of Yami's visit. "If there's anything else I can do for you, please don't hesitate to --"

"I require an office in which to work for a few days," Yami said smoothly, and watched the man's face fall.

"An office? I'm afraid don't understand..."

"I don't know what you were told, but this isn't a simple day-visit to humor the CEO's spoiled son, Mr. Nesbitt," Yami said blandly, his words making it clear he had not been oblivious to Nesbitt's attitude. "The product being produced by this facility is not living up to the high standards of the Kaiba Corporation. We will not be delivering substandard mecha to any of our customers, and most certainly not to the SSDF. I am here to see to it that this facility is brought back in line with company standards as quickly as possible."

Nesbitt's frown deepened, but he said nothing, though his hands clenched as he listened to Yami's diatribe. Beside his boss, Tanaka flinched with every word of condemnation, as if he, and not Nesbitt, were responsible for the current state of the facility.

"In the meantime, I will need an office with a computer station that has access to the mainframe, as well as someone from the secretarial pool to act as my assistant for the duration of my stay," Yami said levelly, in a tone that brooked no argument. "You will see to this quickly, Mr. Nesbitt, as I'd like to get to work as soon as possible. My father doesn't appreciate people wasting valuable company time... and neither do I."

"Yes, of course. Sir." Nesbitt gestured abruptly to his assistant, his frown still firmly in place, and a look in his eyes that could have been fear -- or anger. "Tanaka-san, see to it that Kaiba-ku-- Kaiba-san receives whatever he thinks he needs."

"Yes, sir." Clutching his electronic clipboard, Tanaka bowed quickly. "If you will come with me, Kaiba-sama?"

Rafael a faithful shadow at his side, Yami started to follow. On the threshold, he hesitated. "One last thing, Mr. Nesbitt."

Yami's voice dropped to a low, dangerous purr as he continued, "Until you have availed yourself of the approved company course in Japanese business etiquette, I suggest you refrain from further use of honorifics. As you are attempting them now, they reflect rather poorly on your manners, your education, and your intelligence. I'm certain that is not the impression you wish to give the executive officers of this company... Certainly not if you hope for continued advancement at Kaiba Corp."

Leaving a speechless Nesbitt gaping after him, Yami strode calmly into the elevator and allowed the doors to close on whatever response Nesbitt might have rallied to make. Studiously, he pretended not to notice Tanaka's nervous trembling -- or the satisfied grin on his bodyguard's normally stoic face.