Another twelve hours of database searches had left the trail colder, and Heero irritable. The only positive to the last forty-eight hours was that Relena had allowed Noin, Sally, and him to expand their search into deep space, and had not yet made a public statement informing the colonies or the military of exactly what had happened with the test flight disaster. To do so at this juncture would result only in finger pointing and disorganization, she had reasoned, and the video conference had left the pilot swollen with remembrance of exactly why he loved that woman. She wasn't afraid to take a chance on him, even if he didn't necessarily deserve it.

Most of the days Heero spent holed up in the tiny bunk room, an area of nine cubic feet with two double-stacked beds and a sink. He had fashioned one of the bottom cots into a makeshift desk where he continued performing searches of photos, numbers, and census data, and watching over and over the recording of Duo's test flight. Number by number, frame by frame he combed through the evidence. It all looked the same to him as it had the first day of his investigation, and he couldn't be sure whether his inability to distinguish new details was borne of fatigue or monotony.

On the third day he emerged from the room, red-eyed and exhausted, and slumped in the copilot seat beside Sally Poe, who looked at him with what he estimated was a mixture of surprise and concern. He propped his foot on the console, rested his elbow against his knee, and planted his forehead firmly against his open palm.

"You do know that this ship is outfitted with bunks for sleeping," said Sally brightly, an obvious attempt at levity, "I believe it's the slab of cotton and linen above that thing you've been calling a desk."

Heero did not respond, not out of anger or frustration, but simply because he did not know what to say. He didn't want to be in that tiny room with all those numbers anymore. Even now they were still swimming through his head.

"I'm guessing you haven't found anything," Sally sighed.

"I'm guessing you haven't either."

Heero glanced at Sally out of the corner of his eye and noted a tendon working as Sally clenched her jaw. He realized at once that his statement had been out of line.

"I didn't mean that," he offered lamely, and he rubbed at his forehead.

Sally did not look away from her controls. "No," she said evenly, "you don't need to apologize. You're right. We've got no leads, no new information, nothing at all to go on. Not even with you working as hard as you've been. The colonial engineers put us on this heading based on the escape pod's trajectory, but we've not seen hide or hair of another ship since we left the boundary."

Heero closed his eyes and felt a surge of exhaustion. "Howard will kill us if we give up the search."

Sally shrugged. "We may not have much choice. This vessel doesn't have enough room for three to live comfortably. We're running low on provisions, and Noin's not been feeling well either."

This was distinctly confusing. "She's not been in the bunk," he reasoned.

"She set herself up in the galley with a blanket and a pillow because she didn't want to interrupt your work."

"Oh."

Heero went silent, and Sally offered no respite when the noiselessness grew awkward. So he closed his eyes and drifted for a while, content to let his mind rest while he was able, and as he slept he dreamed of numerical strings and still-frame images, of grainy views of space and wreckage and blood. When he woke it was with a jerk so sudden and strong that he fell from the swiveling copilot chair.

The lack of cynical commentary told him he was alone.

For a long while he sat groggily on the floor of the bridge and massaged the feeling back into his leg and hand, gone numb from his unconventional sleeping position. When at last he got to his feet he did so tentatively and with a lurch as the pins and needles turned to dull pain in his foot, and made his way to the galley. By the time he arrived all feeling had returned, and he found Sally and Noin talking gravely over small bowls of space-ready soup. Sally spotted him first and beckoned him to the table, and when he sat down she greeted him warmly again.

"The sleeper awakes," she said.

Heero rubbed at his eyes and grunted his hello.

"That feeling you've got right now is your punishment for not sleeping properly for days at a time," Noin added, and though she sounded somewhat high-spirited there was something altogether sickly in her voice.

"The only feeling I've got right now is a headache," Heero said, as much admission as he would make.

Sally and Noin suddenly exchanged looks full of meaning, and Noin curtly nodded.

"We're heading back to Peacemillion," Sally said bluntly.

Suddenly Heero was quite alert. "What? Why?"

"We received a transmission from Howard about two hours ago. You slept through the whole thing, but we all made the decision to return figuring you'd agree readily enough."

"It's really my fault," Noin explained and pressed her palm against her stomach as if in explanation. "Complications, it would seem. Stress, maybe. I guess Zechs is set to arrive on ship tomorrow, besides, and he told Howard he'd be willing to help you out with your work."

Noin stared at Heero expectantly, and he forced a halfhearted and entirely fake smile at the news. "Wonderful." The word came out slightly more deadpan than he'd hoped. He'd never enjoyed working with Milliardo.

"At any rate," Sally continued urgently, "we're not accomplishing anything out here except for wasting fuel and time. I've already made arrangements to hold a meeting aboard Peacemillion once we return. We'll have Noin checked out to make sure all is well. And you," she spoke directly to Heero, and her voice was stern and motherly, "will be resting until you receive further orders. I'm not having anyone else making themselves sick over this. You're no use to me if you're stuck in bed."

"What are you talking about? I'm not-" Heero said, again feeling somewhat lame in the face of Sally's authoritative tone.

"I'll have Milliardo and Howard take over your duties until I see you fit to return. We'll need you when it comes time for a rescue."

"I'm not sick," Heero repeated, more insistent this time. In truth he felt fine; perhaps a little fatigued but nothing that couldn't be explained away by eye strain and sleeplessness.

Sally scoffed, almost disgusted. "Maybe not yet, but I know you better to believe you'd fall asleep in front of me on the bridge, much less in that strange contortion you twisted yourself into. Totally gone through a video conference with the loudest man in space…"

"But—"

"No arguing with me. Arrangements are made."

Heero looked pleadingly at Noin. "And you're okay with this? With giving up?"

Noin pointed with both index fingers at her stomach, looking only slightly downcast. "No choice."

"Rest up, you two," Sally instructed, and she stood up with her bowl in hand. "I don't want to see your faces until we dock up with Peacemillion. They're meeting us at colonial boundaries."

Neither Heero nor Noin could find the strength to argue with the major, so Heero retired back to the bunk and began clearing his investigative materials from the bottom cot. Noin arrived shortly after the things had been cleared away, and the two of them settled into their respective beds without words. Not long after, Heero could hear Noin's steady breaths as she slept, and he stared at the ceiling listening to the sound and thinking back through the numbers.

Just before sleep overcame him, he decided that perhaps Milliardo's help could be useful.

ф

Maxwell tested the machine an additional three times, and each time he exited the simulation his demeanor shifted. The second time he ran the tests he emerged from the chamber in a rage so blind and intense he reopened his wound, and the third time he seemed on the verge of tears, though whether from anger or grief or pain no one could tell. The final time he emerged entirely mute and within five minutes and thirty seconds of simulation start, marking an increase in mental stability that DeSchepper and her crew could not ignore.

"It's my belief that he's built up resistance to the Quell," said her chief medical officer, the man in the white coat who to this point had been administering all care to the wounded pilot. But he was a medical officer only nominally—his training had consisted of no more than a month on duty with the Earth Sphere Military before he dropped out.

DeSchepper did not appreciate the news, but it was not unexpected. She knew as soon as she began the routine that eventually anyone would build a tolerance, especially if that person knew their cycle. For Maxwell it had been a low dose with two hours of neutralization on each second day. With such a small amount of the mood suppressant in his system its effects could have very easily diminished.

"It's fine, for now," said the woman. "He's performed every check of the operating and cockpit systems we could hope for several times over. We'll reset him while the engineers install the cockpit system into the mobile suit and link it with the dolls. Kill the pain meds, up the dose of the Quell. He needs to be ready for action as soon as possible." She paused, then added thoughtfully, "Give him a couple of hours after the regimen sets in, and then I'll take my dinner with him. We've got a lot to discuss."

The medical officer nodded his accord and retired to the holding bay, where Duo sat against the far wall of the cell staring into the nothingness. More often than not of late the pilot assumed this pensive position, and according to the recorded footage of his cell he very rarely moved.

"Are you in pain today, Mr. Maxwell?" said the man cordially enough, and Duo shot him a vicious glare. The officer opened the cell and stepped inside. "It's been a few days since the last time I checked your wound. I'll need to have a look."

"Things won't end well for you if you lay one finger on me, fella," Duo replied venomously.

Clearly the Quell was losing its effect.

"I'll need your cooperation to look at the wound, elsewise I'll be forced to have you restrained. We've been down that road before, and you know it doesn't end well for you."

The glare intensified. The officer shrank back but reached for the wall-mounted communication box.

"Give me the meds and get out. You don't need to see anything."

The officer approached and kneeled beside the irate pilot, producing from his coat the bottles he carried with him. From his pocket he pulled a neatly packaged syringe and uncapped the needle. As he did, Duo shuffled toward the bars and pulled up his sleeve, his face a mask of resentment.

"Aren't there normally two of these?" Duo asked flatly.

The man poked the needle into flesh and pressed the plunger. "Today there's only one. Miss DeSchepper requested we cut your pain medication. And she has asked you to dinner. We'll provide you a change of clothes once the medicine has taken effect."

"I won't go."

"You don't have much choice," said the man, and he capped the needle and stashed it away. "If you refuse to come peacefully we'll…"

"Have me restrained," Duo finished with a sigh.

"Rest assured, time out of your cell will do you some good, and Ms. DeSchepper has some news that may be of interest to you." The man stood and bowed politely, then left.

Duo sank against the bars, rubbed his aching arm, and closed his eyes as the burn of the chemical spread through his body. Unpleasant as it was, Duo knew the mood suppressant was necessary to keep him in check. Between frequent runs of the simulation software, exposure to unpleasant and often terrifying memories he once thought forgotten, and the fact that he had been hiding the infection of his wound for near four days, Duo was uncertain he could remain calm enough to think. And now, to top it off, the pain wouldn't be going away.

Tenderly he raised his shirt, picked at the dressings taped to his stomach, and examined what had once been the blistered patch of crusted skin sealing his bullet wound. He poked at it with a grimace and warm yellow-green liquid oozed down his side. The area immediately surrounding the wound had become shiny and dark, covered in a gray-green slime that stuck his shirt to the skin. If a bright side was to be found, the pus had lost its bloody tint since yesterday, and the smell was slightly less wretched.

Nauseated, Duo pressed the tape down and pulled his shirt into place. Then he lay back, closed his eyes, and waited for the next round of visitors.

They arrived some time later, bearing a change of clothes that suited him. He changed under their watchful eyes, steadily concealing the yellowing gauze as he buttoned his new shirt. The clothes were clean, even if they were not tailored well, and with only a small limp Duo allowed himself to be escorted away from his cell.

Five minutes later he was sitting across from Elliott DeSchepper, who had tucked into her meal without hesitation and stopped only occasionally to glance Duo's way. She ate gingerly, well-mannered and quiet, and when he met her gaze she smiled at him genially.

"You don't like your food?" she asked at length after most of her plate had been cleared. "Beef is a delicacy in space, you know, very expensive. Very rare. I won't stand for any factory produced proteins."

"Hm," Duo replied, examining the brown slab before him. Weeks ago such a magnificent meal would have been appetizing, but whether for the Quell or the infection all Duo felt was sick. He poked at a bean with his fork and nibbled at it, which seemed to appease his captor if not his stomach.

"You must be wondering why I asked you here," DeSchepper continued, gesticulating with her fork. When Duo did not respond, she said, "Or perhaps not. I'll tell you anyway, though. Foremost, I wanted to reward you for doing such a fantastic job with our simulation program. You're controlling one hundred and fifteen simulated mobile dolls with one operating system."

"I'm sure the Earth Sphere Military will award me a medal. Maybe I'll up rank."

Elliott gave a faint smile. "Second, I wanted you to have a decent meal before we put you to real work."

At this, Duo looked up. "Real work," he parroted.

DeSchepper waited a moment before continuing, dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a crimson cloth napkin. "It seems our time together is coming to a close, Master Sergeant. I suppose it was only a matter of time after letting your peacekeeping friend out of here alive. Twelve hours ago Secretary General Peacecraft issued a statement to all colonies to be on the lookout for this ship, and since you're known to be here the military has sent additional forces into deep space. It seems you're more valuable to them than I believed."

For a brief moment, Duo thought he might be saved.

"We've changed course and are heading to M-204, the nearest colony within ESUN boundaries. You will help us capture the colony and assure our escape. Then you'll be turned over to my godfather for further use."

"No, I won't."

DeSchepper tilted her head with a girlish grin, the kind one might wear when dangling secrets before a lover. "Yes, you will. You've got no choice." She paused, watched Duo's blank face, and continued as if he'd not attempted to defy her at all. "At any rate, we'll be holding the colony hostage until the Earth Sphere leaders offer us a fair deal. We have connections, you see, who will make certain we are treated fairly."

"What are you hoping for?"

"That isn't your concern," DeSchepper said coolly. "We are expected to breach colonial boundaries in thirty-six hours. You'll be confined in your cell until then."

"And after that?"

Elliott shrugged. "Work," she suggested. "Now, you ought to finish your meal. It'll be the last proper one you see for a while." She folded her napkin and placed it atop the table, then stood and said, "You'll have to excuse me, Master Sergeant. I've a coup to plan."

She left Duo at the table, where he continued to poke at the food until long after it went cold. He felt his gut lurch, and when at last he stood a guard took him immediately by the arm and escorted him back to his cell.

He sat against the wall, poking at his wound and thinking. DeSchepper planned to use him in a hostile takeover of the colony and it seemed that he was the linchpin holding the operation together. He could sabotage it somehow, but short of killing himself and with only thirty-six hours until the plan's apparent execution, the outlook was bleak.

ф

Heero could not believe how smoothly things had gone after he returned to Peacemillion. The week between their return and Relena's public statement had been both industrious and heartening. With fresh eyes on the evidence, the crew had been able to piece together a model of the target ship with pictures and approximate coordinates, plausible destinations and contact points. If ever Heero had harbored doubts about Milliardo's capability for critical analysis, it was gone now.

Quarantined in his room for the three days immediately following their docking, Heero heard only bits and pieces of the reports as they rolled in. Relena had been his primary informant, and though she was more than capable of parroting information she had received it was often without context, and she could not explain what she had heard. Twice Milliardo had come to discuss minutia with him, and the conversations had certainly been tense—as conversations between the two were apt to be—yet the talks had been more productive than any individual analysis could have hoped.

Since the breakthrough, the Peacemillion had been floating motionlessly in the space immediately outside of M-204's mining resource satellite, the closest safe place to the deep-space boundary where the enemy had last been spotted, awaiting word from the official military search party. Often Heero sat on the bridge with Howard and Sally, watching and listening to the radio, hoping for some call. The passenger vessel he, Sally, and Noin had briefly ventured out in was still operational, its ion cannon reconfigured and tuned.

It was not until the early hours of the tenth day that he heard anything at all. Lying in bed beside Relena he heard that the enemy had been spotted over the radio, and events after the announcement flashed by with dizzying speed. Military ships reported a vessel spotted in deep space, which was presently running on course toward M-204. Military aircraft surrounded the colony, weapons primed for defensive maneuvers. Relena issued orders to hold fire until provoked. Sally, Milliardo, and Heero boarded the passenger shuttle to wait.

"Plans, gentlemen," Sally questioned as they waited in position outside the colony.

"Once we see the ship you'll engage cloaking and move forward," Milliardo explained firmly. "At that point Heero and I will board and execute the rescue."

Heero nodded his affirmation. "And if it looks like there's trouble, use the ion cannon to disable the ship. Howard overcharged it with enough power to disable a carrier, at least for a few seconds. That should buy us time. We don't want anyone shooting anything down until we've got Duo back."

Heero hoped they would not need much time. More, he hoped that the operation could be executed without bloodshed, a sentiment he found odd and slightly ironic.

At six o'clock the radar blared.

Without warning, black-cloaked mobile dolls swarmed from around the colony in a great mass of metal and gunfire. Two military ships vaporized into bright, near instantaneous flashes, and shards of debris rocketed past the passenger vessel so close that Heero feared they might be hit. Together, he, Milliardo, and Sally watched in awe and horror as the massacre unfolded. Each bright flash signified the end of a United Earth Sphere gunship, and each end meant the death of more soldiers.

"What do the heat sensors indicate?" Heero asked coolly. As he watched Sally frantically jabbing at the console to display the thermal readout, he felt thankful for his soldier's training. Calm as windless space he took control, panning the vessel's cameras back and forth over the violence.

"The only heat readout is from the military vessels," Milliardo observed just as calmly as Heero. "The suits are unmanned mobile dolls."

And then from round back of the colony came looming a vessel rivaling the Peacemillion in size and strength, the same gray-white ship that Milliardo had identified from the partial security numbers, and its hull teemed with infrared activity.

"Heero, kill the readout! We've got to move toward that ship!" Sally cried. "The mission is at stake if we don't get over there."

Heero shook his head. "Moving out right now will get the three of us killed," he said evenly. "We need to identify what's controlling those dolls."

Sally stayed quiet for a moment as Heero continued to pan the camera over the battlefield. Then she said quietly, "You don't think they're being controlled from the ship, do you?"

Heero shook his head and looked to Milliardo, who nodded his accord. "There's not a stationary body aboard that ship, if the thermals are reading right. That means that something is controlling them externally, and you can bet with that kind of firepower and maneuverability it's—"

Heero squinted at the monitor and leaned close. "There," he pointed. "There's a manned unit out past the fighting. Separate."

Milliardo stood straight, commanding in his full height, and Heero cut the thermal imaging. Milliardo said, "We circle around back to avoid the gunfire. If we can hit the suit with our ion cannon it ought to disable the dolls."

"What about the ship?" Sally asked dubiously as she situated herself in the pilot's chair.

"Don't need to worry about the ship," Heero said. "It's not firing. If we disable the apparatus controlling all of the dolls, the fight will be over."

He had a feeling that their search would be over as well.

ф

Duo's mind raced with so many violent thoughts and images that it eventually blanked, registering only raw emotion and reaction, instinct and impulse that drove him to destroy. In the cockpit cocoon he saw nothing of the outside, saw no ESUN vessels, no mining satellite, and no colony. He was ten years old again, stationed outside of the church with crude mobile suit controls in hand, fighting against the soldiers that held it hostage.

How many times he had dreamed this scenario. How many times he had failed and suffered, watched the closest thing he had to family bleeding out amongst the rubble of the cathedral, her body spread over what once had been her favorite pew—their favorite pew. Too many times. Too many times he had watched, and Duo would suffer it no more.

At his fingertips now was a battalion of fighting dolls that he had not had before, drones designed to help him save those he loved, but they were dropping fast amid the hail of bullets and laser cannon fire. A flash to his right, and he fired on it with his own suit's guns. He knew his ammunition to be limited, but as long as he used it correctly…

Another bullet pinged against his hull. He returned fire again, simultaneously shifting the mobile dolls forward toward the defenseless church. His troops tightened around its perimeter.

You have to stop this.

The thought entered his mind in a voice that was not his own.

This is a massacre. You have to stop this.

Was Helen pleading? She had never begged him before, never addressed him beyond asking him to stay behind.

Over the radio came a broadcast: "Attention United Earth Sphere forces. My name is Elliott DeSchepper, and I claim hold over colony M-204. Fall back or be destroyed."

Duo closed his eyes, squinted them shut as hard as he could. Elliott DeSchepper, he thought. The name seemed familiar. The name seemed dangerous, somehow wrong. Was this the commander in charge? Was this the one who had issued orders to destroy the church?

When he opened his eyes Duo saw for a heartbeat the vastness of space spread before him, projected onto the monitors by the suit's onboard cameras. He floated far removed from the action playing out before him: A colony loomed in the center of his monitors; a vast gray-white ship crawled into the scene.

And then his mind flooded with dreams of the church. He fired again, connected with another mobile suit. Fired again. Connected again. Directed the dolls into tighter formation.

Duo, you have to stop this.

With a cry of frustration Duo groped at his head. Why wouldn't she stop? Why was she talking? Why was she begging?

Stop this! Stop this madness! Stop this bloodshed!

"Stop it!"

Duo ripped the helmet away from his face and panted, felt sweat dripping against his brow and bile rising in his stomach. He had screamed the words, screamed himself out of the dream. He recognized the thickness in the air, the gentle warmth of the specialized cockpit, the flood of anger radiating from his heart and pain from his gut. This was reality, cold and dark and unfair.

When he raised his eyes to the monitors he gasped. The world lay in ruin, with debris floating everywhere, mobile dolls floating useless now he had stopped their controls, clearly marked ESUN vessels darting about engaged in full offense. And in the center of his screen was Elliott DeSchepper's great warship, dwarfed by the colony behind it.

"Abort!" he heard her cry.

Duo's blood ran cold from head to toe as he remembered this woman, the torment he had suffered, and her soulless manipulation of his mind. How dare she corrupt the memories he held so close to his heart? How dare she use his God-given talents for destruction? No more, he reasoned. It would end now.

"Destroy it!"

The gray-white ship was all Duo saw. His fingers crawled over each key with intimate familiarity, opening the aftermarket missile boxes DeSchepper had mounted on the suit's shoulders. She may have bastardized it, but this remained the mobile suit he had built in Peacemillion's construction hangar. This remained the mobile suit he had test piloted. It was his, and it would reap his retribution.

At the same time he fired the suit's enormous missiles the lights on the gray-white warship flickered—a second or two of blackness against the colony—and Duo watched as the first missiles connected. A string of small flashes rippled across the great ship's hull, and at the same time it came bursting apart he felt a shudder in his own cockpit.

She had activated the self-destruct mechanism remotely.

In the last moments before darkness overtook him Duo watched his monitors. All around tiny darkening flashes signified the destruction of the mobile dolls, and in the distance he could see the remainder of his missiles flying toward the colony. A flare erupted from its core, rippled across its surface.

Then there was nothing.