30 Ways to Conquer Mars

#008 二人の世界
A.C. 197, June 9, 11:02「**-//*-*//-*/---/-//*-/*-**/---/-*/*//」

Gundam Wing © SOTSU AGENCY - SUNRISE - ANB
This is a work of derivative Fanfiction. No claims are made towards the ownership of intellectual rights pertaining to the metaseries.

...

Marsprojekt Security Officer Lucrezia Noin exhausted her vocabulary of Italian vulgarities kicking herself in the head. It wouldn't have taken more than a minute to put on her spacesuit, but she had been either too proud or too stupid to spend that minute, she had not yet decided which, with Zechs in the changing room. All she could think about, spotting that luxurious platinum blond mane cascading down the back of his slender, sculpted, shoulders, was her need to get as far away from him as possible. So much so, in fact, that she had hopped into the first Suit available on the hanger floor without a second thought.

Stop thinking about him, damn you, it was only a kiss for the sake of old times. You have a boyfriend. He is married. Une is going to find Lady Anatolie. And the Prince and the Princess will live Happily Ever After. The End.

She should be more concerned about her current situation, really. It was pride that stopped her from doubling back and changing Suits once she'd realised where her next task was going to be. Working near a gravity booster in a Hopper was one of the first things she had been taught not to do in her third year at Lake Victoria Specials' Academy.

Gravity generators were basically giant electromagnets, attached to various parts of a colony or ship to occasionally correct, or stabilise, balance and gravity both internally and externally. Without the protection of shields or non-conductive plating, both of which were absent in the Hopper's basic design, one could easily run into situations like… this: being pinned to the magnetised generator housing like an etherised frog on an autopsy board.

The force was more than the stripped-down machine can fend off and none of her instruments can be expected to work. She had abandoned her radio after the initial attempt to get through to Donn on the other end. Either they were having trouble shutting down the booster, or he hadn't been able to make out her message at all. It made little difference. Noin was mortified. She had thought she would be a good enough pilot to get away with it. She'd kept up with the Gundam boys and Zechs' Tallgeese in a mass-produced Taurus, for heaven's sake! And she would have, if she hadn't gotten distracted by the memory of Zechs' kiss and slipped towards the generator, causing it to kick on.

What's wrong with you? She shook herself mentally. How did it go from kicking his head in and calling him a metal-plated idiot to… to this, making a big fool of herself with ridiculously amateur mistakes, all lovelorn, and this dry sobbing in a stranded Mobile Suit like some dime store romance heroine? "Oh no, Noin," she mumbled quietly through clenched teeth, feeling the squeeze around her head and ribs. "Nonononono, you are not going to pieces on me. You are not going to cry, damn you, NO!"

But it wasn't the shame and frustration, she realised after a few deep breaths. She was losing atmosphere. She chuckled at herself, thinking how silly she was being to be more worried about bursting into tears than suffocating. A few quick sums in her head estimated her lifespan to be up to ten minutes. Oh joy, she thought to herself in false cheer, And she hasn't even made it to her twenty-first birthday yet. On the other hand, that's three years more than the average OZ MS-pilot.

The breach was minute and she could slow it down with some medical sealant. It was a shame blowtorches were considered too hazardous for carrying onboard, it could easily solve all of her problems… Yes, by spontaneously combusting in the sudden pressure change and blowing your head off. What have you got to lose? You've already lost your mind… Sometimes, she really hated being alone with herself.

She has been in worse situations, she was sure of it; as long as 'worse' defined itself in the life-threatening sense and steered clear of the embarrassment factor.

She wondered what was going on up there. Had Donn sounded the alarm? Were they trying to reach her on the comm? Will they get there minutes after she'd run out of air? Or will she stay crucified here for days like a bug spatter until they get around to peeling her off the side? How the hell am I going to explain this to Une? And Zechs, when will he find out? What will he do?

This time, she was sure the stab in her chest was caused by her breaking heart. It had been hurting for a while, she just hadn't allowed herself the space and time to pay any attention to it. She gasped through the lump in her throat. It was too soon to start decompression sickness. Seven minutes to go.

The other day, Donn, in his infinite soppiness, had asked her what she would spend her time doing is she had only one day to live.

"I'd spend the day making sure it wouldn't be my last, of course," she'd smiled, which apparently was considered cheating.

It wasn't that she had a problem thinking about death. If anything, it was how to stop thinking about it that eluded her. As a soldier, as a survivor, she was painfully familiar to its reality and its necessity. And so, as a human being, she is vehemently opposed to the needless infliction of death. It was disrespectful to that great force of nature.

She had never thought about how she would like to die. A long time ago, she had made an oath that took the decision out of her hands, so she should be trying harder to stay alive… But what's the point? It was dissolved seventeen months and fifteen days ago. You've just been too stubborn to acknowledge this. After all, what are you going to do with yourself now that you are no longer a valued vassal of the Prince of Sanq? Who would you be and where would you go?

She could no longer bring herself to care if the difficulty in her breathing was physical or psychological. Her head hurt from holding back the tears and it felt as though she was drowning inside. She could not admit that she would be lost without a man to give her purpose. Noin closed her eyes and wished for her last six minutes to end. This is all a death is, in the end, a world occupied by one, alone.

Clang, clang, clang… clang, clang, clang… clang… That damned chain she had been out here to cut was banging up against the generator again. How like the sound of her OZ dress sword in its scabbard, knocking up against another. The cadets in their year had adopted the archaic Morse code, rattling it out on whatever was on hand to carry their secret messages. It hit her with another pang to realise that she had gone two years without thinking about her old school friends, and their pact to commemorate every one of them who has fallen over the years every March, in Lake Victoria. Who's keeping The List these days? She wondered. Would she be on it?

The nerve-wreaking screech of something on metal made her wince, and she wondered what terrible things the gravity generator must be doing to the Hopper. It sounded way too close for comfort. Maybe she will be crushed to death and spared the torture of suffocation in space. Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang…

She counted it off, pretending it was Morse code to amuse herself. Five, six if you counted the scratch. Six for Zechs. Tch, she should have known she wouldn't keep him off her mind for long.

Scratch, clang, scratch… K… Wait, how is the chain getting free to swing back like that? It was hard to think with the fog in her brain. What was making the other sound anyway? Scratch, clang, scratch… No, not 'K', an… invitation to transmit?

The fist over her stomach tightened and in that split second it seemed her soul would leap out of her mortal shell. Zechs. Pulling herself together was harder than she'd expected. Somehow, she managed to find enough strength to kick thrice at the hutch of her prison, praying silently that it was enough and that she hadn't damaged the pressure seals.

There was the thumping again. M… V… Q… 4… Manoeuvre Q-4… Rescue manoeuvre four? She chocked, though it could have been on the thin air. Rescue manoeuvre four was part of her Final Project for the Applied Astro-Science elective she took up her last year at Lake Victoria. Her project had involved a series of theoretical preventions and solutions to life-threatening situations that may occur to space workers. Ironically, being pinned to a gravity booster in a Hopper was not one of her considered hazards.

Rescue manoeuvre four was devised at the very last minute on the day she handed in her project, for the sole purpose of having a slightly longer paper than the other students, and primarily on a sugar high. It was sheer madness, and had never, to the best of her knowledge, even been simulated. She had no other options.

Since loss of consciousness due to exposure to vacuum does not occur until approximately 9 to 12 seconds into full exposure, she had written, and experiments have shown that patients have an average 49% chance of full recovery in cases of vacuum exposure of no more than 90 seconds, there is therefore a possible rescue window of 9 to 90 seconds over short distances for vacuum-stranded civilians.

Noin crossed her fingers and waited. Nothing in her life had ever prepared her for this. There, the snap-hiss of the pressure seals releasing the last of her air into the vast void of space. The vertigo hit her like a tonne of bricks and she almost toppled over as the universe welcomed her with its vampiric kiss.

Manoeuvre 4 calls for 2 or more experienced personnel to transfer victims into a safe and stable environment when victims cannot be reached without significant breach of atmosphere.

Strong, familiar, hands reached in and steadied her. Something slipped under her arms. Every twitch of a muscle was an uphill battle.

The rescuers will have 9 to 12 seconds of victim co-operation in which to retrieve the victim to an accessible position.

She wasn't sure how long it has been, or if it was really happening at all. Darkness danced on the edge of everything, as though she were fully exposed to space. She was vaguely aware of a sensation, like giant leeches nursing on every inch of her skin. If she's in space, why is there gravity? Why isn't she floating? She wanted to giggle.

There was a distant rumble of something, and everything fell away.

Rescuers will have 80 seconds after the loss of consciousness in which to fully seal the victim into a stable, atmosphere-controlled environment.

Once the Hopper's atmosphere was vented, there was no way to re-pressurise the cockpit. He had known this coming out, which was what the spacesuit was for.

He tugged her along the guy-line he had set up, cramming her into the extra suit as fast as he could. The helmet would come last because, if he remembered his science fiction right, the stories about exploding someone's head by giving them air before putting them in a contained pressurised environment may just be true.

Times like these, Zechs missed the Tallgeese with its optimally conditioned cockpit, full range tracking sensors and anti-trackers, and, most importantly, armaments. He wasn't sure who or what he would use them on first, Noin for being as jaw-droppingly stupid as she'd been, or Donn for letting her, or the owner of the Marsprojekt for all the trivial little problems that caused Noin to be out here in the first place.

Wasn't it the first lesson at Lake Victoria when heading out into space to never board a Hopper without a spacesuit? And wasn't the second not to bring a Hopper close to any sort of massive energy generating equipment? At least the Marsprojekt stocked top of the line spacesuits to make up for its shoddy fleet of maintenance-use Mobile Suits.

The light on her chest turned green finally as he settled her into his Hopper. Grabbing her wrist for the controls welded into her suit, he scrolled through the menus for first-aid medical attention and scowled at his options. Allergies, flu, hives… list by symptom, not drug. He had not expected this. The flashing red digits on his own wrist-control jumped, blasting a high-pitched series of beeps in his ears. Forced to make a decision, he stabbed blindly at 'heart attack' and prayed to God that he hadn't just killed her.

Hopefully that would be enough. It had to be, because Noin had lost consciousness and he was going to be very angry if he could not yell at her when she wakes up.

...

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Glossary:
**-//*-*//-*/---/-//*-/*-**/---/-*/*// - Morse code "U R Not Alone"
Clang, clang, clang… clang, clang, clang… clang… - Morse code. "Me". Zechs' first attempt at contacting Noin uses a group of 3 knocks to symbolise a dash. Obviously this is not a very good idea, so he switches to that scratching noise instead.

A/N:

The science in the above story is FICTIONAL. Kids, do not try this at home. SF-buffs, try to remember this was concocted by someone whose experience with space is limited to the sci-fi channel and wikipedia; which means, don't claw out your eyes and scream at how horribly wrong it all is, tell me why it's wrong too.