The boy shifted, pushing himself deeper into the machine. The smell of old fuel lingered in the still air. It wasn't unpleasant in the least. In fact it seemed vaguely comforting. Twisting himself slightly he peered up. He could almost see the generator. Or at least, what he thought was the generator. The position the old demolition was in; it was hard to get access to this part of the suit. And it wasn't really meant for anyone to crawl into either. Wires of all kinds blocked his way and there was various other greasy detritus that slid under his fingers. Squinting into the darkness, the boy took the small flashlight from his teeth and flicked it on. A big shadowy block was above him that the light couldn't quite reach. He was fairly sure that was the power generator. Putting the flashlight back in his teeth, he braced his foot against the ground, grabbed the wires above him and pushed himself up into a wall of dazzling pain. The boy yelped, clenching his teeth around the flashlight and putting a hand to the back of his head on pure impulse.

All his fingers encountered was a lump and he didn't feel concussed. He hoped he wasn't concussed. He couldn't afford to be less than a hundred percent, especially now. He braced his foot against a small rounded ledge right below him, lightly hanging onto the wires as he found his balance. Then he took the flashlight from his teeth, peering upward. This was the power generator, attached to the back of the unit. Wires and tubes flowed from it like veins to all parts of the demolition unit. Hm. Shifting his weight a bit, he pulled the schematics from the waistband of his shorts and flicked it open, holding the flashlight in his teeth again so he could read with both hands. It wasn't easy to follow. There were many things he didn't understand about it. He frowned. Perhaps Dr. J could help him out with that once he'd gotten the Gundam. Although he felt a little annoyed about not knowing it himself, it was a waste of time to struggle on his own when there was someone who could teach him.

He rolled the flashlight between his teeth in thought. From what he could gather, everything--even the computer core--was connected to this generator. If something happened to it the pilot could be in serious danger. According to these schematics there didn't even seem to be a back up generator. Supposedly, this generator model was solid and dependable if you wanted to do slow, precise work. However, moving too fast could short out the generator and if those sparks ate through a fuel line then it would be an entirely different disaster all together.

It was a good machine for demolition work, from what he understood. He flipped to the schematic of the generator itself and narrowed his eyes. The one on the blueprint didn't look like the one in the unit. Could it be a different model? He held the schematics with one hand and took the flashlight from his mouth with the other. From the little information he could read printed on the front of the machine it seemed like the exact same model. Except where the generator in the blueprint was a perfect rectangular cube, this one had a protuberance on the side. It looked like...another generator? Why had someone affixed another one? It was too small to work as any sort of backup. Maybe they wanted to get more power, but what for? He looked back down at the blue prints, wishing he understood more. It seemed to him that that small a generator wouldn't provide much more power anyway, perhaps a short burst for a minute or two but still…

There was a noise outside. The soft hiss of an opening door. The boy clicked off the flashlight and moved his foot away from the ledge, sliding from the demolition unit and abandoning both flashlight and schematics to snatch his gun from the ground and stand against the back of the unit. They couldn't see him from here unless they came to far in. There was the soft clacking of shoes, anxious whispered voices. The boy sighed. Scientists…

He leaned heavily against the bulk of the unit, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Mitsuyo had discovered he existed apparently and had been sending his scared little scientists in droves to try and inject him with something. It was highly annoying. He couldn't go anywhere without scientists peering at him furtively and trying to jump at him from around corners. Fortunately they were all frightened of the gun after he shot the first one in the knee. It would have been much more effective if he'd killed them all, but Mitsuyo had told him that he would never be able to touch the Gundam if he killed anyone.

The door swished open again and the boy narrowed his eyes. More of them?

"Is he here?" a man asked. The others hushed him loudly.

"I was just asking," the man said defensively in a ridiculously loud whisper.

"We don't know," said a woman. "I'm not sure I want to go look, do you?"

"We should probably just leave."

"No, Mitsuyo-sensei said to wait. This is his favorite spot so he'll either come in or out."

The boy frowned. He'd become too predictable. On the other hand, there was only so far to go in such a small area. First, to assess the situation. He shoved the gun into the waistband of his shorts and hugged the floor, squirming on his belly so he could peer further into the room. There were six people. The door slid open again to reveal three more. Demolition pilots… The boy recognized them from the lunch room.

"You stand guard outside," said the woman. "We'll take care of in here."

They nodded and stepped out. If Mitsuyo was hiring demolition pilots to hunt for him, he must be desperate. Something was going on. But what? Well, whatever it was, now was not the time to think of it.. The first plan was escape. Six people. It was a risk to try and go through them, especially since they had needles on their person. Even if he did, the pilots outside would be alerted and they were bigger than him, stronger and probably armed on top of that. The second option was to hide and wait them out. But there were only limited places to hide and if he was found, it would be difficult to escape easily. The third option was the ventilation shafts. There were two that led into the room. The one to the far left only led to the other hangar, and that would mean running the gamut of scientists and pulling off the grate. He glanced up. The other shaft was in the ceiling. He could just barely reach it if he climbed to the top of the demolition unit. He wasn't entirely sure where it went, either. The blueprints of the satellite told him that it connected to a maintenance shaft. Where it came out, he had no idea. There was no telling how old those blueprints were, or their accuracy. It was definitely a risky option.

The boy thought for a moment, running all the scenarios through his mind once more, just in case there was something he'd missed. The overhead ventilation shaft seemed like the only option at the moment. He inched back behind the cover of the unit, and began to climb. It was harder than it looked. There were plenty of handholds, as wrecked as the unit was, but the sharp jagged metal sliced easily into his palm if he wasn't careful. He reached the shoulder and pulled himself up. The scientists were either watching the door or talking to one another in small groups. None of them seemed to notice him. Unfortunately, to reach the grate he would have to expose his back to them. Hopefully they would be stupid enough to shout out if they spotted him.

The grate was further up than he anticipated. He reached up, standing up on the balls of his feet, working at the screw that held the grate in place. This was stupid. Dangerously stupid. He was too exposed here. Getting down would be even stupider. The screw came out. The boy slipped it into his tank top so it wouldn't clatter on the floor, wiped his sweaty fingers on his shorts and started on the other one.

There was a pop from behind him and a small slice of pain flashed across his ankle. The boy didn't even bother to look back. They saw him. He worked faster on the screw. Another small pop sounded and all the warning he had was a prickly feeling on the back of his neck. He twitched his head to the side, feeling the air of whatever it was as it passed right by his cheek. Whatever it was plinked off the wall and clattered to the floor. There was no time to check what it was.

With a grunt, he yanked the second screw free and wrenched the grate down. More popping noises behind him. The boy jumped, catching the ledge of the vent and scrambling up. Pain exploded in his calf and the scientists burst into cheers. Cursing to himself he clambered into the vent, crawling as fast as he could away from the access point. Once a fair distance away, he stopped, resting against the wall. The vent was just big enough to sit in if he hunched over. It was warm too and he could feel the faint vibrations from the machinery humming along behind it.

The boy took his mind off his surroundings to concentrate on his leg. It didn't hurt anymore. In fact, it felt like he hadn't been hit at all. He ran a hand down his calf and blinked when his fingers encountered a small metallic lump embedded into his skin. What was it? He tried to twist around to see, but the light was too dim. He managed to slip a fingernail between the device and his skin and pulled. It didn't budge. He pulled harder and there was a small snipping sound as his nail broke. Hn. That obviously wasn't working.

"He's not in this room either, sir," said a faint voice from below.

"He must be still in the ducts," answered another. "Do it, Yoshiki."

"Yes, sir."

The boy tensed. The air filled with a faint high pitched whine. A spot of heat grew on his calf. His heart skipped a beat. Oh shit. Grabbing the metal between two fingers, he desperately tried to tug it off. Searing pain ripped up his leg, as if millions of needles were puncturing his skin, twisting savagely up his muscles to claw up his back. Then it was gone, disappearing as quickly as it had come. Sweat ran down his face. His throat felt raw. Had he screamed? His leg was throbbing. He cursed under his breath, pinching the metallic device between shaking fingers and trying to tear it off. It was no use. Whatever the thing was it was embedded into his skin. Damnit. He blinked the sweat from his eyes and twisted, trying to get a better look. . There was a skreeking sound up ahead. The boy looked up. Someone was unscrewing the vent in the next hangar.

"Be careful," said the commanding voice. "He might not be unconscious."

He needed to think quickly. Shooting them was out of the question. He might not get the Gundam if he accidentally killed one of them. Besides, if he pulled a gun, they could very well panic and activate the device again. It might just knock him out the next time, and he couldn't afford to be unconscious right now. But what then? If he crawled away, they would activate the device…and going with them was too great a risk. But maybe… He fingered the device again, biting down a little as he probed the bruised skin around it, trying to get a feel of how embedded it was. The grate creaked open and the broad face of one of the pilots appeared. More than an arm's length from him. The man smiled in a tight way, working his hand up to reach for the boy.

"Come on, now," said the demolition pilot. "We're not going to hurt you. We only want to help."

The boy didn't bother with a reply. Seeing the pilot had nothing in his hand to knock him out or otherwise damage him, the boy pulled the gun out of the waistband of his shorts. The pilot's eyes widened.

"Oh shit!" he bellowed, his voice echoing along the metal tunnels. "Press it, Yoshiki! Press it!"

The boy's heart jumped into his throat. He felt the spot of heat grow again, twisting around; he aimed a centimeter below the device on his leg, reminded himself he didn't have time for pain and pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot nearly deafened him; he could hear it ringing in his ears. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. There was a spark of white on the floor, and another. It was the device, he realized. A small electricity field zapped around it as it malfunctioned. He watched it, drawn into it. Like…like…something Odin used to say. A…a moth to a—

Something grabbed his arm. The boy jerked around, slamming the butt of his gun into the pilot's face. He felt the man's nose give under the sudden weight, heard the small sharp snap. Blood gushed from his face, splattering across the metal. The man screamed and fell back. The boy threw himself on his hip to kick his leg out, the solid impact ran up his leg and the man's head jerked back. But there was no pain. No pain. Only images. Golden white images overlaying anything, little orbs of white flowing through them that didn't make any sense.

"Get down!" someone was shouting. He ducked. But it wasn't…It was down below. They were down below. The scientists. He had to get away. The pilot disappeared from the grate as if he was pulled down. The boy swung down, dropping down after him. His leg gave out underneath him, sending him to his knee. But there was no pain. No pain. There was something wrong. The scientists stared at him. Everything was too clear, the strands of their hair, the weave of their coats. He could hear them breathing. He could hear himself breathing heavily. His heartbeat accelerated.

A flicker of movement, a scientist was raising a gun. The boy pushed himself off the floor and broke into a run, heading straight for her. He could see the woman's muscles tense, her hand closing over the trigger. The boy grabbed her wrist, feeling her skin under his palm. Jerking her forward, he snapped his other hand up into her elbow. It gave and she screamed. Letting her go, the boy darted from the room and tore down the hallway; there were more men there, big, strong. He dodged the first one, slipping on a slick spot and slamming hard into the wall, knocking the breath out of him.

The men were still moving for him. The scientists were coming into the hall. Everything was moving so fast, faster than he could keep up with. His hand twitched and he felt the grip of the gun against his palm. But he couldn't do that. There had to be another way out, another option. He had to think. Think.

There was a familiar dinging sound coming from just around the curve of the hall. The lift! The boy shoved himself away from the wall just as the pilot lunged for him. He twisted around the bulk of the man and ran as fast as he could, breath loud in his ears. There was a pop behind him and one of the devices pinged off the floor by his foot. That was close. If he got implanted again it would be all over. He fought the urge to look back and instead kept going, following the curve of the wall closely, picking up his speed. As he came closer, a man with a clipboard came out of the lift. The man looked up at him, eyes widening.

"Grab him!" someone shouted. The lift doors were closing. The boy threw himself into a tumble, getting into the lift a moment before the doors slid shut. He pounded the button for the above floor repeatedly, only stepping back when the lift groaned and started to move. He waited impatiently for a few seconds, fingers twitching over the emergency stop switch. When he was sure the lift was between floors, he yanked it down, feeling the old lift grind to a stop.

He stumbled back, intending to lean on the wall and instead sitting hard on the floor. The boy leaned forward, resting his arms on his raised knees, dipping his head low. His breath roared in his ears and the sound of his heartbeat seemed to fill the small space. He was shaking all over and though he knew he was the only one in the lift, he kept seeing movement out of the corner of his eye. The hem of a lab coat, the boots of a pilot, the sandaled feet of a child. It wasn't real. They were just tricks of light. I…Illusions. There had to be something more to that device. But…but…he couldn't think about that now. He had to move. They had easy access to the lift. They could even override the controls to make it move despite the emergency brake. But where could he go? Who could he trust? There was nowhere. He was all alone. But he had survived this long. He could survive longer. He didn't need anyone to help him!

He stood up and had to slam his hand against the wall to keep himself from going down again as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He held himself as still as he could until it passed and raised his head. A bright fleck of red on the floor caught his attention. Blood. That's right. He…he was bleeding. And still was. The back of his sock was stained red and blood plopped to the floor at his foot. Untucking his shirt, he tore off a strip from the bottom and tied it around his leg, pulling it tightly and tying it off. It wouldn't last for long. But hopefully it would staunch the bleeding.

The first thing to do…the first thing to do was to go back to his room. Unless they were waiting for him there. That would be the place they would expect him to go. This wasn't just a random attack. This had been more planned. They wanted to get him out of the way. Was it just because Mitsuyo was tired of failing? Or was there something else happening? He closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. He wanted to pace, wanted to move. What should he do now? Where should he go?

There was a soft click. The boy's eyes snapped open. Before he could even guess what the sound was, the lift started up. They were trying to trap him again. The boy grabbed at his gun. The weapon fumbled through his shaking hands and clattered to the floor. He scooped it up and stumbled to the opposite side of the lift, pressing himself the wall right beside the doors. How many would there be? There were at least two other lifts beside this one. Would they come up on those? Or would there be more waiting on the second level for him? Would they have those gun things? He might have to kill some of them to get out of this. But how many could he kill before they took him down? And after he was down, what would they do to him?

The lift jerked to a stop. The boy lifted the gun, finger tensing on the trigger. The lift doors swished slowly open. It seemed to take an eternity. He braced himself, preparing for the flood of people and devices. But there was nothing.

"Damnit all, where is he?" The voice was familiar but hoarse, as if the man had used too much. "Are you sure this is the right one?"

"It has to be." That was…Hana? The boy narrowed his eyes. Though he wasn't really surprised that she was part of it. "They said they drove him into lift C and why else would I have to override the lock?"

"Well we better make sure."

Go to meet them or stay hidden? Stay hidden. Let them come to him one at a time. He had the advantage in here. There was a creaking sound he couldn't identify and Domo rolled in. The boy remained where he was. He still didn't trust the man. Just because the boy hadn't caught him doing anything didn't mean that he hadn't.

"Well he's not here," Domo said turning the chair in a circle. As he started to direct the chair out of the lift, he caught the boy's eyes and startled. He didn't say anything for a long moment, as if he was trying to think of what to say. The boy watched him carefully. That was unusual for him, wasn't it? Domo always knew what to say.

"Is he in there, Domo-sempai?" Hana asked. Domo shifted back in his chair and the familiar smirk crawled across his face. The boy pointed the gun at him, staring straight into the man's eyes. He was beginning to feel a little dizzy again and the images were back, dancing in and out of his peripheral vision.

"Go ahead," Domo said. "It would actually be doing me a favor."

He saw a shadow move on the wall and turned the gun on Hana just as she slipped in. Her eyes widened and she backed up a step, placing her hand flat against the wall. She was the greater threat. But…Domo was more devious.

"We're trying to help!" she said. She took a step toward him.

"Don't," the boy said shortly. Glancing between the two of them. The first quick movement and he was going to shoot. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't," said Domo, the smirk still on his face. The boy glared at him. He hated the amusement in his voice. As if he didn't care. As if he wasn't taking the boy seriously. Domo leaned forward a little.

"But what I do know is that we're wasting time. You can either risk trusting us or face your chances with them."

There was a soft insistent beeping from outside. Hana glanced toward the lift opening, then cautiously at the boy before glancing back at Domo.

"I think they've unlocked lifts A and B."

"Your call," Domo said. There was so much risk involved. So much risk but so little time. Finally the boy nodded, lifting his gun from the two, but still keeping his finger on the trigger. Domo nodded at Hana. She gave the boy a quick glance before leaving the room. In a moment, she was back with the laptop, she pressed the close doors button before kneeling on the floor, taking a screwdriver from the bag hanging at her side and working on a section of paneling just below the buttons.

"What are we doing?" the boy asked. Neither of them answered as Hana pulled off the panel. She took a thick black cord out of the back, attaching one end to the laptop. The other end went somewhere in the tangle of wires that lay behind the panel. The boy pointed the gun at her once more. He didn't like this silence.

"What are we doing?" he repeated again, his words sounding a bit slurred to his own ears. He straightened a little, blinked the sweat from his eyes. Tried to stay focused on her and not the fuzzy afterimages that radiated in the air around her.

"To the first floor," Hana said, after a quick glance at Domo.

"That's the restricted floor." Mitsuyo's floor. The hair on the back of the boy's neck prickled.

"And they'll be less likely to look for you there," Domo said as Hana flipped the laptop open. "From there on, we can figure out what to do. Trust me, boy." The man glanced down at Hana and the boy followed his gaze, watching the string of symbols fly across the screen as her fingers danced over the keyboard.

"I'm on your side," Domo murmured. There was a sharp click and the lift started down again. The boy crouched, shifting the weight onto his good leg and leaning against the wall for support. Domo was watching him steadily. His long bone like fingers moved impatiently over the armrest of the wheel chair, as if he was typing out the data himself. Something was …wrong. Something he should be seeing but he wasn't. The boy thought hard, trying to piece together everything that had happened.

"It would be so much easier if you just gave up," Hana said softly. The boy said nothing. Hana always said things like that…but it seemed to have a different tone now. As if there was something important behind her words.

"But of course he wouldn't. He wants to be a hero after all," said Domo. He could feel the man's stare on him. "He can't just run away."

Again there seemed to be something. The boy's fingers twitched convulsively over the gun. The weight was comfortable but at the same time the feeling of it sent a stab of anxiety through him. He couldn't think. He was missing something. Something important. He knew he was. The lift was slowing down, grinding to a stop. Domo was still staring at him and the boy lifted his gaze to the man's face. The usual smirk was gone and his expression look strained. Domo glanced from him to the door and back again. The boy glanced to the door himself as the lift settled. But there was no break in the seal, no one coming through. Domo sighed heavily.

"These lifts are so slow," the man said. "I always end up feeling a little trapped."

The boy stared. That was a strange thing to say. Something was wrong with this whole situation…but what? The boy blinked as he realized, his heart jumping. It was a code! It had to be. The boy backed against the doors as the lift clunked to a full stop. He pointed the gun at Domo, using both hands to keep it steady. There were no allies here. It was just a trap. It was all a trap!

"No, stupid!" Domo snapped.

The boy could feel the doors slide open behind him. Suddenly a hand twisted into the back of his shirt and pulled hard, sending him stumbling back into the corridor. The room spun crazily and the boy sank to one knee to keep from falling over. A shadow loomed over him and he looked up to see Tatsu just before the teen's bony hands wrapped in his shirt and hauled him to his feet. The boy grabbed at Tatsu' s hands, trying to pry him off but the teenager only smirked and shoved him back hard against the wall. The boy gritted his teeth as pain rang through him again. He was feeling so very weak. He didn't know how much longer he could last. But letting Tatsu win was unacceptable, so he had to try. Curls of darkness swept around his vision.

"No where left to run, kid," Tatsu said, triumph in his voice. "You're just lucky that no one else thought that you would be stupid enough to come down here. But I knew you would. Hana's innocent face can fool anyone."

"Tatsu…" Hana said.

Gun… Gun… The boy twitched his fingers, but the familiar weight of the gun was gone and his hand was empty. Where was it? He must have dropped it when Tatsu pushed him. The boy looked around, forcing himself to concentrate, and saw it lying on the floor a few feet past Tatsu's shoulder. Now if only he could get there. If only he could get away.

"Hana-chan, get the needle ready," Tatsu said, glancing at her briefly, then back at the boy. "There is going to be a little test for the candidates soon and for some reason, Mitsuyo-sensei thinks that you're going to cheat." A wide grin split Tatsu's face but his eyes were still narrowed, angry. There was a glint in his eyes, a faint flicker of madness. The look of a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

"But we're not going to let you, are we? No. We'll pump you so full of chemicals it will be amazing if you can stand.

"Why not let him win?" Domo said, his voice slightly muffled. Or maybe it was the boy's hearing that was shutting down.

"Why not?" Domo repeated. He was standing, the boy realized vaguely. Weak and shaky, but he was standing and hiding something at his side, holding it away from Tatsu's vision. "If he does, Mitsuyo will have no reason to keep us here. If he wins, we can go free."

"Oh, this has gone far beyond freedom. This is about revenge." He spat the word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "Revenge for all of us."

That was stupid. It was so stupid. The boy scrabbled weakly at Tatsu's hand, feeling himself fading with every breath.

"I'm sorry," Domo said, raising his hand, his arm shaking. The gun. He was holding the gun. But there were…tears on his face. "I'm sorry."

Gunfire popped in his ears, roaring loud, ringing against his skull. Tatsu's grip loosened and the boy felt himself falling. He managed to get his legs under him but they gave under his weight and sparks shot behind his eyes as he hit the floor hard. There was blood in the air, blood in his mouth. Hana was screaming from far away.

"Taatsuuu!"

There was running, the sound of feet ringing against the metal corridor. Voices. Grey, then the heavy world of black.

---
---

It was dark when the boy came slowly became aware. It was dark and he was lying on something uncomfortable and metal, but his head was propped on something soft. There was no beeping sound above him, he noted with relief. No sound at all except his own breathing and the faint hum of a functioning satellite. There was something…wrong. He shouldn't be here. He tried to remember what had happened before, but got only vague impressions of color and noise. The boy let that go for now and instead concentrated inward. He wasn't thinking clearly, like someone had wrapped his brain in a woolly blanket. His tongue was swollen in his dry mouth and there was a medicinal taste in the back of his throat, though he was fairly certain he hadn't swallowed everything. His face ached. The boy lifted a hand to his cheek, gingerly feeling the bruise with his fingertips, then worked his jaw and checked his mouth slowly with his tongue. Nothing broken. No teeth loose. It was just a little swollen from where he…fell. He had fallen, hadn't he? Because…Tatsu had dropped him. Memory flooded back, but it was still hazy, as if everything that had happened had been a dream. He reached down as he recalled the scientists had shot him in the leg with that device and felt bandages there. The wound underneath still ached and stung when he shifted his leg to test it, otherwise it felt sound. Whoever had wrapped the bandages had had time and knew what they were doing. But who had it been? And where was he now?

The boy tentatively sat up, lifting his hand above him to feel for the ceiling so he wouldn't crack his head on it. He sat straight and comfortable, but the warm metal ceiling was only a few inches above him. He swept out his hands on either side. Metal on his right, brushing his fingertips. To the left, he had to lean on his hip to reach the wall. As he dropped his hand down the smooth surface, his fingers encountered a rounded raised edge. He followed it with his fingers and felt something which seemed like a switch. Carefully, the boy pushed it down. Light flooded the area and the boy flinched as the searing white of it sent a stabbing needle through his brain. He forced himself to squint, trying to get used to it, his head throbbing. Finally his eyes adjusted, but his head still ached. The small space was only a little longer than he was. He could lie on his stomach and reach the wall. A light had been attached to the left wall, a single bare bulb that flared harshly. The boy twisted around and saw that a blanket had been rolled up for his head. Whoever had put him here had wanted him to be a little comfortable. That could mean anything, though. Either someone had placed him here in hopes no one would find him, or that he wouldn't get out.

The boy shifted on to his knees, ignoring the pain, and ran his fingers along the walls, searching for seams in the metal. He had to get out of here. Off of the satellite. It was no longer safe for him to train here. He would get out and then hide in the air ducts until a shuttle came along, then sneak aboard somehow. Afterwards he would go find Dr. J and explain the situation. He was sure the scientist would understand. Leaving was the only logical course right now. The boy's plans grew muddled as he worked, his thoughts turning only to finding that crack that had to be around here somewhere. Sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging into his eyes. It was getting hot. Maybe it was an oven. Maybe Mitsuyo was trying to roast him alive. The boy pushed that thought from his mind and tried to focus on the task.

At the far end of the little space, he finally found what he thought he was looking for. There was a tiny black line that ran in a half square, connecting to the floor. It wouldn't be a big space, but he could shimmy through on his belly. He tried clawing at the metal, working his fingernails into the small crack and pulling. The metal didn't budge. Grunting with frustration, he slammed the heel of his hand against it and started in surprise when the section of metal popped open, coming away from the wall enough to get his fingers in. The boy did and pulled. The metal came away easily, attached with well camouflaged hinges at the floor. The boy eased the metal down and stared, frustration and bewilderment mingling in him. He hadn't uncovered a passage, rather a small alcove.

Inside was a stuffed purple dog, missing one eye, left ear frayed, worn with use. It sat beside an old worn box that looked like the kind used to hold medical supplies. Curiosity got the better of him and he pulled the box to him, clicking open the latches on either side and opening it. There were cards inside and folded up paper that were still white and crisp despite the dates written on them which marked them written years ago. One of the pieces of paper was open, the kanji neat and decisive.

Two boys were bought in today, I think the older is called Tatsu but I didn't catch the name of the younger. They are both young, still crying for their mother. Dr. Evil says that she's rotted to death in some Alliance prison. He will destroy them.

There were other notes too with names he didn't recognize. Notes from happenings from different colonies. The casualties when the Alliance came down heavily on one colony or another. The broadcasts that he'd heard sometimes in the hangar echoed in his head. So many people were dying and getting hurt, because of the Alliance… and people like Mitsuyo were feeding off it. Feeding off other people's fear and misery. It wasn't fair! It wasn't right! The boy wiped the sweat from his forehead and pulled more notes from the box. The kanji became shakier as he went, the messages simpler. He shuffled the shakier letters to the side impatiently and blinked as two photographs stared at him from the bottom of the box. One was of Howell and a younger Domo, standing very close, but it was the other that caught his eye. Dr. J, with threads of black in his hair, standing beside a red car. Beside him, a hand on his shoulder, was Mitsuyo.

Before the boy had time to process this, he heard tapping sounds from elsewhere. Sounds that were coming steadily closer. Footsteps. The boy hastily put the notes away, closed the alcove back up and hit the light switch, flooding the tiny compartment with darkness once more. The footsteps came close to the right side of the metal wall. The boy pushed himself into the far left hand corner, knees bent, hands braced on the floor in front of him. As soon as a door opened, if a door opened, he would bolt for the exit as fast as he could. There was a scraping sound and a small crescent of light appeared which widened to a circle a little bigger than his eye. But no eye appeared on the other side. All he could see was a floor and the bottom of a shelf.

"Right now, there is now way off this satellite." Domo's voice filtered in from close by. "Mitsuyo has everyone on alert looking for you and there are men guarding all the docking areas. You're only safe here." He hesitated a moment. "Are you awake? Do you understand?"

Could he trust him? If he said nothing, maybe Domo would open the door anyway to check on him and then he could escape. But what if Domo was right? The boy had lost his gun somewhere and had no defense against them. He could creep through the air vents but getting to them would be a high risk.

"I could have left you to die there," Domo said, sounding annoyed. "But I didn't. I dragged your sorry carcass all the way up here and I didn't do all that effort just to kill you now."

That made sense, if Domo was telling the truth. But who else could have taken him up here? He didn't think Hana would. Trusting Domo was a risk, but at least it was a lesser risk compared to others.

"I understand," the boy said.

"So you're not going to jump me the moment you're free?" There was more sarcasm in his voice than anything, but since the door hadn't yet opened, the boy supposed it was a serious question.

"I won't."

Two fingers hooked in the hole and pulled to the side, there was the sound of moving metal and the opening slid to the left, letting in cool air. The boy crawled out into the light and the room proper. Domo was crouched a few feet away, his face pale, but his eyes were fever bright. One hand was still on the door, the other was resting on his leg, fingers twitching and jumping. The boy tried to stand and felt as if the gravity had been increased ten times. His leg shook underneath him, twinging and weak.

"Sit before you hurt yourself," Domo said, sliding the door back and standing with a fluid grace. The boy lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. He wanted to stand but there was something wrong with him. The last thing he wanted to do was pass out again. Domo picked up a small brown bag from a small table and handed it out to the boy who took it cautiously. Inside was a sandwich, a few stalks of wilted celery and a can of juice.

"It's all I could sneak from the kitchen," Domo said, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Eat all of it. You'll need your energy. I don't know what they shot you up with, but it's going to be hell."

"Shot me up with?" the boy asked, pulling out the celery and inspecting it before taking a bite. It was stringy and got caught in his teeth but it was food and, he discovered, he was hungry.

"I don't know, but I do know they managed to tag you, so they must have injected you with something, which is probably highly addictive too, the bastards." Domo began to pace the room, back and forth, folding his hands behind him and slapping one into the other. His movements were too quick, as if he couldn't stand to sit still. The boy wondered what he meant by tagged. Then remembered, as if in a dream, having to shoot that little black device off his leg. The thought that he had been injected with some some sort of drug made his stomach twist over.

"So what does that mean?" the boy asked, hating not knowing the answers. Domo grinned, his eyes wide.

"It means you'll go through the hell of withdrawal. But I can't see it lasting more then two or three days, if you're lucky. And, fortunately for you, that's about the time you get to leave this paradise."

The boy had started to nibble the sandwich, the word withdrawl relaxing him a little. That meant that he would get over it. No lasting damage. Right? At Domo's last words, though, he glanced up at the man. Leaving? When? How? Was this something planned to the last detail or did the boy have to bolt for it? He stared at Domo, waiting for the answers. Domo smirked and the boy glared. He was tired of the games. Tired of Domo trying to jerk him around.

"Are you going to tell me what's going to happen?" the boy said, trying to sound bland rather than annoyed. Domo spread his hands, palms up.

"Would that I could, kid. You're leaving in three days. That's all J-sensei would tell me." Domo's smile widened and he looked at a point beyond the boy. "He doesn't want Mitsuyo to torture it out of me, you see."

The boy was immediately on guard. What else could Mitsuyo torture out of Domo? How secure was he really? Wanting to reach for his gun before remembering he had none. He tried to think an escape only to realize that parts of his memory of the satellite layout were blurry or missing. Something wet plopped on his ankle and he looked down to see a grey blob of tuna from the sandwich, greasy and filmed with white from the mayonnaise. His hand was trembling and he watched, feeling apart from himself, as his right index finger twitched against the bread.

"That's the start," Domo said, suddenly solemn. He crouched and stared at the boy, his face looking strange without the mocking smile. Like he was someone else. "But the withdrawal gets worse. Much worse then that. I couldn't take it which is why I'm still here. If I had…if I had maybe Tatsu would still be alive." The smirk came back suddenly and Domo lifted his fingers as if he was holding a gun. "Or maybe if I hadn't blew his brains out he'd still be alive."

"He had to die sometime," the boy said, trying to keep his hands from twitching. It didn't work. The headache was starting to ease back, making him squint as the soft pain beat at his temples.

"Did he?" Domo said. He said nothing more for a long while. A stretch which seemed like an eternity as the boy's vision dimmed then brightened to almost painful clarity. But even though it felt as if he could pick out the individual fibers on Domo's shirt, he couldn't focus. Couldn't get his eyes to move.

"You'll be safe in there," Domo was saying and the boy suddenly realized he was being led back to the hiding space in the wall. "No one knows about it except the people that should." There were things he needed to ask, the boy knew. Things he needed to confirm. But he wasn't sure what they were. He was on the edge of something. On the edge with the pit black underneath him. An empty pit of stars.

"How can I trust you?" the boy asked. He was lying on his back now, head pillowed, staring at Domo who seemed to be surrounded by the light. Domo smirked, his black eyes like sheets of ice.

"You can't."

---

The minutes stretched into hours, the hours into days, the days into eternity. It was impossible to tell here in the darkness. There were times when the boy thought he was dead. When he couldn't even feel himself anymore and wanted to let go but knew his soul would be lost, trapped inside the cold metal satellite, trapped in the place of death and blood and pain. Other times his body thrashed around without him and all he could think of was the pain ripping apart his insides, as if someone was cutting away at his organs with scissors or giant slabs of notched steel.

Then there were the dreams. Thick gray smoke, choking, piles of granite, support beams sticking up out of them like reaching skeletal arms as he searched for the one thing he couldn't find. The gleaming side of shuttles, a house, a mansion, a car that screeched, driver looking startled as he came nearer, the pop of gunfire in his head. Miss Celia watching him with glassy eyes mixing with Odin's, blending, united in death. And then black eyes, black as the space between the stars as Domo spoke to him in whispers. Offering him the liquid that would free him from this pain. It was silver in the needle, the color of metal, steel, gundanium. He wanted it. Wanted it to stop. To end. It was so hard and it was only going to get harder. He wanted to curl up and die. Hide in the blackness until it went away.

But no. No he couldn't go because it wasn't about him. It was about Odin, Miss Celia, Domo, Tatsu, Hana, the rebels who fought and died, the families that struggled, everyone who'd suffered because of the Alliance. He could help them. Save them. Free the colonies to live in peace. He knew it. He lived for it. He could taste it on his vomit tinged breath, with blood in his mouth as his head smashed against the wall, body fighting to let go, to go on. Go on no matter how it hurt. Go on because he had to. Go on. GO ON!

Something snapped. A cord breaking away under too much stress, falling and coiling into the darkness. The boy fell back, chest heaving. He was numb from head to foot but he could hear his heart. The steady quiet beat of his pulse. Thu-dum, thu-dum, thu-dum. It was comforting, even though he knew it was his own effort that kept it that way. He slept, dreaming he held his heart in his hands, listening to its rhythm.

It was still and dark. The boy blinked slowly. The air smelled of sweat and blood and urine as well as other things he didn't want to think about. Just because he acknowledged them didn't mean he had to dwell on it. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed but he seemed to be thinking clearly. He felt his leg again, feeling it swollen, but he didn't smell infection which was good. He rose slowly, needing his hands to support himself and even then his arms shook with the effort. His stomach grumbled weakly. He was dehydrated badly. He would need more than water. Possibly medical attention which meant inevitably an IV. He felt he could deal with it as long as there wasn't a heart monitor.

He pushed himself against the wall, wedging himself in a corner so he could lean against both walls and not fall over. Any sort of medical attention would have to wait. In the meantime, he needed to get sustenance on his own. It would be dangerous. Especially dangerous in his weakened state. But by staying here he would die. Failure was simply not an option.

The boy sat for a moment longer, trying to gather what strength he had. Then felt along the door for the bump that would indicate the small door for the peephole. He found it after a while, pressing hard to push it away and squinting at the sudden light. He shifted slowly to his knees, staring out the peephole to the seemingly empty room. There were no sounds except for the soft whirring of a computer. Finally his eyes adjusted and he hooked both hands in the peephole and strained to push the door to the side. It was heavier then it looked and the boy had to strain to get it open even a little bit. He moved it only wide enough for him to squeeze out. He couldn't afford expending any extra energy.

It was easier to slip out of than he imagined and he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally emerged. The room was empty, the bed undisturbed. The boy stood, his hand damp against the wall as he used it to hold himself up. There were bottles of chemicals, medicines against the far wall. Beyond that another door. Smaller. Closet or bathroom? It was diagonal across the room and he would have to push away from the wall to get it. Was it worth the effort? A little water wasn't going to get him very far. But it might get him further than nothing would.

The boy readied himself again and started across the room. Stumbling and nearly falling twice as his legs threatened to give out on him. Thankfully the door did lead to a bathroom and the boy leaned heavily on the sink. He washed his hands first, then took measured sips of the water as he cleaned his face and arms and finally washed out his mouth. When he had drank as much as he dared, he moved back to lean against the wall. There was a clock on the far end of the bedroom. He could read the black numbers clearly, even see an incongruous fleck of white in the middle of the five. It was two-thirty. AM or PM he couldn't tell. He could go to where the computer was, he supposed, and find out the time and send a message to Dr. J. The computer room seemed so far away .

Still he had to do it. The boy gathered himself once more but before he could stand straight, he heard faint beepings outside and woosh as the door to the room opened. The boy's eyes narrowed. It could be Domo. It could be anyone. There was no time to get away. Nowhere to hide. There was a razor on the edge of the sink and the boy picked it up, popping out the blade and tucking it, blunt side down into the fold of his hand. It wasn't much of a weapon but it was better than nothing at all. He pressed himself against the wall of the bathroom and waited.

"It smells like something died in here." Mitsuyo. And how many with him? At least one other. He was feeling confident. That would be his downfall. The boy would get them both somehow. If they found him. He wasn't going to attack. If not he was going to hide just a little longer.

"Well, there it is," said Mitsuyo. "Feel free to go look at his corpse if you want to." There was silence and then Mitsuyo said: "Do! Don't be so proud. It took me a day and a half to get the information out of Domo. It's all right, though. I enjoyed it immensely. So go ahead. Do whatever you want with his corpse. Shoot it out the airlock. Cook it. Decorate it. Even-"

"I've had just about enough of the blabbering idiot." The voice was familiar. Dr. J? "Are you ready to go, boy?"

The boy took a hesitant peek around the corner and saw it really was him, leaning on his cane and staring at the smirking face of Mitsuyo. The boy hesitated. It could be a trap. On the other hand, it could be real. He would have to take the risk. Still keeping the razor in his hand, he emerged from the bathroom, walking carefully to where the two men were.

"I'm ready," he said. "Let's go."

Mitsuyo's mouth hung open and the boy watched him carefully, ready for any sign of violence. Mitsuyo just stared at him, gaping, eyes so wide they looked in danger of falling out. The boy stared at Dr. J. It had been a long time since he'd seen him. It didn't seem real somehow. The scientist smiled at him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, both steadying him and supporting him.

"I do believe this is goodbye," Dr. J said, tapping his cane twice against the floor. The door slid open again and two men came in, drawing black guns which they immediately aimed at Mitsuyo.

"What's the meaning of this?" Mitsuyo said.

"I barely trust you in front of me," J said. "Let alone my back."

Dr. J guided the boy around and together they left the room. The boy used his support as much as he could, knowing he needed it. There was another man and a woman outside. They nodded to Dr. J and the man flanked him while the woman walked ahead. The boy heard the other two men fall into step behind him. Even though the corridor was deserted and there were four armed guards, the boy still felt on edge.

They reached a lift and the woman pressed the down button. Then she leaned against the wall, taking out her own gun and holding it up and ready while the guard beside Dr. J took up his own weapon and did the same on the other side of the lift. The doors slid open and both guards swung at once to point their guns inside. Apparently there was no one there for they both nodded to Dr. J and slipped in. The boy sighed inwardly as Dr. J guided him toward the lift. They really should have taken a second to check first. If anyone inside had had a gun, both could have been taken out by sheer surprise.

Once inside, the boy waited until the doors closed before he slumped from the wall to the floor, feeling dizzy. Dr. J stood over him, both hands on his cane, staring down at him through the dark eyepieces. Who knew what those things were. Or what they saw.

"We're going to acclimatize you now," said Dr. J as the woman took out a screwdriver and her and one the guards began to work the panel off the lift wall. "You've been in lower gravity so long that the normal levels could put you into shock."

The boy nodded. It made sense to him. He watched the man and woman work; absently trying to memorize which wires they switched and which buttons they pressed to change the internal pressure. Something occurred to him. That picture he'd seen in the box.

"You…and Mitsuyo were friends?" the boy asked, voice croaking in his throat. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to know, but he was too tired to think up the right question.

"Ah, so you saw that picture did you?" Dr. J asked. Before the boy could answer, he went on. "Yes. We were. He was my protégée once upon a time, back when I dabbled in genetics. He held so much promise. I picked him out from among the other students. Taught him everything I knew. I even let him drive my car. That was a 169 Imperio Starrunner, you know, anti-grav boosters, ten point steering and," he held up a finger. "And this is important. Full leather interior. Real earth leather, too. I wouldn't even let my own Grandmother drive that car had she been alive. But I trusted him that much. And now I can't even go to meet him without an armed guard." Dr. J shook his head. "He's a cruel man. Of course if you manage to get the Gundam, you could exact any revenge you wanted to."

"The Gundam isn't for that," the boy said, annoyed. That's what Tatsu wanted. Maybe Hana, too. "It isn't for revenge, it isn't for escaping, it's for freeing the colonies. It's so the people up here can live in peace."

"And that," said Dr. J with a warmth in his voice that surprised the boy. "Is why you're here."

---

For my bear. See? See? I didn't give up on it! It's still going. I'm just slow!

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