The military installment rose into visual as he crested the hill. It was blocky and rough with the windows of the target building blinking green. Two leos stood guard outside the gate and though he was obviously in visual range, they didn't see him. The boy blew out a breath and took his hand off the control stick to wave his fingers over the virtual buttons that would pull up the information on the installment. Guarded by sixteen units; eight on the perimeter, six guarding the hangar bay where the new Scorpio units were being built. He waved his fingers again, pulling up the information on the Scorpios. Operational status: Unknown. Weapon Capabilities: Unknown. Cool factor: Over 9000. The boy rolled his eyes. Howell had obviously designed this program; there were his touches all over the place.
He moved his hand back to the controls and found the little toggle that should trigger the buster rifle. A screen popped up on the left, showing it slowly charging. Three minutes later it was finished and he pulled back on the controls to order the arms to lift it and squeezed to press the trigger. A violent beam of light tore across the ground, ripping through the gates, sending concrete and leos flying until it hit the target which exploded in a variety of colors, looking like fireworks.
Target destroyed 2/10. The curly letters flashed on the screen for a few seconds before the scene shifted, the smoking crater of the military installment replaced by a jungle. This was ridiculous.
"You were supposed to go inside," Howell's voice filtered into the headset, sounding disappointed. "The Scorps were really fantastic."
"Why should I? I'm not going to take risks if I can just blow them away," the boy responded, moving his hands to the controls again so he could bring up a map of the area. It was difficult to find the right controls and the sensors on his fingers didn't seem to be calibrated correctly because he kept hitting buttons he didn't mean to.
"Still not working right, are they?" Howell said with a sigh. "All right."
Everything went black. The boy waited patiently as the headset was removed and blinked in the sudden harsh light of the room. The headache that had been pushed to the corners of his mind as he concentrated on the simulation came back even stronger, throbbing at his temples. The back of his head still ached from where Hana had slammed it into the wall—even though it had been two days ago.
He tried not to think about it. Instead he focused on his hands, tracing the silver fiber optic cables that threaded through the thin black gloves like veins. He didn't know anything about virtual reality equipment, though he was mildly curious. Howell came around to face him and crouched in front of him, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"They look okay," Howell said. "I wonder if something is disrupting the wireless signal. I must have tested these things a hundred times all ready. I'm sure you know what this means." He looked up at the boy, a quirk forming at the side of his mouth. He was going to either make a stupid joke or say something completely off the wall. The boy wasn't going to play into it. He wasn't in the mood for stupidity but it seemed to be attacking him from all sides today.
"It means that Kurosawa is cheap," Howell said, peeling one glove off. The whisper of his smooth fingers across the boy's wrist was jarring and he jerked his hand away from the contact. Howell blinked in surprise but the boy ignored him. He was not in the mood. He carefully took off one glove, than the other, handing both to the blond scientist.
"Who is Kurosawa?" he said, grudgingly as Howell frowned at him. The man let out a puff of air and straightened.
"Oh, you know, jittery owl-faced guy, lugs around a clipboard." Howell waved a hand dismissively. "He's from the finances department really. I wonder how hard he begged for this job."
"Is he going to be the one judging this?" the boy said, a little concerned. Financial people could be bought with money too easily and he wouldn't put it past Mitsuyo to try a little of both to get his way.
"No. The results are passed on more or less directly to someone overhead. Don't bother asking me, I have no idea who. He does a good job for all that he's a twit. But that's just interdepartmental drama. I'm sure you don't care."
"Not really," the boy said. He was only in here because there was nothing else to do. He wanted to be back in the hangar with Wing, to watch as they worked on it, to feel the vibrations as the mobile suit hummed to life. Even half complete as it was, it seemed to the boy sometimes that it was the realest thing in the universe, a complex body of gundanium and cables and intelligence. But he wasn't going to risk forfeiting the competition—wasn't going to risk losing it. So consequently it meant hours of boredom. Neither he nor Hana were allowed to leave this basement facility until one of them were chosen. So, restricted as he was, the only things to do were exercise, try to read Dr. J's books on gravitational flux theory that were way beyond him, or drive himself slowly crazy by pacing the halls.
On top of everything else, Mitsuyo had arrived this morning and the boy hadn't known about it but gotten a nasty surprise when the rat faced scientist had come into the lunch room, arguing with Dr. J as he always seemed to do. The boy had been filled with the overwhelming urge to run which both annoyed and unsettled him. It wasn't that he was afraid of Mitsuyo but something about the man made the food he had been eating taste like acid on his tongue.
So here, helping Howell debug the simulator that was to be their final test was relaxing in a way. Howell was annoying and his constant chatter didn't help the boy's headache but at least it was talking he was used to. He didn't understand Howell but he trusted him to a certain extent, at least enough to be virtually blind around him as he was wrapped up in the simulation. Or at least, Howell used to be chatty, but now he was silent, gloves laying next to him as he tapped commands into the computer. Occasionally his fingers would stop all together and he would stare straight ahead as if his mind had drifted elsewhere. No wonder the sensors were off.
"Hey," the boy said. "Stop spacing out. If you don't pay attention to what you're doing we'll never get this done."
Howell blinked and looked at him. The corners of his lips lifted then flattened out again and he sighed. The boy watched as the scientist took off his glasses, tilted his head back and began to spin around and around with his chair, his black shoes drumming against the thinly carpeted floor. The boy bit back his impatience until the tenth revolution.
"Howell," he said in a flat warning tone. He didn't know what he was going to do if the man decided not to pay attention to him, other than perhaps push him off his chair.
"I'm sorry, kodomo," he said, not ceasing his spin. "I just can't focus right now."
"You're on the clock, aren't you?" the boy said. The man didn't respond but to flap his hand then let his arm drape down, so that his fingers brushed the underside of the chair. The boy rolled his eyes again and stood, retrieving the helmet from where Howell had set it on a stool and sat back down, fixing the helmet back over his head.
"At least turn the simulation back on," he said, gripping the controls once more. There was a heady sigh but a soft beep and a blue screen with a loading bar as the simulation booted. Then he was back at the first base again, a small compound on a sharp cliff overlooking the rolling sea. He couldn't pull up any maps or information of the area but he could move himself back and forth and lift and charge the beam canon. He pressed both controls forward, eyes on the base but appreciative of the incredibly detailed terrain that rolled underfoot. The bases themselves were rushed and pixilated but the surrounding countryside was beautiful.
Howell was from earth and it was obvious he missed it. The boy couldn't help but wonder what had driven him to the colonies. It was something he would never understand. What people were going to do, he could usually get, if he had spent enough time around them or had a rough idea of what kind of person they were but the motivations or desires that drove people, he didn't know, and who could ever know really?
The boy let those thoughts pass as he navigated the steep incline to get to the base. It wasn't heavily guarded, he knew, four mobile suits all together and a cache of colony destroying ammunition, whatever that was, tucked into the far corner near the seaward wall. The challenge would be, when Howell finally got to work, was that he would be blatantly visible all the way up and therefore vulnerable. Not that the scant bullets would harm his mobile suit much, but a showering of bullets in the wrong place would send the loose soil skidding down and taking him with it if he wasn't careful.
A Leo on patrol appeared at the top of the hill and the boy could see the faint etching of a smiling sun on its metal thigh. Could Howell take anything seriously? Still even though he was only about fifteen meters away he didn't charge his beam canon. It didn't matter. He could step on them easier. He toyed with the mental image of kicking one of the Leos off the cliff and watching it bounce off the razor sharp rocks before splashing in the frothing sea. It would be play more than work but until Howell got his act together there wasn't much else the boy could do.
Shots fired behind him, thudding off the mobile suit's back. What the— Another blast turned the screen white for a moment and when he could see he saw he had been knocked a few steps forward. The boy reached out to switch the camera to rear view and then realized he couldn't. Cursing under his breath he wrenched the gundam around, sliding down as the dirt shifted underneath him. Nineteen mobile suits, painted green and speckled black, had emerged from the forest area that hadn't been there when he'd last looked. Two of them lugged a huge canon between them while a third stood behind it.
A light flared in the muzzle of the canon as it charged and the boy was forced to twist again so he could run crosswise across the hill even as the loose dirt crumbled around him. The other suits opened fire, bullets thudded the ground, making it even more uncertain, and pinged in annoying frequency off the mobile suit's shell. He switched on his own beam canon, relieved at least to see the indicator for that begin charging on the left. The ground suddenly exploded at his feet, sending a cloud of dirt in the air, and again and again, violent yellow flashes all around him, obscuring his vision even as the bullets still bounced off, but with increasing accuracy. The boy hesitated, unsure of whether to move forward and hope for clearer visibility or stay where he was until it cleared. If he moved forward there was a chance of him running off the cliff completely.
White flashed out of the cloud of dirt and slammed into the suit. The world spun, dirt spinning and mixing with patches of sky. There was the crashing sound as his suit hit the ground. A status report flickered in the top right. The left arm of the mobile suit had been completely severed which meant the beam canon was gone too. He was weaponless and though his suit was designed to be stronger, he was sure that if the other suits circled around him and fired continuously they would find some way to pierce the hull. There was no way for him to fight back except trying to punch their suits if he could get close enough. The boy struggled to get the mobile suit standing and managed but it tilted dangerously to one side. He thought of activating the boosters but realized, once again, that he couldn't access the panel. Damnit.
At least by now the dirt screen had cleared some, enough for him to see that the units below were advancing and that he was still facing them. He couldn't fight but he wouldn't surrender. The cache was still up there, undamaged. The mission. He had to complete it. He wrenched the mobile suit around again, but slower this time, compensating for the unbalanced weight, then surged forward at full speed, leaving the dust behind him. The Leos on guard saw him now and more bullets sprayed, one cracking the screen. He went past them, unheeding, using his one arm to crash open the gate. A large metal scorpion rested on the other side directly blocking his bath. The jointed tail raised with a series of clicks, points of light flashed around the point of the tail and a slow whine filled the air. There were no smiling suns in this model. The boy charged over it, seeing the perspective change as the foot of the mobile suit smashed into the metal carapace of the strange mech, lifting his suit a bit in the air.
A bark of laughter came from somewhere in the room and the boy couldn't help but grin. He was making it. He knew exactly where the cache was. He could see the low lying building now. There were no weapons for him to destroy it with so the boy flung the mobile suit headlong onto the building. There was a muffled explosion as the weapons cache went off and the screen flashed white except for the word dead slowly sinking into view with red dripping letters.
"Mission complete," the boy said, pulling off the helmet and grinning at Howell who was smiling back, red faced from laughing. Sweat dripped down his face and dampened his hair and the headache throbbed with a vengeance but he felt good.
"You little son of a bitch, you ran right over my Scorp," Howell said.
"Well next time don't put it at knee level."
"Point taken, little monster," Howell said, grinning and folding his arms behind his head. The boy slipped from the chair, intent on putting the headset back on the stool and froze when he saw Hana standing just beside the doorway, arms folded and expression sour. Clipboard man—Kurosawa stood beside her, clutching his ever present clipboard spasmodically as if he didn't know what to do with his fingers. They were just at the right angle, the boy realized, to have seen the entire thing from Howell's screens. Well it didn't matter. He put the helmet on the stool then flexed his hands to relax them.
"That was cheating," Hana said. "It's not a fair test unless we both have equal opportunity practicing."
"I wasn't even at half capacity," the boy said, the adrenaline still in his system turning his brief exhilaration into quick, biting annoyance. "We were just debugging."
"Howell-san," Kurosawa said. "You were forewarned. There is to be no favoritism from you if you wish to remain on board. Explain yourself."
"Relax, Kuro-kun," Howell said, spinning in his chair once more. Kurosawa looked a bit taken aback by this name but before he could speak, Howell continued: "We're just debugging like he said."
"But he knows where everything is," Hana said. How did she know he knew? How long had she been watching? Had she managed to hack into Howell's computer from another location or was she just guessing?
"This is just the beta testing, which you put me in charge of, Kuro-kun," Howell said. "None of it is going to be on the actual simulation but I needed someone competent to test it. Everyone who is not busy with Wing just wants to goof off and make fun of my landscaping."
It was good landscaping, the boy thought, feeling defensive. Hana came forward and the boy tensed but she wouldn't do anything so long as Kurosawa was watching. She gave him a frosty look then just as quickly seemed to dismiss him. Even though the boy didn't want to start a fight, he couldn't help but feel a little annoyed but he quickly shook the feeling away. It didn't matter.
"I want to do the same thing," Hana said. "All the trials he's been doing."
"Fine," Howell said mildly, coolly. He didn't seem to like her much and the boy couldn't imagine why. Howell liked everyone. "But you're going to have to wait until the gloves are repaired."
"He did it without the gloves," Hana said.
"That was only for this last base and the only reason he managed at all was because he knew the terrain. But if you want to try, go ahead, it's your funeral." Howell flipped a hand casually at the chair. What was wrong with him, the boy wondered. Hana glanced at him and he realized she was judging whether or not she could go past him. He didn't see why she was being so cautious. After all she was the one who'd attacked the last time.
"I'm going to get some lunch," the boy said. "Should I bring you back anything?"
Howell just waved which the boy took as a no since he didn't specify. As he started toward the door he saw Kurosawa settle himself in a metal chair, situated so he could see the screen. He was here to watch—out of a sense of fairness or because Hana had asked him to, the boy couldn't be sure. Well it didn't matter. He was willing to believe that Kurosawa wasn't biased until proven otherwise and in the end, the one with the greater skill would get Wing.
The lunchroom was bursting with activity. Someone had bought in a little portable radio and half the room seemed to be singing along. Everyone else was talking and raising their voices to be heard above the noise. It didn't help his headache at all. But pain though it was, it was manageable pain and the boy didn't even wince.
"Hey, kid," Mike shouted and the boy saw him sitting at a crowded table near the radio. "We got a seat open!"
The boy shook his head, not in the mood to sit in the hot unruly crowd, and threaded his way through the room and into the kitchen. It was a mess, as usual. Such a mess in fact that he noticed it before he even noticed Domo. The man was sitting at the little rickety round table that was crammed up against the little used dishwasher. Domo's wheelchair could barely fit under it and the boy wondered how he'd ever managed to get the wheelchair through the lunchroom to begin with.
He'd changed a bit since the boy had last seen him. His skin, while always pale, was now seemed almost translucent and clung to his frame—a skeleton that still breathed though even when he did, the boy could hear the liquid in his lungs. He'd even lost his hair and the boy could trace the faint blue veins in his scalp. He was alive only because he hadn't bothered to stop breathing yet. Or eating apparently. The boy watched as he tried to impale a straw into the juice box clutched lightly in his bonelike fingers. His hands were shaking so much he missed and scraped the straw along the back of his hand a pink mark welled there, any harder and it would be stippled with blood.
The boy approached him slowly as not to startle him and took the straw from him gently before sliding it in the juice box and handing it back. The corner of Domo's mouth tilted up but his eyes were dull and flat.
"Stay out of Howell's computer," the boy said, turning to the refrigerator and opening it. It was full to bursting and mostly everything was wrapped and labeled with various names. The boy didn't pay attention to the names. No one else did. It was just a waste of paper to even claim territory to it. He found a bowl of leftover spaghetti and lifted the lid, sniffing it carefully. Hn. Still good.
"Well hello to you, too," said Domo, voice sounding like a rusty saw blade. "How is the family? How are the kids?"
"You should drink more, you're getting delirious," the boy said, pushing some dishes into the sink so he could put the spaghetti bowl down, then searched the small kitchen for the step stool. The microwave was above the sink, tucked into a little alcove and nearly inaccessible. Climbing onto the counter was dangerous, too. One slip and he'd likely get tetanus or something equally nasty.
"I would but they confiscated my whiskey," Domo said, a little belated. Where the hell was that stool? He put it in the same place every night and the next morning someone had moved it. The boy blew out a breath.
"Check behind the door," Domo said. The boy did and found it there, tipped on its side. Why was it even there? There was no reason for it to be behind the door. The boy decided it was better not to ask and pulled the stool up to the cabinets. It was big enough so that if he stood on the very top and leaned forward, precariously over the sink, he could just press the one minute button. It took some doing and some concentration but soon the boy had the spaghetti heating in the microwave. He then moved to sit on the top of the ladder, one leg tucked underneath him, the other kicking idly at the floor.
"So what are you doing here?" the boy asked.
"Waiting to die," Domo said with a smirk.
"I mean in the lunch room. Don't you usually eat with Mitsuyo?"
"Oh that, I'm meeting someone."
"Who?"
"Well aren't you curious," Domo said and sipped the juice. The boy shrugged. He didn't really care. It was probably Hana anyway. He stood up abruptly and began to search the drawers for a clean fork, or spoon, or chopsticks. Anything would do really. Something had to be clean, didn't it? Did they run out of the plastic kind? The boy blinked as he found a tri-wing screwdriver in among some measuring cups. He rolled his eyes and dropped them back in the drawer. Mechanics… He finally found some wooden cheap wooden chopsticks that looked new but he washed them off anyway just in case.
Domo said nothing more. The boy retrieved his food and found it satisfactorily warm, or at least warm enough not to take the risk again, and sat back on the stool, poking the spaghetti experimentally with his chopsticks. Music and laughter rolled into the kitchen from the outside, slightly muffled but still pretty loud. Someone was singing "She Spaced Me" loud and off key, oblivious to the actual lyrics coming from the radio. Domo wasn't drinking, the boy realized, just staring at the table, the tics in his fingers and face making him grimace and he suddenly coughed a hollow, choking sound.
"I hear your army is making a comeback," Domo said after a time. "The Hero's Army, the media calls them. Nasty renegades and terrorists."
So they had a name? He hadn't heard. Well it didn't matter what they called themselves. Hopefully Toshi would be able to calm them down before they caused too much of a stir on colony.
"Of course they call themselves Heero's Army. Very prickly name, don't you think?"
The boy shrugged. He supposed so. He didn't know too much about Heero Yuy other than what Odin had hinted at but people seemed pretty incensed by him. Anyway, the rebellion was Toshi's business, not his.
"Maybe you could leave all these politics behind and go join them?"
"If I fight on the colonies the only people that are going to get hurt are the people I'm trying to protect," the boy said. After all, that was what he had done his whole life—Hurting people of the colonies. Some were traitors, true, but even they had friends and family who loved and mourned them and others…others were just unfortunate.
"Protect, huh?" Domo said. It seemed like sarcasm but the boy couldn't really tell and let it go. "So you'll just go rattling off into the wild void and who knows, these gundam things have never been made before. It might just break apart in space and you'll die before you even set foot on earth.
"Everybody dies," the boy said to avoid a debate. He really just wanted to eat his food and then perhaps take a nap. He was tired of having to prove himself to everyone and he didn't even need to prove himself to Domo. The man was just trying to get a rise out of him. It was like he didn't know any other way to communicate.
"Yes, but some of us die with a vengeance," Domo said, hissing the last word. The boy glanced at him and saw a grin had stretched the corners of his mouth. The skin split on his pale lower lip and showed a line of red. The boy glared at him. He didn't like that line. He didn't trust that line.
"Don't interfere, Domo."
"No, never. Not me. A kid single-handedly destroying Mitsuyo's reputation?" He pressed his skeletal hand against his chest, fingers spasaming against the cloth. "It would be a dream come true. I saw what you did to that Scorpio unit, and I can show you how. I can teach you everything I know."
The boy took a bite of spaghetti. Domo was not to be trusted. Even though the man had helped him on the satellite, he was too unreliable, too close to Mitsuyo and effected by what the scientist did. On the other hand, his motivations for revenge were strong and the boy had seen what he could do. It was a good offer, if Domo wasn't lying, and it would be something to practice when he had nothing else to do.
"I'll think about it," he said.
"Think too long and I'll be dead before we get started."
That was true but still the boy wouldn't be rushed into it. He ate and then finished his small, mostly tasteless meal and put it in the sink, or rather, on top of the dish mountain in the sink. Then he went to the refrigerator and hunted for the orange juice he'd asked Dr. J to get for him the other day. He found it finally, tucked behind a bowl of spotted apples and narrowed his eyes when he discovered it was half gone already. If only there was a way he could padlock the lid.
He was just on his way out of the kitchen when he nearly ran into Howell who was coming in. The blond scientist seemed agitated and glared at the boy before seeming to realize it was him.
"Oh," said Howell. "Sorry, kodomo."
"How did it go?" the boy asked.
"She won three times before she was satisfied." He shook his head. "But it doesn't count. She was just playing off what you did."
"Mean, Alec," Domo said. "Are you picking on Hana-chan, again?"
"I'm not picking, koishii, the girl is insufferable," Howell said, moving around the boy to root through the refrigerator. "Every time we're alone it's "you betrayed my father" this and "You'll be sorry" that." Domo's smile seemed genuine this time, settling in a soft way on his thin lips. The boy had never seen him smile like that before.
"You never change," Domo said. Howell was the one he'd been waiting on, the boy realized. They were friends. They…they had known each other before. He remembered the photograph he had seen that day, trapped in the little hideaway spot, not long after Tatsu had been killed. They were friends. They were close. The boy had always trusted Howell but suddenly he wondered if he really should. Howell always seemed to be ruled by his emotions and if Mitsuyo found a way to use Domo against him…
The boy left the kitchen, taking his orange juice with him and passing through the lunch room. He ignored those who called to him and ducked out into the blissfully silent hall where he uncapped his juice as he walked and tried to think about what to do. It was so irritating. The more people he knew, the more things seemed to become tangled. It was better when he was alone with Odin. No attachments, no worries, complete the mission and move on to the next one. Trusting anyone wasn't an option. That was the way an assassin should live and maybe that was the way a Gundam pilot should live as well.
---
---
Two more days had passed and so far the plan to avoid people was proving mostly a success, though there were a few holes. He couldn't avoid Howell since he needed to practice on the simulation and because of the simulation he couldn't avoid Hana either. Her presence was almost to his benefit because he could watch her as she practiced the simulation, noting her style and efficiency as the enemies steadily increased. Her precision was good and her strategies were solid but her accuracy was a little off and the boy's talent in that area could get him the win he needed. It was hard to say since he couldn't sure what it was they would be doing.
Unfortunately her being there also meant Kurosawa was there, watching and scribbling on his clipboard and yesterday the boy had taken off the helmet to find Mitsuyo standing in the shadows of the door and his skin had crawled. Howell had said nothing about it and had looked away when the boy glanced at him. He'd wanted to talk to Dr. J about it but for the past four days the old scientist had been top side, code for: don't know but probably classified. So today the boy had forgone practicing completely, intent on staying in his room and puzzling through J's books.
Yet now, driven by a heady mix of boredom and frustration, he was sitting at the kitchen table, crammed between dishwasher and Domo who seemed to have stitched a permanent smirk onto his face. Domo's laptop was between them, the strange square brown monster thing grinning up at them from the desktop. They were a lot alike, the boy decided.
"So tell me what you know," Domo said, resting his chin on his fist, the smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth as he looked at the boy through lowered eyes. "I know you're a resourceful little bugger but I doubt you know anything really worthwhile."
The boy had read a few books here and there. He could understand more or less how to talk to a network and how to understand it when it talked back, though he hadn't had the chance to do that kind of thing in a while.
"Why don't you tell me what you know and I'll see if I can use it," the boy said. Not that he thought that he knew anything Domo didn't, but withholding information was a good policy.
"Always so cocky. Maybe I shouldn't teach you at all."
"It's your choice," said the boy with a shrug.
"Suit yourself," said Domo. The boy stared at him. Domo stared back. There seemed to be more to his eyes today, as if some faint spark had flickered back to life. The boy didn't understand but he was beginning to get that some things—people mostly—defied understanding. Finally Domo coughed into his hands and then ran trembling fingers over his pale scalp.
"All right, listen up you little bastard because I'm only going to explain this once. That is the power button and when you press it the computer boots up. These keys are how you input data, it's called typing. Now this little pad at the bottom, you put your finger on it and—"
"I know my way around the network," the boy cut in, annoyed but conceding so they would actually get somewhere. "And a few protocols."
"Ooh a few protocols. Well we're cooking now. So, Mr. Know-it-all, based on that, how do you think I did it?"
"You hacked into the network…" Which was a feat in itself. It was a small network but protected by the strongest firewall known to man, or at least that's what Dr. J had claimed. Not to mention numerous other nasty surprises that awaited the unwary hacker. Something like that would have taken him hours. Did Domo really have the strength to do it? Could Hana have done it? And even once in the network, small though it was, it would still take some time to find the right computer. The boy pushed those questions aside for the moment, focusing on what he knew.
"Found Howell's computer…" or maybe the mainframes that sat on the floor which is what the simulation really ran off of, though it got the commands from Howell's computer so it could have easily been both.
"And convinced it to let you in so you could stream the video back here."
But the boy couldn't imagine that Howell would leave his own computer so vulnerable and it was probably about as heavily secured as this network. So how…?
"It's a script, all right, a script. My god by the time you finish I'll be dead all ready. Look." Domo pulled the computer to him, opened a program and began to type, fast. His fingers flew, rattling over the keyboard. The boy watched the script grow, memorizing all that he could. It wasn't easy but if he could only get half of it then maybe he could figure out the rest himself. He knew he could.
Finally Domo tapped out the last lines, but he was breathing hard, fluid rattling in his lungs and making it almost sound like a purr. His face was almost completely red with effort and then he hunched over and began to cough, hard, wracking coughs that shook his whole body. The boy stared at the screen, taking the opportunity to memorize even more. Every dot, slash and ampersand meant something and if he missed just one character, the entire script would fail.
His eyes caught on the words "username" and "password". That made sense. Domo's computer had to convince Howell's computer that it had the right to be there, that meant Domo had to either get his hands on an administrator's username and password or he had some program which could bypass it. In either case, the boy didn't expect Domo to tell him. Maybe he could go through the data logs on Howell's computer and see who had last accessed the files, then he could go to Dr. J with the results.
Domo kept coughing. Coughing and coughing and the liquid seem to burble up into his throat. Blood and mucus splashed on the computer and the table, hot across the boy's hands and lap. Domo's entire body began to spasm, jerking back and forth as if he was being electrocuted. What—what was going on? What was this? It was bad. He needed help but the boy didn't know what to do. He had to get help! Someone else could help, couldn't they? The boy bolted to his feet, slipping on the blood spotted floor and skidded to the doorway of the kitchen. The lunch room was nearly deserted, only two men and a woman sat out there, crowded together, backs to him.
"Someone needs to help," he said, wanted to scream, but his voice came out faint and small. Child like. Something crashed behind him. "Someone needs to help!" he shouted. The adults jumped up, startled, and turned to look at him. The woman reacted first, seeming to spot the blood on his hands.
"Get Morioka in here!" she shouted over her shoulder as she ran up to him.
"Roger!" shouted one of the men, dashing out the door.
"What did you do to…" she started looking at him, then looking past him, the color draining from her face. "Shit. Akira I'm going to need your help in here!"
The boy moved out of the way, pressing himself against the wall and watched as they gently tried to get Domo to the floor, though he hit them and broke Akira's glasses making him curse. But soon they managed and the boy watched him jerk and writhe then finally settle. He should be dead after all that, he really should be. There was blood on his mouth, but his chest rose and fell faintly. Then his eyes fluttered open, halfway and he stared without expression. The boy looked away, his stomach twisting, and went to the sink to wash the blood from his hands. It streamed over the unwashed dishes and disappeared into the depths of the sink. A strange emotion coiled in his stomach which the boy tried to ignore. The woman was looking at him as if she disapproved but she said nothing. He didn't look at her as he grabbed some napkins left over from someone's takeout and sat at the table, trying to clean the blood from the keys.
A few people came with a stretcher, one was, he guessed, Morioka, but he didn't look up from his task to make sure. Then, grumbling and cursing at the inconvenience, they carried Domo out. The boy worked at the keys until all napkins were bloody then hunted for something else to clean the screen with. What had just happened? He'd never seen anyone spasm so violently like that before. He remembered some people twitching a bad shot as they slowly died but Domo hadn't even been touched. Maybe it was something in the drugs Mitsuyo had been giving him. What if Hana ended up like that? All the more reason for her not to have the Gundam…
The boy found half a roll of paper towels lodged under a large frying pan and carefully wiped down the screen. Domo's chair sat empty beside him. Domo had always suffered as long as the boy had known him and a lot of it was Mitsuyo's doing. Though the boy didn't understand why, he knew it was true, and he didn't think Domo would be the end of it. Whether Hana got the Gundam or not, Mitsuyo would still continue treating people like his personal lab rats. But as bad as Mitsuyo was, he couldn't be the only one. There were other people on the colonies that were as bad or maybe even worse than Mitsuyo. When he did free the colonies from Alliance control, he'd be freeing the bad ones like Mitsuyo, too. But maybe once one problem was fixed, the other would take care of itself. The boy didn't know. Suddenly everything seemed so overwhelming.
No. He couldn't let himself get unnerved now. That was unacceptable. His first priority was the Gundam. He would worry about everything else when there was time. If there was time.
He finished cleaning off the screen. The script was still there, the cursor blinking at the last line. He didn't even have to memorize it. Maybe with this computer, he could find out exactly what Domo had been up to. Maybe he could find out more than Domo wanted him to know and Howell to for that matter. He could find out everything he ever wanted to know. He picked up the laptop, holding it close to his chest and, careful to keep it open, headed for the relative privacy of his room.
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The boy sat in Dr. J's office behind his desk, flipping through the files he'd managed to salvage from Domo's computer yesterday. He'd had a good four hours on the laptop before he realized the battery was almost dead. Then he'd been in a rush to save things to the data key he used for his practice programs, dumping the programs in the process and this was what he was left with and he didn't even know if it would help. He wasn't even sure what he was looking at half the time. Many of them were scripts and he was reluctant to run them before he knew what they did. He'd also managed to get a partial log of the computer's operations for the past two days but so far it wasn't telling him anything at all.
Grunting in frustration, the boy pushed off of the floor, swiveling the chair around and around. He'd been at this for a long time and his neck ached and he was restless, itching to move. Maybe he should go work out soon, at least run the treadmill but not for long. The boy had to figure out if Domo or Howell were up to anything before the final test for the Gundam.
The clock above him mewed twelve times. One day left now. Anticipation and anxiety squirmed inside of him. He closed his eyes and rested his head back on the chair. There was no need to be worried about his own abilities. He could beat Hana, he knew he could, he had to. He just had to go in with a clear head and figuring out what the hell was going on would be a good start in that direction. He took a deep breath and blew it out then swiveled back to the computer. Most of the filenames were in Japanese but as he clicked through, he found one file in English labeled: practice.
The boy scrolled through it. He didn't understand all of it but it looked like a code dealing with some sort of targeting coordinates. He read the code, though there were pieces of it he still didn't get; it was some sort of complex algorithm and the boy could only just follow the calculations, though he had to read it a few times to get the concept which was time consuming as it went on for pages. It reminded him vaguely of the calculations of that shooter game Howell had made for him before Odin had died. Further down the style of the code changed completely. He puzzled through it, nudging his feet against the floor impatiently. If he understood it right, the calculations of in this section nearly completely overrode the one above it. What was the point of that? It didn't make any sense to him. Why would you make such a complex code if you were just going to change all the parameters later? Though when he looked closer he found a function; the second part of the code only applied to something called green unit whatever that meant. There was too much to puzzle out and the boy didn't have all night to spend on it. Annoyed, but knowing he needed to move on; he closed the file and closed the file.
Time passed. The clock mewed once, then twice and the boy had to get up and stretch again. He would have to give in soon. It was getting harder and harder to focus. Thirty more minutes, the boy decided, then he would try and get some sleep. Maybe tomorrow Dr. J would be back and could help with what the boy didn't understand. He rolled his neck and shoulders a bit to relieve the tension, then cracked his fingers and looked some more. The boy clicked to open a document, saw the script Domo had been working on yesterday and closed it. Just before the screen disappeared, something strange caught his eye.
He reopened it again, his heart jumping. It wasn't the script Domo had been working on yesterday but it was the same script, except this one was filled in. There was a username, password, and even a specific computer's linkup point. The boy ran the script. A media program popped up but a grey box flashed in the center that said it was disconnected. Well, of course. There wasn't any beta testing going on right now. That was a dead end. But maybe he'd hacked into Howell's computer for something else. Even if not, the username and password was likely Howell's. Who else would have access? So if the boy could find the right script he could modify it with Howell's information and get on the man's laptop himself.
Since the latter idea would take more time then he wanted to spend tonight, the boy ran a search on the password. Seven results popped up. He opened and ran the first one. The media player came to the front, flickered a moment, then showed the abandoned lunch room. A few moments later the view switched to an empty hallway, and then a little later another hallway, then it went black, or seemed to, and then he was looking down into the small first aid station and saw Domo laying on the only bed, sunken and corpselike in the wan light, then the exercise room. These were the security cameras the boy realized. Watching the scenes flick by. This password had access to the security cameras. Why would Howell need access to the security cameras? Unless it wasn't Howell's password but the admin password. Why would Howell even have that? And why had he given it to Domo? The boy wanted to confront Howell, but he didn't know where Howell was. He wanted to tell Dr. J but he knew even less of J's whereabouts. For now he was stuck with dangerous information and nothing to do with it.
The boy clenched and unclenched his hands in frustration. He considered running the other scripts but he was too tired and annoyed to focus right now and he didn't want to accidentally release a virus or whatever Domo was planning to do. But was he really planning to do something like that? Why did he show the boy the script if he was? Why hadn't he already if he had the access? There were so many questions the boy just could not think to answer.
Maybe, though, it was enough for today. It wouldn't do any good for the boy to exhaust himself. There was still one day left and he would look tomorrow. If nothing presented itself then, he would go for the Gundam anyway and take whatever troubles that came.
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The boy jogged at a steady pace, the treadmill whirring rhythmically underneath him. The exercise helped to relieve some of his pent up frustration but not all of it. Today was the day, the final day to prove himself, to get the Gundam, to prove that he was the better candidate. He had searched all yesterday through Domo's files for anything else but all the other scripts with the admin password had been half finished and the boy didn't even know what they had been intended for.
It was a waste of his time to worry about it right now. He'd gathered what evidence he could and he would just have to see how things would pan out. A glance at the boring black rimmed clock hanging just above the door told him it was almost time. Just fifteen minutes left until the final test would commence. The boy lowered the treadmill so that he could cool off but soon grew impatient and stopped the treadmill completely, instead choosing to pace back and forth, sipping at his water. He needed to focus. He couldn't let anything get to him. Even if Dr. J wasn't there and he was by himself in a room with Mitsuyo and Howell he couldn't let himself be sidetracked from the goal…the mission.
Just because you've gotta do something doesn't mean life stops, kid, Odin's voice drifted up from the boy's memory, grainy and distant. A car will backfire or a target will drop his wallet at the last second and bend down to pick it up. You can't let it get to you. You can't let anything get to you.
I wasn't planning on it, the boy thought. Ten minutes. The boy aimed his finger at the clock as if his hand was a gun. Dead on center. A voice came outside. He could faintly hear it through the door. The boy moved closer, cocking his head toward the sound. That was Mitsuyo. The boy narrowed his eyes.
"You know what will happen if you fail," he said. "He doesn't have to die. I can keep him alive for a long long time."
Talking about Domo? Probably. But to whom? Howell? Hana? The boy pushed open the door and saw Mitsuyo walking down the hall, phone pressed to his ear.
"Very well," Mitsuyo said, then closed the phone and slipped it into his pocket. Well. It didn't matter. Not right now. Time to get going. The boy finished his water, capped it and set it on the floor, then walked toward the simulation room, his own footsteps calling back to him. He thought of Wing, slumped over half finished, technicians and mechanics who believed in some higher purpose, forming it and bringing it to life. He thought about all who risked their lives to make their colony free, their homes free from the crushing rule of the Alliance. He thought of all those who just wanted to live in peace without the sound of gunfire being as familiar to them as their own heartbeat.
The boy went into the simulation room. Two chairs had been set up, the VR helmet and gloves resting on stools beside them. Hana was all ready sitting, eyes wide and fingers jammed together as if to prevent her from biting them. Mitsuyo was there of course, smirking at him, but Dr. J stood right beside him, smiling at the boy. The boy acknowledged him with a nod and felt something in his stomach unknot a little. Kurosawa stood at the control station and a stranger stood beside him. There was no sign of Howell. Another good sign. He sat on the chair and began pulling on the gloves, not wanting to waste any time.
"Right," said Kurosawa, sounding a little startled. "Well it seems that everyone who needs to be here has arrived so let's commence the testing, shall we? Now if you will both please put on your gear so that Mr. Schtoltz here can run an equipment check."
Schtoltz, huh? Probably not from L-1, then, but it was always possible. The boy tugged on the other glove, put the helmet on and gripped the controls. The screen came to life and he saw earth floating in a sea of stars, rotating gently.
"Auditory test," said Schtoltz in serviceable but heavily accented Japanese. "If you can hear me, say roger."
"Roger," the boy said.
"You should be seeing the earth in front of you right now. Now it's red. Now it's green."
The boy gave the affirmative for all three. Then they checked movement, forward and back, one side to another. Finally he said:
"Press the start button located directly in front of you."
The boy reached out and pressed the button, satisfied that the simulation responded promptly to his command. The earth disappeared and he was in the middle of a wide forest. The trees uniformly the same shade of brown, the leaves blocky and merged together. A grid popped up on the left side of the screen. It was mostly blank but scattered here and there with green squares; below it looked to be a timer of some sort though it was still at zero.
"You should be in a forest with the target grid directly to your left," Schtoltz said.
"Roger," the boy said, wanting to move already but keeping still.
"All right," said Kurosawa. "Since everything is checking out fine we'll proceed. As you can see each of you have ten sectors. Pressing one of the colored squares on the grid will take you to the sectors where the targets are located. The specific target itself will be quite easy to spot. Once you have successfully finished at one sector, the green area will turn yellow and you will be able to move on by choosing another square on the grid. All targets must be destroyed within the time limit, if you finish with time left over, your opponent's grid will be displayed and you may choose from their targets. Is it clear?"
"Affirmative," the boy said. There was a brief pause and then Kurosawa said:
"Very well. Test will commence in five…
four…
three…
two…
one…
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Disclaimer: Not mine. No money in any case
A/N: Yeah I know, XD; Bad cliffie. But I will try to be more prompt with the next part so a few weeks? I hope? College is in full swing now but at least it's written right? Right? Right.
Many thanks to West-Side and the wonderful peeps at Safehousing. :D