Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Conspiracy, Organisation, Assassination, Camera, Computer

Minor challenge response: Water, Codes, Information

Word count: 3,374

Series: Friends 2: Friends and Enemies

Author: Karina

Pairings: Zechs + Duo, Trowa x Quatre

Ratings: M 15+ [In Australia] Rated in the event of bad language and violence.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the characters.

Warnings: No apology given for Aussie spelling, but fair warning given.

Character Challenge: Trowa,

Chapter 14

"Any indication of frostbite in your extremities? Any lingering numbness, pins-and-needles?"

He resisted the impulse to wave his fist in the man's face. The last thing he had expected was to be taken to the medical centre directly from the helipad. What he had been expecting was the direct route straight into a cell or, more likely, an immediate debriefing in the usual isolation unit… and then a cell. Or a gun waved in his direction.

Such a cheerful thought.

The whole base in its isolated piece of the countryside was screaming at him that something was wrong. His instincts were clawing at his vitals telling him to shift his frame out of the base and make himself scarce- fast. Given they had come directly to the medical centre he had activated his existing series of nanobots in defence against any foreign matter entering his system, protecting himself against unwanted drugs or poisoning.

"No."

He was a paranoid bastard and he was likely to get worse the more they deviated from normal procedure.

Any material injected into his system would be isolated, sampled by the nanobots and appropriate measures taken automatically without any further need for instruction from him via his primary central interface. Anything they introduced to his bloodstream would have to be quick acting to take him down and with the nanobots active against drugs, quick countermeasures, of a physical means, would need to be taken to keep him down.

Marcus had been summarily summoned on their arrival at the helipad and he was not happy the man had left under escort. In his judgement that was not a particularly good development. The Irish Celt had been something of a comforting, if largely silent presence. He was almost sure he could rely on Marcus if any covert moves should be made against him, but the small degree of comfort resulting from his presence was now gone and he was on his own.

It was not the Celt that worried him but the escort that had 'discretely' followed Marcus that worried Zechs. Marcus would have picked up their presence immediately they had appeared; he was no novice with or without the use of his particular 'special' ability, so he would be aware of them. Zechs had no concerns about that, but their presence was yet another sign that all was not well. Was it coincidence that two of their top field agents, both of whom were on record as being 'different' were obviously being monitored? Zechs did not think so.

The bony, eternally ugly finger of discrimination had reared its head in headquarters at some stage, and it would take time to repair the damage done between those who were 'normal' and those who were 'talented' or 'gifted', as some people insisted on calling them. If it proved to be a false alarm or if events were smoothed out in short time, well and good, but he was not inclined to believe matters would be resolved in the short term.

And there was no such thing as a Union for spies to take their grievances to a neutral body for adjudication.

Marcus had conveyed a warning from their previous controller to run and he had a feeling he needed to be out of this base as quickly as humanly possible. He did not know who would be waiting to 'debrief' him, or if that debriefing was slated to end in his confinement or death, but he was only going to hang around until he learned if he could garner any information from them. Questions were always a two-way street, the questioner revealing information in the asking of his questions for anyone with the will to listen… and Zechs would be listening hard for what was said and unsaid.

"The field medic cleared me. The Commander would have the report ."

It had all the earmarks of being a cursory examination. A check over, as was usual following an agents return to a permanently established base from active duty. That was the impression this medic was giving, but Zechs was hardly in the mood to relax. Perhaps they were checking to see if he had activated the new infusion of nanobots, if they had become aware he had been injected with the new series?

Too many possibilities and none of them were good.

He had never worked with this particular medic and he did not recognise any of the staff, and that had his hackles up. His controllers were aware of how he was around staff who were new to him. He had trust issues and he had never tried to hide his paranoia. For that reason he had kept the one medical team through his career with the organisation and they were now conspicuous by their absence.

Was it unreasonable of him to be so distrustful? Not in his opinion. Given his past and how many people out in the world, people of influence or what was so loosely termed as 'the common man', it made no difference to him, too many of them wanted the same thing… his death. Walking dead men learned quickly to haunt the shadows, tread lightly and vanish without a trace at the slightest sign of danger.

Right now everything screamed 'danger' in bold brilliant coloured letters to him.

"Well, I can't say that you would be in such good condition if it were not for the nanobots, but you appear healthy enough, generally speaking. You need rest, that's a given, but from the scans and the feedback from the nanobots I can't see any problems that need immediate attention."

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he was healthy enough, that was a given. The drugs the one who intended to kill him had filled him with were long out of his system, and the nano machines were almost done restoring decent circulation to all musculature. In the not so far future everybody would have a healthy dose of the microscopic mechanics that had given him a chance to find out who wanted him dead and for which reason on what was really rather an extensive list of possibilities.

It was Maxwell who had given him this chance, saving his sorry arse and warming him up when he did, and now the nanobots allowed him to be fit enough to counter any action that might be made against him. Action he hoped would not yet occur. He could do with a few more hours to assist his recovery, and he wanted the chance to ask questions of certain people before he might be forced to act. One way or the other he would be forced to take action, be it to run or, if he judged there was a chance of saving the organisation, to take appropriate measures, but act he would.

He already knew whoever was behind his near brush with death would never trust him as an agent. His time in the organisation was up. He trusted them about as much as they trusted him, which was to say not at all. It simply remained to be seen if he would take down the whole thing with his departure. It might yet prove to be salvageable and he would have to trust himself to judge the degree of corruption.

"Commander Burshall has requested you attend debriefing in his office in thirty minutes. Care to freshen up first?"

He had no assigned quarters in this base so he would be given the use of either the medical centre or some randomly assigned quarters. The temporary quarters he might be assigned were sure to be bugged and the medics would monitor his every action if he remained here, either way there would be no privacy from prying eyes. Thirty minutes? It would be enough time to initiate pre activation of the new nanobot series and enhance the existing security protocols of his active series. It would also allow him to judge the exact extent of his recovery and, unfortunately, allow others to judge that recovery too.

No matter the option someone was sure to be watching.

Still, he did not need to allow them to know how well… or how badly… his physical recovery had progressed. He would need to be careful not to overplay, or underplay, that recovery. He should have been dead, he certainly would have been if not for Duo Maxwell, and he would not take this chance lightly.

"I'd like a shower, actually. Here's fine."

The medic grunted, eyes on the touch pad in his hands. "Do you need a change of clothing?"

"No. Haven't had these on for more than a few hours." He was not about to give up the clothing that contained the communicator Marcus had smuggled him and he was uncertain if he could manage a transfer under observation.

He would have to keep an eye on the clothing whilst he showered. Marcus had destroyed the unwanted tech secreted in them so they were the safest option he had.

There had been no clandestine warnings given to him from this nano-technician and the medical staff; they were all base staff, not field units who tended to develop closer bonds to the field agents, but neither had there been any false move made to concern him. If they knew there was trouble then they were a part of it or more likely would step back and watch for clues to which way the wind blew before deciding what part to take.

"Well, let's get you on your feet to begin with. There are a couple of two bed wards with private shower facilities through that door, all vacant at this time. Take your pick."

He inclined his head, having already noted the second door leading from the examination room. Two bed wards, all empty. Not so bad.

He dared not allow them to know just how weak he felt. Here and now weakness would get him killed and he was far from ready to meet his maker. He needed to keep them wary of him, uncertain, afraid… force them to keep their distance. If he showed weakness at the first test he could expect to be visited soon and the visit would be deadly.

They had already tried and missed… barely, but they had missed the kill and that was what counted. He was not inclined to give them a second free shot, any further attempts and they would pay with blood and that blood would not be his. He needed to set himself up quickly, gain whatever privacy he could and step one to that was concentrating the nanobots where they would do the most good… a steady production of adrenaline would assist, covering the pain and allowing him free movement, but not a massive amount of adrenaline. He would not last long if he exhausted his reserves.

The hardest thing about learning to control the nanobots in his system had been conditioning his mind to think in a text format. Nanobots were not telepathic, they were not a living breathing, thinking organism the human brain could contact. One could not contact the individual units; rather one had to initiate a link to the central processing interface implanted behind the ear directly into the brain. Whilst it had been a hard thing to master initially, particularly for a teenager as he had been at the time of his initial induction into the wonderful world of nanotechnology; it had taken him weeks to get down the basic 'sample blood' command in under fifteen minutes. Now it was second nature to him to think in 'text' for the central processor to convert his thoughts into binary coding. The central processor interface then passed on his instruction to the multitude of nano machines infusing his body.

One did not think 'cluster to muscle and ligaments, brace and support the function of walking' and simply have it done. The central processor could not understand pure human thought processes, but it did understand electrical impulses. To that effect an interface had been created where by one 'thought' in text, each letter of the text would be intercepted by the CPU and be interpreted, converting to binary commands. With time and practise the electrical impulse codes that formed each individual text letter of a command could be mastered and 'thought' at blinding speed for the entire process to be finalised in quite literally the blink of an eye.

To his surprise he had been relatively quick to master the form of communication. Where some agents had taken months to master a brief basic command in under five seconds he, like others who interfaced with onboard CPU's and Artificial Intelligence units, learned quickly in comparison. With the experience he had gained later with Epyon and the Zero system he had learned to excel in the development of a form of short hand coding, reprogramming his personal core interface unit to better suit his individual thought processes.

Some people thought in spoken words, others in colours, still others in tactile sensory interpretation. No two people were the same, so the designers of the nano interface processing units had had to make the CPU and its interface adaptable, flexible in how it operated.

Getting the nanobots in his feet and legs to cluster at the vital points in muscle and tendon, to deaden any pain signals from screaming nerves and actually swing his feet from the stretcher took all of two seconds. He had faith in the technology and did not hesitate to push to standing, feeling the medic's hand hovering just off his upper left arm, ready to steady him if he wavered.

There was a brief spike of pain quickly controlled by the nanotech and he grunted as the world spun in his eyesight, the medic's hand touched his shoulder, steadying him, and the world settled into clarity around him. He had been lying down too long and actually being vertical took a few seconds to get accustomed to. His balance centres were shit.

"Better than I had thought, given your lack of exercise."

He had been correct then, they were waiting for him to show weakness. He was aware of the shadow beyond the frosted glass partition separating him from the other examination cubicles in the medical centre. He had an escort out there. More scribbles on the clipboard, more notations for his record. Not a problem, not yet at least. If he got the chance he would have his medical files erased and his personnel file for good measure before he departed. Likely he would need to hack the system at some later point in time and do the job, but for now just standing on his own two feet was a victory. Now he had to walk the half dozen or so steps to the exit and get himself cleaned up.

He definitely would appreciate a shower.

"All of the wards are fully serviced. You should find towels in the shower cubicles, if not you will find them in a cupboard on the outside of the bathrooms. There is a call button in each cubicle if you need assistance."

No delay, no faltering, it would not do to hesitate. Walk steadily to the door, no rushing, just an easy casual pace, try not to tense his back too much, they would be watching for signs, any signs, interpreting from body language more than the medic's report. Give them something to think about.

He felt that he was walking on red hot needles. Pain spiked in his feet, in his toes as his weight shifted with his movement. Each stride was agony, each footfall was beyond agony. Show nothing… Out the door, a quick look around and yes, camera's. To be expected, though he could have wished for privacy it simply was not going to happen. The first room would do, he really did not care; it was just a means to an end. Get into the room, shower and whilst in the process of getting really clean for the first time in too long, initiate protocols to give him every chance of physically defending himself if it all went to hell in a hand basket.

The ward was simple enough, two beds, the usual medical array on the walls behind each bed, a low cupboard beside each bed for personal effects, both beds made up, no sign of occupation. Surveillance camera in the far corner trained on the beds, a potential blind spot… yes, as he had expected. The door to the bathroom facility was close to the camera but it would be in the field of vision covered by the device.

He maintained his steady gate, not too worried about any small twitches that might be seen. It would be expected that someone who had been horizontal for days would be a little twitchy. He had a little leeway to play with. Pushing open the bathroom door revealed a curtained section over a showerhead, taps and floor drain, a tiled floor, bar-rail with two towels and a plastic stool and toilet. A couple of hooks on the wall furthest from the shower would allow him to hang the clothes he was wearing out of harms way… and out of the reach of anyone who might have tampered with them had he needed to leave them unattended in the ward itself. The call button to the right of the door and a basic turn latch on the shower door for privacy… all pretty standard stuff.

He could not get his clothes off fast enough. The lack of boots and socks was a problem he would have to address later, but for now all he wanted was to get himself under that hot water and soak out the past few days. He was desperate to wash his hair and yes, there was a bottle of shampoo and a conditioner provided… normal hair? How generic. Still, it was better than nothing.

There might well have been a camera, he would not put it past the organisation. If he was to be given the chance to clean up and not be directed specifically to one area then they might have installed hidden cameras in each of the bathrooms. Yes, he was still paranoid and getting worse, but a little bit of paranoia in his line of work was a healthy thing.

He could not allow weakness of any kind to show, so he had to expect cameras even here in what was essentially the toilet, and if there was one thing he had not been since entering Lake Victoria Academy it was body shy; one learned quickly in the military. They could look all they wanted, he did not care except for the fact it meant he had to act natural just in case he did have hidden watchers.

As he stripped and hung his clothes on the hooks he considered how best to go about the necessary business of ordering his body. He needed feeling in his extremities so he could not afford to block the nerve impulses for any appreciable length of time. He would just have to suffer in silence and remember that every second the bots worked on him there would be progress made. There was a time limit imposed to this sojourn in the shower and he suspected he might be able to push it a little, but he would not push these people too much.

They would expect him to have issues with his body given his recent experience so he dragged the plastic stool under the hot spray, swished the curtain closed to keep his clothes dry and parked his backside gratefully. He proceeded to examine his feet carefully, pressing against the soles at certain points, massaging gently whilst his hair grew heavier with the water. He could spare a few minutes before he got down to the serious business of washing, and the foot massage covered the concentration he needed to program the nanobots. It was time he initiated the scan and reprogramming of the new infusion of machines so that when he needed them they would be ready.

It felt… good, to be clean.

End

Karina Robertson 2011