Bishi Pile Challenge:

Major challenge response: Conspiracy, Shadows, Assassination, Organisation

Minor challenge response: Scream, Respect, Camera, Weapon

Word count: 2,5679

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:

Chapter 16

The least he could say in their favour, 'their' being the staff officers giving the orders at this base, was that they had not attempted deception using the 'sugar and spice and all things nice' tactic. In point of fact they were being anything but 'nice', though to be sure they had not yet attempted to put a knife in his back. However, with their less than friendly eyes centred on him he needed to cover his weakness with a façade of at least control, if not strength. He had to give them no hint as to the extent of just how far he fell short of his usual condition.

His feet, particularly his toes, hurt like a bitch. It was impossible to walk with his usual smooth gait but he would not reveal the extent of the pain. Discomfort, that was what they had to believe, discomfort, not pain filled agony ripping though him as the nanobots worked at rebuilding flesh, skin and nerves ruined by extreme cold. His calves were stiff to say the least; the left calf muscle constantly shot little bolts of lightning in protest of every step he took. His back ached like a bitch and each stride taken sent ripples of agony through him, not a bit of which he could react to.

He could have blocked the nerves and the pain receptors reacting to the torture using the nanobots, but that was, in his opinion, too dangerous at this time. Much as it was uncomfortable he needed the pain to keep himself alert to his surroundings and remind him he walked through a hornets nest. Fatigue was no excuse to contemplate.

Plain and simply put… This was the enemy.

One did not give away any advantage, large or small, to the enemy.

He could not afford to indulge the discomforts of the body, even if all he wanted to do after a few hours of this constant pain was to curl up and scream in frustration with it all. Ah, such a thought… A good full throated bellow or three to express just how much pain had plagued him would make him feel better, even if for a few measly minutes.

Thinking of screaming his lungs out would have to suffice for the moment.

Life could be such a bitch sometimes.

They had been his allies if not his friends, but circumstances had now changed and he was not about to let his guard down. He was careful not to pause in the doorway, to maintain his casual stance as he strode through the medical centre, and give the impression he was ignoring the personnel at their stations.

He did not recognise any of the men surrounding him who had come to escort him from the bathroom to, presumably, some office for questioning. They would call the interview 'debriefing'. Given he had made a point of 'browsing the ether' over the past few years in order to touch the minds of as many of his fellow agents as he could in the organisation, that lack of identification could not be considered good.

Not good at all.

Everyone had to sleep at sometime and he used that simple fact of life to his best advantage, getting a 'feel' for each individual by sampling their dreams. He would recognise anyone whose awareness he had touched and the six individuals of his escort were complete unknowns. They had to have been hand picked by someone who had some actual idea of how his ability worked.

Not so good.

But that was not to say he did not know anything about his escort. What his 'gift' could not tell him a knowledge of body language would have to suffice. How they moved, how they related to each other, how they watched him and their surroundings equally. He could learn a lot from that.

They were ex military. Their erect carriage, the exact starched creases of their uniforms, their attention to detail… No surprise there. Their stance, how they held themselves both in standing and in walking was a dead giveaway. Not just how they carried themselves but how they never crossed each others path; keeping always just to one side of the people immediately around them so as not to cross the line of fire. It showed someone with the knowledge who had lived that way for years and had the eyes to see and recognise the patterns that were entirely unconscious on their part, that they were a trained team.

A specialist team sent to 'escort' him and ensure he did not wander around the complex poking his nose into matters they would determine were of no concern to him.

He was almost certain they were still within Sanc. If that was the case then it was a direct breach of the contract he had with the organisation. An integral clause of the contracted conditions of his employment with this group had been broken, if this was the country of his birth, and he would need to have a few words with people over that.

There were supposed to be seven bases scattered around the world of any appreciable size, maintained in a quasi military fashion. They were not supposed to be, and never had been intended to be, a strike force. They were not even an armed intervention unit. That was not what their function had been designed to be.

Their organisation and particular skill sets were supposed to permit them to work behind the scenes, quietly and efficiently taking out the outposts of those who were dissatisfied with the ESUN as it stood. They were supposed to maintain the peace in a peaceable fashion using diplomacy where possible and methods other than direct force and insurrection. Any idiot could go in all guns blazing, but it took finesse and skill to effect change in an invisible manner.

And what a load of crock that was proving to be, he mused, walking in the centre of his escort with the best approximation of an easy stride as he could manage. He wanted to rest, to get some sleep and give the nanobots a chance to further his healing. To give himself the chance to establish contact with a few very specific individuals who might be able to give him some answers and smooth his departure from this place.

It was not going to happen, at least not for a while, if it happened here at all.

They would probably be inclined to take him out in this out of the way base where few, if any, awkward questions might be raised. It was something of a compliment that they feared him, he supposed, but he was not particularly inclined to be honoured by the distinction. He could well do without their 'special interest' interfering in his life.

They obviously did not have a healthy enough respect for him if they had built this base within Sanc's borders, attempted to delete him and now… Well, just what was 'now' supposed to be exactly?

It worried him that Marcus had vanished, though in the shower when he had extended his perceptions he had touched the awareness of the Celt briefly. The man had been distracted but he had little doubt Marcus had felt the contact. Whatever distracted him had not exactly alarmed him, though Zechs had sensed caution and growing interest, but there had been no 'fight or flight' reflex; at least not yet.

He needed to be wary of everyone in this place. Everyone needed to be looked upon as a potential enemy and only one person at this stage he would consider to be a potential ally.

He could have wished they had been above ground so he could look out of a window or three and determine his location. The peaks he had seen on exiting the helo surrounding the base had seemed familiar in shape. He had recognised one or two of the low bushes growing near the helo pad as being native to Sanc, but they also grew wild in the countries adjoining Sanc's mountain borders. A good look at the peaks would have allowed him to identify his location, but he had not been given the opportunity to sight see.

He caught the moment their attention shifted, backs tightened just that little bit more, heads raised a degree, and hands hovered a centimetre closer to weapons. They approached their destination, he decided, noting two men standing guard at a door, each obviously armed, faces carefully blank, hands at just the exact regulation distance from the side-arms they carried. A sensible stance if they were not intending to set him off.

The current set of guards escorting him through the complex had been careful to keep their hands clear of their weapons, but military training could not be hidden from one who had lived and breathed it for so many years. They were not trained by one of the law enforcement agencies of the world but by the Alliance in most cases. One or two individuals he had noted had that distinctive arrogance of Oz training in their carriage.

What exactly they though he might do if he took exception to any action taken in his vicinity might be interesting, not that he was curious enough to pursue the point. For the moment he was not inclined to push matters anymore than they were at the moment.

No word had been spoken to him from the time they arrived at the bathroom for him to now, and one of the guards at the door rapped smartly on the door three times as they approached. By the time they stood before the door it was open and his escort smoothly took a half step to either side, away from him, leaving his way to the door clear.

Interesting.

So they would not be entering the room. That could be good or bad implications for him. Good if it presented him with fewer people who might need to be dealt with, bad if they remained at the door to obstruct his departure should he desire to do so with little to no warning… or permission. It might come to that, he knew, though he doubted it would. It would not come to a physical conclusion unless someone, be it he or whom-so-ever he was about to face in that room, miscalculated.

By his estimation this should be a 'testing of the waters'; no direct confrontation, more a feeling out of where they stood with each other. Subtle insinuations, connotations of 'we are superior to thou' would feature. Joy, he was really looking forward to that, but at the present time it was the very best that he could hope for. He was not in good enough condition, mental or physical, to face that sort of protracted and convoluted trial, but he would have to face it and, more, come from it in at least a neutral position, if not on top.

Now above all he needed to keep his wits about him and demonstrate no weakness. This situation had the potential to reach a critical mass and he wanted no volatile reaction.

There was not one of the three men seated at the broad table that he recognised.

Definitely not good. A further indication of how far matters had progressed. It appeared the coup d'état was well underway, if not already complete.

"I must say, Marquise, that for a dead man you appear to be quite spry."

Short, stocky, well matured in years, greying dark hair and sly blue eyes under bushy dark brows. Caucasian. The suit was more than a little on the expensive side in cut and design, and potentially hid a multitude of sins that only an old soldier gone to seed would want to hide… and those blue eyes were anything but jovial.

Let the games begin then.

"I have found that rumours of my demise appear to make a resurgence every few years or so. Thus far I have found them to be amusing, admittedly a touch bothersome, but just that. Rumours."

No name tags on the desk or worn by the individuals; no indication of who these men might be within the new command structure of the organisation. Wonderful, and he dare not use the communication nanobots to hack into the central computer integration system and infiltrate the organisations personnel files. They would be on the lookout for that kind of action and he was not about to give them a chance to use it against him, but he gave the silent order to capture face images for later reference.

"One wonders if they should not have applied the code name Lazarus to you, instead of Black Opal."

Taller, more slender in build and perhaps a decade or so older than the first to have spoken. White hair and black eyebrows shadowing cold dark eyes. It was a face of character, the face of a politician who knew well enough where he stood and believed he held all of the cards of note in a contest yet to be played out.

"Personally I believe I have exceeded Lazarus. He only rose from the dead once, and then he had divine assistance." But then for this particular resurrection he too had been graced with divine assistance; the God of Death in person had liberated him from the chilly grave.

"You are a cocky bastard, Marquise."

The black man gave the appearance of being solid muscle and was, without a doubt, still active in the military. He did not claim to be able to recognise every officer in the ESUN, but this one was no menial. Experienced with command, the dark eyes were narrowed with dislike and his fingers twirled a pen constantly, feeding the pen up and down the line of his fingers in a cycle that took precisely five seconds to complete. The clothing style was military though there were no insignia or rank in evidence and he carried himself like a command officer, demanding and fully expecting to receive the respect of a subordinate.

He did not bother to respond, instead casually striding across the room to pull out a chair and angle it so that his back was to the only solid wall in the room. He could keep an eye on the three doors and the men seated behind the desk without putting undue stress on his already pushed body. They had made a mistake. Just one, but it was a telling mistake that would give him a certain advantage if this meeting went to hell-in-a-hand-basket.

They sat in a row, along the far edge of the table that separated him from them. There was only the overhead ceiling light which shone almost directly on him but cast the three into a shadow. It was not a deep shadow, but he had worked with less before when the situation had called for it. The door behind them appeared to be closed, but he was quite certain it was not and that there were hidden observers there, and most likely there were a few more behind the door on the wall opposite him. That door he could see quite clearly, the overhead lighting served well enough to illuminate it. There would be guards waiting to act should there be a need in there, or more likely, there would be a security station that monitored the feed from the three cameras covering the room.

One camera was on open display, aimed directly at him, another in the rear wall above the door, and he marked a third above the filing cabinet standing to one side of the door he had entered by. The door through which he had entered the office was closed but there would be at minimum the two guards acting sentry, possibly the entire six man contingent who had escorted him.

No black spots in the room then.

An inappropriate twitch might have him shaking hands with Lazarus if he was not careful.

End

Karina Robertson 2012