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"Crisis"Written By: Artemis Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters are
copyright to Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and associated parties.
I make no money with this fic. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: yaoi lemon including rimming, angst,
violence, language, reference to past NCS involving a minor, death,
angst. Pairings: 6x2, 3x4 Summary: Sequel to Interfacing: Regained. GAIA
prepares to go into space and announce itself to the world; Duo and
Zechs' relationship goes through its own crisis. "Crisis " Note: This scene takes place directly after Treize meets with Duke Dermail in his office in Episode 22. 6) Consumed with anger, Treize Khushrenada fled to his own office. Peripherally he was aware that two of his chosen elite had observed his all-too-obviously tense departure from Duke Dermail's office, so he knew he had maybe ten minutes to regain his composure before the dear boys would be inquiring. "So the nations of the Earth will be begging us to govern them, will they?" Treize muttered to himself, crossing to his desk, his movements sharp enough to cause his sword to clatter in its sheath against his leg. He referred to the very words of Duke Dermail who had actually invited him into his office to praise him! He supposed the old man had a point; Treize's perfect maneuvering of OZ into prominence thanks to Operation Nova had set the stage for Romefeller's push for new mobile suit designs... and the mobile doll was the direct outcome. Treize picked up a dagger from his desktop, left there after opening a handful of letters that morning. [Now the nations of the Earth will have to bow to Romefeller, will have to 'beg to be governed' for if they do not, Romefeller will merely wipe them out with the unstoppable mobile dolls. Senseless, to fight without the human element. To govern by right of fear, is not to govern at all - why can they not see this?!] He held up the dagger, examining its edge. [Tsuberov is the key. I wonder... in my secret life as Zechs's minion here in Bremen, can I remove him? I already dance with danger...] There had been near-misses already. A carelessly worded missive, an overheard conversation, a misplaced document – these had conspired to lead Dermail into the very correct belief that Treize Khushrenada seemed to have a particular group of officers who answered specifically to him. Fortunately, the Duke saw this as a sign of a proper noblemen, and lauded Treize for inspiring devotion. [One day he'll learn of his mistake,] Treize realized, and thought to wonder how many days he actually had. A sharp rap on the door brought him out of his reverie. He lowered the dagger to rest it, point down, on the oak desktop. "Come in," he called. Lieutenant Lance, followed by an already scowling Lieutenant Rejean Gaspar, entered and quickly closed the door. "Your Excellency!" the young Lieutenant gasped, striding towards the desk. "Is everything all right, your Excellency?" "We saw you leave Dermail's office," Rejean hastily added, a hand clenched into a fist. "Is it something new, sir? A new development with the mobile dolls?" Treize regarded the fresh, young officers without statement, leaning subtly on the dagger. "Nothing extraordinary. Tsuberov leaves for the Moon within the week. The first wave of new mobile dolls will be completed there while the new colonial factories are set up." The pair suppressed a gasp; it had been their understanding for some time now that the colonial factories, above all, were exactly what they were hoping to prevent at all costs. "What is going to happen?" Rejean asked as his glance flicked down to wonder about the dagger, then came back up. The General's hand closed around the hilt as if he was going to stab the desk itself. "It is my understanding that when GAIA is finished with their upgrades, they will go public, announce themselves to the Earthsphere as standing in opposition to Romefeller." He spoke calmly, though internally he worried a great deal about the advisability of such daring-do. But the decision was not his. "Right now, there is no force on Earth that can stand against them except perhaps by sheer numbers... and even then an outcome is uncertain. The nations themselves may resist yet another military organization." "But you said..." Lance started to say, but Treize cut him off with a sharp gesture of his free hand. "Do not misunderstand me," he explained, a note of tension creeping into his voice at last, "GAIA is no OZ. It does not look or function like OZ, and by design and their choice, never will... yet the perception will be the same. Other factions will come into play which as yet are unknown." [Such as Zechs's snotty little sister... and I wonder if even Zechs knows how critical she is to this?] Rejean nodded, subsiding. "Then Romefeller must be brought to its knees from within after all... by us." Treize's eyes widened, and a gasp escaped Lance. "My good man," the General replied, looking at the thin blond man intently, "you speak quite boldly of treason. A true aristocrat does not plainly speak of it so. To do so is to pretend to be godlike. Do you pretend that, Lieutenant Rejean?" "No, sir," Rejean replied, to Lance's wonder. The man lifted his chin, not backing down before the General. "But then should we not all aspire to be like God, Your Excellency?" This time Treize actually chuckled. He so loved these word duels; it was something he missed about Milliardo's absence in his daily life. "Yes, indeed, my good man! So you are not a true aristocrat?" Rejean smiled for the first time. He was a knight of France, and a chessmaster, so these verbal bouts suited him well. "What an aristocrat speaks of is not as important as his actions, sir." The words were simple, but laden with meaning, and Treize did not miss a single nuance. His statement sobered immediately. Rejean was right, of course; it was up to Treize Khushrenada or someone acting on his behalf to do the unthinkable. For a long moment, Treize did not respond. He knew what Rejean referred to... Lance knew what Rejean referred to. It did not matter whether it was said or not. As long as they understood... what had to be done. Someone's days were numbered. The dagger was lifted, the point arcing away from the General toward the blond lieutenant. "Indeed. Actions are very important... the correct actions, that is... to the aristocrat." The arc completed, the dagger was pointed at the man's heart. "And, indeed, he must act. It is in his blood to do so." Rejean paled even more. [I accept, dear General. It is my destiny.] "I understand, sir." Treize nodded and lowered the blade again. "Then, Rejean Gaspar of France, be an aristocrat in all things. Do this... for honor." Lance looked from one to another, then understood what had just happened. [Oh, God... he's going to... he's really going to do it...] "Gladly, sir," Rejean replied proudly. After the two officers had left, Treize regarded the dagger again, then laid it blade down on the desk as he sat down. [So, there are to be yet more sacrifices,] he mused, running a finger over the intricate steel chasings on the dagger's hilt. [Forgive me, Milliardo, but this is the one I will not be telling you about. Now it is for me to protect *your* purity, as you protect those pure souls with whom you have allied. We will keep taint of this... act... away from you so that it cannot come back on you. It must be...] Outside the General's office, Lance pulled Rejean aside. "Are you sure? This is very dangerous!" Rejean nodded and extricated himself from his colleague's clasp. "We are soldiers, Lance. A little danger is nothing to us. But this one thing is not all that must be done." He lifted his eyes to meet the other's. "I've been watching the computer transactions to and from Tsuberov's systems in his lab. He has not yet transferred any files of the mobile doll designs to outer space." Lance nodded tightly; this was something he understood. "I can take care of that. Destroy the files?" The blond man smiled. "No. They must not be lost. But they must fall into the right hands." "Only Master Treize has clearance to send anything... south. So what do you mean?" Lance ran a hand through his unruly hair, worried. "The files must be sent in person." Rejean stared intently at his friend for a moment. "Can you do it?" Lance blanched as he realized he was the perfect person to take a trip "south" to deliver the critical files. "It must be me, you're right," he murmured. "The White King knows my face and will trust me. I... yes, I'll do it." "Good man," Rejean murmured back. "Well, then we must act, as His Excellency says. Good luck, Lance," he added as they shook hands. "Good luck, Rejean," Lance replied, knowing it was highly likely he'd never see the man again. Quickly each officer strode off in a different direction, never looking back. When they were gone, an old man with steel-gray hair emerged from a nearby alcove. He glanced at the door to the General's office... and smiled. [Now it is my turn,] Marquis Weyridge mused to himself as he turned and proceeded down the hall. Treize was wading through the rest of his mail when his computer system beeped to inform him he had an incoming transmission... from space. Straightening, he activated his terminal, expecting and hoping to see his Lady Une. To his wonder, it was a red-haired lieutenant. "Let's see, Trant, is it?" he greeted the man, feeling cold within. "Yes, Your Excellency," Lieutenant Trant replied, nodding in greeting. "Sir, pardon me for contacting you directly, but we've come across some information that I think you'll want to see. And I'm sure especially that you'll want to share this with Chief Engineer Tsuberov." Treize feigned mild interest, though his internal alarms were going off. "Yes, what is it, Trant?" "Sir, as you know, we have the Gundam engineers in captivity, and have confiscated their files," Trant explained coolly. "Except for the one from L4. He had very little we could find, which made me suspicious... so I went back to L4 myself." The man looked smug. "Of course, the Winners weren't very cooperative, but I managed to weasel in anyway, and I discovered a mobile suit design that is quite... revolutionary." [You *are* a weasel, Trant,] Treize thought as he absorbed this information. A new suit design! "You did the right thing in calling me promptly, Trant, and I will pass the information along to Tsuberov right away. But it's critical that you send me the file immediately and destroy any copy of it there." "Sir?" Trant inquired with surprise. "Don't worry, Tsuberov will bring everything he needs when he leaves for the Moon," Treize replied smoothly. "If the file is that critical, he will want it now. Please, go ahead and transfer the file to me, Lieutenant." Trant moved his finger to the "Move" key on his panel after bringing up the file in question, but unseen to his superior, he shifted to "Copy" and pressed that key instead. "There, the file is being moved to your station there on Earth, sir," he lied. [Just in case...] Treize was remembering Trant now. [Third in the Academy in 189 behind Zechs and Noin,] he recalled. [And more obsessed with mobile suits than either of them together. Crafty... I have no doubt he's retaining a copy of the file despite my order. He'd be too curious... So... another loose end.] "Thank you, Lieutenant," he was responding out loud as he made a decision. "You'll receive a commendation for your quick response, Trant." "Thank you, sir!" [I can play this,] Trant thought. "Sir, I don't know what you've been sent before, but I might as well make your files complete." He highlighted a group of files, then hit Send. "That should be all of them, sir." "All of them," Treize echoed, wondering exactly what it was he had. His computer beeped to signal that the transfer was complete. "So, tell me Trant, what exactly is being done - or *has* been done - with the Gundam engineers?" Trant nodded. "Lady Une has directed them to build new mobile suits stronger than the Gundams. They resisted, but have yielded to threats against the colonies. You have the specifics for those new suits in what I sent you as well." [And just what are you going to do with the bounty, Your Excellency?] the man wanted to ask, but knew the less said, the better. "Indeed," Treize murmured. [Une... what *are* you doing? I shouldn't have sent you there, my Lady...] "And how is the Colonel?" "Hmm? Oh, of course, sir. Lady Une is..." Trant paused, fishing for words. [Deranged... delusionary... gentle... vicious... dreaming...] "Effective, sir. Lady Une is effective. The colonies eagerly rally to her call for a new era in space." He had more to say, but knew His Excellency wasn't interested in petty, internal squabbles. "Very good," Treize murmured, though he was more alarmed than ever. [I haven't a single soldier in space, not one whom I can trust. She's a lamb among wolves, confused and bewildered. I must send someone to her...] "Trant, thank you for your time. The files will all be put to good use. I've already passed them along to the Chief Engineer." [On a cold day in Hell, that is...] [Damn,] Trant thought, preferring to deal with the charismatic and idealistic General than the bull-headed, stick-in-the-mud Chief Engineer. "You're welcome sir," he replied, saluting. "Any time." Closing down the transmission, Treize looked at what Trant had sent which he, of course, had no intention of passing along to Tsuberov. "Oh... my..." he breathed a few minutes later, then, "Oh... oh, God..." And further along, when he finally opened the last file, which was the first sent, the blueprints from L4... "Fuck," he uttered, shocked at what he was looking at. [And to think I was worried about the mobile dolls...] He hit his comm button. Lance hastily made his way back to the General's office. "Sir?" he inquired after opening the door. Treize did not look up from his computer. "Lance, my good man, I need you to go to outer space for me." It wasn't what Lance was expecting. "Outer space?" Now the General glanced up. He narrowed his eyes, seeing a spot of resistance in this, his most fervent underling. "What's on your mind, Lance?" "I had thought..." Lance straightened, returning his posture to what His Excellency expected. "I spoke with Rejean... and we agree that certain files should be sent to... to Antarctica personally, sir. I thought I might do that... for the cause." He'd almost said "for you" - but he was aware that Treize considered himself just another soldier for GAIA now. "Certain files..." "The mobile doll designs." Lance cleared his throat. "Sir." Treize smiled. [That's what I forgot to tell my devoted boy here... I sent copies of those files to Milliardo two weeks ago. But I can use this...] "Then that's what you will do," he replied, standing up. "Sir?" Lance didn't know whether to be relieved or worried. [I *am* going to Antarctica! I *will* see the Lightning Count, our 'White King'!] "Go as my Messenger of Hope, Lance," Treize sighed. He came around to the front of the desk and clapped the young officer on the shoulder. "Go in secret, and report with all of the files - I have more for you as well - to the leader of the GAIA leadership committee. His code name is 'Thirst'. Stay a while - get to know our allies for me." "Yes, sir!" Lance crowed, saluting, his back ram-rod straight at attention. "But Your Excellency... you needed someone to go to outer space?" Treize let his hand drop, but waved it in a gesture of dismissal. "I will find someone else. Perhaps I can ask the White King if he can send someone. We need to start to build a presence in outer space." [And I desperately need someone to get up there to watch out for my poor Lady...] "Sir, I would go anywhere you tell me to," Lance blurted out, unable to help himself. Treize smiled indulgently, steering his ardent devotee toward the door with a hand to his elbow. "I know that, Lance," he replied gently. "You're a good soldier." "Thank you, sir!" And Lance duChien fairly danced out the door, eager to be on his way. When his door had closed again, Treize put his head in his hands for a moment, overwhelmed. [When did I get so old...? Milliardo, if you know the secret to staying young, do tell me someday...] (tbc)
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