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"The Best Laid Plans"Written By: Honor Disclaimer: Disclaimers: Not only do I own Gundam
Wing, I own beach front property in Arizona. I even own everything
Lois McMaster Bujold wrote. Rating: R Warnings: AU, sci-fi, language, violence, lemon,
death (bad guys, don’t spaz), crossover Pairings: 1x4 (maybe 4x1), 2+5 (implied) maybe
others, don’t know they haven’t told me yet Author’s Notes: The idea for this (and the
world it is set in) comes from Lois McMaster Bujold’s “Borders
of Infinity”. I can take no credit for it. And I probably wouldn’t
have written this if Quatre hadn’t popped up in my dreams and
plagued me until daybreak. Have you noticed that it’s always
Quatre who picks on me with new ideas? Why *is* that? Anyway…um…oh
yeah. I remember now. Dedicated to my kitten, Helen, who helpfully
thumped her tail against my keyboard whenever I got stuck. Sometimes
even when I wasn’t stuck. And to my two wonderful betas, Velvet
and Lucy. They did a really quick turnaround on this, and I appreciate
their patience with my impatience. *emphasized* //com or vidphone// /thought/ Summary: Admiral Quatre Winner of the Maguanac
Fleet has only one mission on Jackson's Hole. Go in, get a scientist
named Dr. G, and get out. So how does he wind up in a basement with
a sixteen-year-old supersoldier? Well, it all started when Lady Une
sent him an invitation to a private tête-à-tête... "The Best Laid Plans "
/I really hate it when Relena calls in a favor./ Having anything to do with the Sanc Kingdom seemed to have more drawbacks than rewards, these days. The Nataku’s Captain came up to stand at his elbow, features impassive. Chang Wufei was traditionally Chinese, a brilliant commander with a hot temper, and one of Quatre’s best friends. “The Shinigami is on our port side, all systems normal.” “Thank you. I’d like to go planetside within a half hour.” Wufei looked distinctly unhappy about this. “Admiral, I wish you would reconsider going down with only Barton.” “Trowa is more than capable of defending my hide, if it comes down to that[,]” Quatre returned mildly. “And if even he is taxed beyond his limits, then I suggest taking both the Nataku and the Shinigami and running like hell.” ‘Unhappy’ became agitated. “Admiral—” “Wufei,” Quatre returned, exasperated. “We’re here for ordinance, remember? Just inventory.” “No one with a brain in their head will believe that,” Wufei returned sourly. “If it were truly just inventory, then you would have sent a quartermaster to do it. And you wouldn’t have chosen the two fastest ships in the fleet.” “But no one will know our true purpose, either,” Quatre soothed. “A half hour, if you please.” He waited for Wufei’s nod—grudgingly given—before pivoting on his heel and walking out of the command center. Quatre understood precisely why Wufei was so worried. There were five main Houses on Jackson Hole, and no one in their right mind would dare tangle with them. As fate would have it, Dr. G belonged to one of the stronger Houses—Septum House. Of course, if Dr. G had belonged to any of the sub-Houses, then hiring a mercenary fleet to extract him wouldn’t have been necessary. It was all rather paradoxical, but then life usually was. /I just hope that everything will go smoothly, for once./ + The lethal weapons division for House Kushrenada was not far from the main docks, and it was as far as most people ventured into Kushrenada territory. Quatre and Trowa were standing politely to one side after their list had been taken, waiting for the receipt of sale. In about the same amount of time as it took to process a cred chit, a slender man in the bright red silk of Kushrenada House approached them. “Admiral Winner?” Quatre nodded. “Yes.” “I have an invitation for you from Baron Kushrenada.” Quatre accepted the cube that was handed over, brow quirking when he realized that it was an invitation to visit the Baron in his personal quarters. How very…intriguing. “I accept the invitation, and thank the Baron for his hospitality.” The manservant bowed and left as quietly as he had come. “And what do you think of this, Trowa?” Quatre murmured, holding up the cube so that it sparkled a little in the artificial lighting. “I think the Baron wants something.” Trowa responded just as quietly. But his eyes were darting about the bustling port with suspicion. “Yes, but what?” Quatre tucked the cube into his pocket, rocking back onto his heels absently. “I must admit that I’m curious. What could I possibly have that would interest the baron?” “Admiral, now is *not* the time to become curious.” “Too late.” Quatre informed him cheerfully. “Let’s head back, shall we? This will require formal dress, I think.” + Four hours later, they were back at Kushrenada House. They passed a large mirrored wall going into the house, and Quatre gave himself and his companion a quick glance to make sure that they would pass muster. The formal dress of the Maguanac Fleet was a tan silk tunic, with piping in a darker shade of brown, brown pants of light linen and thick brown boots. It looked painfully neutral compared to the brighter colors on [of?] the guests this night, but it was sharp enough to lend credence to what they were: professional mercenaries. The coloring at least flattered Trowa’s olive skin and green eyes. On Quatre it almost looked like a child’s attempt at appearing older. /I didn’t design the uniform,/ Quatre reminded himself in resignation, /I just inherited it./ It was the last negative thought that he would allow himself in this gathering. These people would home in on any insecurity like a bird of prey. At the door he handed the cube to the majordomo, straightening to his full 5’5” height, chin raised. “Admiral Quatre Winner of the Maguanac Fleet and Major Trowa Barton of the Maguanac Corps.” A few heads turned in obvious astonishment as the smooth baritone rolled across the room, but Quatre paid more attention to those that *didn’t* turn around. They would be the ones to watch. Quatre stepped smoothly to the floor, Trowa a step behind him. They had barely made it to the outskirts of the main floor when a waiter whisked past, pausing long enough to give them both a flute of champagne. Quatre accepted it gracefully, but did not drink any of it. He knew his tolerance for alcohol embarrassingly well. He and Trowa strolled casually around the room, and at the first opportune moment, he set the flute down. They eventually fetched up on the opposite side of the room, near the musicians. It was an ostentatious display of wealth to have live music, but Quatre enjoyed it just the same. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” “Yes.” Quatre sighed at the short answer. “Relax, Trowa. People don’t extend invitations to their homes so that they can assassinate you in person.” “Hn.” Quatre gave up and focused his attention back on the music. That lasted for all of three seconds, and abruptly ended when Trowa stiffened beside him. He turned sharply, forcing himself into a bland and smooth expression when he saw who was approaching. Lady Une was a tall and regal woman, carrying her fifty years well. It was rumored that this was her third body, and that she could not risk the transfer to her fourth. Since her husband had just transferred to a new body, appearing to be all of twenty, the age lines she wore must truly have grated, but there was no hint of that on her face. “Admiral Winner.” Quatre bowed politely. “My lady.” “I must confess to you that it was I, and not my husband, who extended the invitation.” Curiouser and curiouser. “Indeed. And in what way can I serve you, my lady?” A brittle smile played upon her lips. “You are much more the gentlemen than I expected, *Admiral* Winner.” Quatre froze a little at the emphasis, smile fixed. /Calm. Stay calm. She cannot possibly know anything./ “I have learned that a polite manner gains more than brusqueness.” “And so it does,” she murmured, eyes thoughtful. “I find myself intrigued by you, Admiral. You are so young to hold the rank you do. However did you acquire it?” /What the hell is she fishing for?/ “Simple good fortune, my lady.” “I think you are being too modest,” Lady Une responded, eyes narrowing slightly. “On the contrary, my dear.” Treize Kushrenada glided up to stand beside his wife, hand casually brushing her elbow. “I believe you are both correct. Admiral, I am pleased to see you here. I am just as curious as my wife. There have been so many rumors of you lately.” /Damn. And how many layers of that sentence are there?/ “All good, I hope.” And nothing older than three years. “For the most part. If you will excuse us, we have other guests that we must attend to.” Treize’s casual brushing of his wife’s elbow became a firm grip. Quatre nodded, all amiability. “Of course.” As soon as they were out of hearing, Quatre flicked his hand toward the doors. “Let’s get out of here.” Trowa was only too happy to follow that suggestion and barely restrained himself from dragging his admiral out of the door. They didn’t breathe easily until they were in their shuttle, heading back to the Nataku. “What was that about?” “I wish I knew.” Quatre’s head thumped wearily against the headrest. “Lady Une wanted something from me, some kind of information. I have no idea what, though. But whatever it was, Treize was just as determined that she not have it.” “Do you think she will try again?” “Possibly.” /Probably. I just hope that we’re outbound by that point./ Straightening back up in his seat, Quatre continued. “Let’s focus on getting Dr. G, shall we? I want us out of his hell hole as quickly and as quietly as possible.” Trowa seconded that notion with a firm nod. ~*~*~*~ Honor: *whining* Quatre~!
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